Is there some weird Moroccan tradition that I never heard of ? I decide my and his Spanish probably aren't good enough to talk our way out of this somewhat surreal encounter so I start for my canteen with water...
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It took some time to complete, because being on the road isn't ideal for editing video's, but my MasterPeace Journey - Alchemist Alive promo video is finally ready. I want to thank Sara Natal and Boris Booij for holding the camera's, Michiel van Meeteren for (..)
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You start on a walking journey and find yourself flying all the time... I hadn't expected this, because my plan was to keep on walking till the end of the line and then fly or drive or hitchhike back to the Netherlands, but (..)
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It is strange how some places or some people keep popping up unexpectedly. As if someone is trying to tell you something. One of the people that I keep on finding on my path is Federica Garcia Lorca. I accidentally passed through his birthplace and the house where (..)
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Walking from Penas Negras to Antas to meet my host Diego I stranded in Turre. I had planned to walk the forty kilometers in one day, but I hadn't counted on the mountains that covered thirty of them. Turre is about ten kilometers from Antas and when I arrived there (..)
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In Librilla, a small town some twenty kilometers south west from Murcia, I stumbled upon Casa Mendez. Built at the beginning of the twentieth century it now stands in ruin. A waste, because it is still clear that this villa was designed and built with (..)
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Once again, physical problems forced me to slow my pace. Blisters this time, and they kept me in Lorca for a week. However, otra vez, it proved to me that setbacks are never just setbacks. My host Antonio, who took me to the hospital after I arrived a week ago on Tuesday (..)
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Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Is it really necessary to continue this crazy walk? I have never been one for an uncritical approach to life. I have always questioned my motives and goals as much as I have those of others.
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Every now and then I meet people who decided on some radical change, a break with the past, a new beginning, or people not so radical, but consistently pursuing a life less ordinary, away from the beaten track.
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In the south of Spain you sometimes get the impression that you are walking in North America’s wild west in the 19th century. Especially in autumn when the burning summer sun has turned the landscape into dry yellow plains with grass and bushes sticking out grimly (..)
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The water is still and shallow, and warm compared to the surrounding air. No one to share this tranquil, silent meditation under the black Galician sky with. Just me, a full moon and a couple of birds talking to each other from one tree to another, two blackbirds in private conversation.
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This Sunday I walked into Santiago de Compostela. Almost half a year after my departure from Leiden in the Netherlands on September 11. The first goal of my journey is complete. For now, noblog with experiences, reflections or thoughts.
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As quiet as the mind can be when the body is wandering during the day, it can cover miles and miles of known and unknown territory in the night when the body is at rest. I try not to think about the last person lying in this bunk.
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Two coffee and two glasses of red wine yesterday, today two coffee and up until now three glasses of vino tinto. With every drink, I get a complimentary plate of pintxo's. Probably to make one last longer and order some more. With the prices here in Gijón I'll be sure to do so.
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I'm getting bald. To my friends this is no revelation. I've seen it coming for almost ten years and consequently shortened my hair bit by bit until three or four years ago I went for the full monty. With all your hair gone there is no receding hairline.
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It has become custom to have to repeat my name at least five times bymeans of introduction. I am blessed with a name that cannot be pronounced by anyone south of Belgium. Will this change in any of thecountries that I plan to walk through? I think not.
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I have moved around quite a lot when I was young. And also when I wasn't quite as young anymore. And at the moment, moving around has become something like sleeping, eating and brushing my teeth. It has become daily routine to me. It is in fact, what I do.
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It's frustrating really, to find that with internet, the world is indeed without frontiers, but that the providers of mobile telephone subscriptions don't operate accordingly. Within the European Union people are free to live and work wherever they want, but
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Today it is exactly two months ago that I started my 'twalk' from the Netherlands. On 11 September I started in Leiden, some twenty kilometers north of The Hague, or La Haye in French. This afternoon I arrive again in La Haye, or Descartes as the French call it today, a small town between Tours and Poitiers
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“How about autumn?” Walking through the forests of the Loire region I think of a sketch by a Dutch comedian in which he questions the intelligence of wearing green in the army. It is now November and the leaves on the trees are loosing their youthful colours and exchange the green for fiery red, yellow and orange. How different it is for the aging human being,
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