Walking La Gomera - of subtropical yetis, cats and coat sucking pigs

"Laus Deus

  Santa Clara en la montaña 

  esta sola y bien se amaña"

The sign by Santa Clara's chapel mentions her solitude up on the mountain, but in fact, she is not alone at all, the lonely sanctuary being guarded by cats. These beautiful, clean, yet strangely corpulent cats welcome hikers in the middle of nowhere, mundane and friendly, against a share of the walkers picnic. 

On the way up, you meet sparse (mostly German) hikers going down (you hate them - not for being German but for being on their way down), you're sweating, red in the face, out of breath and praying any god you've ever heard of for the next sign to tell you that your ascension is finally ending. You don't even look back down the steep rocky path, and when you look up, it seems never-ending. 

You're just swearing in silence for having had the silly idea to do this walk. 

And then, all of a sudden, the miracle happens, you see an opening, the sun, a sign, four fat cats and a breathtaking view of the ocean. And you're so happy! You talk to cats! Give them half of your food! ... Before you start going down on the other side (where you swear again, but you have a mean satisfaction when you cross someone going up).

That's what we did all week. Going up and down litteraly devouring the stunning beauty of the island  and inhaling its celestial perfume of tropical fruits, salt, ocean and distant shores.

It would  have been a quite relaxed time if we didn't have to come back at night to our village, Lomito Fragoso (Rocky Ridge), where we were awoken every night by a strange (scary) sound, a rough, raucous complaint,  to which some goats responded bleating. (In the middle of the night. Ok I am no goat life specialist, but still.. why would they be up at night?!)

We heard it first from afar, from another valley, while having dinner on the terrace. Then just before dawn, we heard it as close as if it were on the road, beneath our little house perched on the mountainside. 

We asked the villagers and they talked about usual animals we know, which didn't seem credible. We definitely heard some sort of mountain monster coming down every night from the high misty mossy forest of mount Garajonay. 

To cut a long story of night watches and sound recordings short... We never found out what it was (sorry, I know this sounds like a shitty story) but we couldn't risk going out in the pitch dark night and be kidnapped by some local subtropical Yeti. 

Apart from that, the island was full of other surprises:

death by flea bites

...which made us forget our night monsters.. Yes there were also those monsters that sneaked into my bed, like a flea that ate me alive.. I couldn't decide if I got it from the goats or the hippies playing "music" on the beach.. 

the coat sucking pig

Along our walks, as we were studying some local restaurant menu, we did learn of two animals we had never heard of before: the "coat" (served in this case as a stew) and the "sucking pig" served with "papas canarias"-potatoes boiled in sea water, and the best potatoes I actually ever ate.

Behemoth in person and the best guarded pool

Half way down from Ermita de Santa Clara, on the Vallehermoso beach (where you don't want to swim because the beach next to it is called Playa de la Sepultura (the Sepulchre beach - most certainly for a good reason..) you (sweaty and with shaky legs from the descent) suddenly see a turquoise seawater swimming pool right above the black volcanic beach. Of course, all you want to do is start running downhill and jump in, until you find out it is closed. 

Now... only one look at Sarajevo was clear : we are definitely trespassing - there's no one around but a couple foreign (German) hikers struggling on a slope somewhere above. And as you're perched on the gate, you catch the severe look of this entirely black (and fat) cat sitting on the wall by the entrance. 

Behemoth probably died laughing at our faces when we ran in the pool and found out the water was beautiful AND freezing. 

And so did the coat sucking pig (A.K.A subtropical Yeti) and all the village when we were trying to lure  him closer to our house at night by imitating his guttural sound...

the thousand and one smiles or walking upside down

"L’homme ne peut découvrir de nouveaux océans tant qu’il n’a pas le courage de perdre de vue la côte."
 André Gide

I know well there is no perfect place on earth. I know it even better - for no place will probably be perfect for me. While some are scared to leave their hometown, and move elsewhere, I am scared to be stuck in one place for longer than..I wish to stay.

Move in.. while thinking of moving out. Whenever the wind starts to blow again.

At the same time, I wish to find that place, the one I will not want to leave.

I think it should be south, warm, by the ocean. Now I bumped into one of these places,  but unlike all the ones I knew already, it functions. It's not perfect, sure it's not, let's not get started about their refugee policies, or the very ugly colonisation history the country (as we know it now) has built itself on.

It is on the other side of the planet and people walk upside down, which is weird, but when I was a child and wanted to put myself to sleep, I did not count sheeps, because it wouldn't work: I was picturing myself walking around the globe until the moment I walked upside down and fell asleep. The planet was approximately the size of Little Prince's asteroid B-612, obviously.

I flew in on a friday evening, just on time to see a resplendent Darling Harbour by sunset from the sky.

Just on time to be handed a glass of red wine by my ex-sevillana Italian partner in crime, who seems to have received the same pair of wandering shoes as me from the Fates upon birth. The deal included beautiful curls, too. (Except mine came with 3 years delay..never told about my sister calling me a lamp bulb? but that's another story..)

I had arrived just on time to swap my winter outfit for a light summer dress.

The next day, I woke up with the sun, to the sound of an (unknown) (Australian?) bird chirping samba (?!) "tututu tutututu.." oh..jetlag!

From then on, I was to see more smiles in 3 weeks than in the past 3 years. 

Big smiles, cheeky smiles, sexy smiles, stunning smiles, unsettling smiles, funny smiles, that made me beam, or as we say in Czech "smile like the moon above a pile of manure" (- don't ask why).

It is a serious upgrade when people are nice to you and smile, wherever you go and whatever you do. Unlike certain European countries where civility and good manners are a requested norm, the general Aussie attitude feels more genuine than just courteous. You can now imagine how bad I felt, when I remembered all these nice Australian tourists who called us mates in Prague back then.. and we..  from atop our bar stool would tell them with contempt "Who are you? I am not your mate. Move." (No, being just nice and smiling at strangers was not our definition of being cool - but maybe, maybe, they were drunk and obnoxious? can't tell  - yet what I do remember,  is that their wish to be friends with everyone annoyed us and made us laugh.)

There's no point in telling all I did (and didn't do) down under, this is no travel log. I am just trying to transmit a tiny bit of my impressions or better said, why I felt so happy there. 

Tell the fantastic time I had!

Soaking in great energy from the people, from the everlasting natural elements. Sun, rocks, sand, ocean. Getting surprised and amazed by the ever-present and bizarre local wildlife. 

Bringing back old memories when meeting friends I hadn't seen for 15 years, discovering they remained true to the essence of what brought us together in the beginning of our sweet twenties. Well, as to the memories, we realised we didn't remember much more than one long blurred party, but still..It was about time to get the old forgotten stories right!

Learning ...always... things like "it does actually feel fantastic to do yoga". (=all my friends were right, for ages! yet.. I have to be interesting, and find out by myself, in Canberra!)

Witnessing so much beauty. Unexpected landscapes, breathtaking beaches, fine artworks I'd have loved to steal (they were actually huge canvases, but they would be still easier to take away than the rest..), spectacular skies, oh these skies that made me thank out loud so many times for their splendour, and for my eyes to be able to see. 

Catching up with old friends that I've been following across the world as an apostle would Jesus (that's my vision- they just call me a stalker), and diving back with them and their friends into Triana and its flamenco feel for a brief moment. (Now when you think Triana at the antipodes...it's far-fetched I reckon, but it works in Melbourne!)

Meeting new, inspiring, fun and lovely people..  

Wait a second, I can already foresee the thoughts of some.. "Bullshit, it can't all be that positive and great" "that's just a way to make everything sound awesome" "there must be a flaw to all this".

Well that's right, my journey was not perfect. I did experience some true distress and disgust, followed by sadness, because there's absolutely nothing to be done about it.

Now I know it will sound stupid but...

There's only one fact I completely forgot to consider:  that because it's warm, I am not the only one who likes the place... big brown fat cockroaches don't mind walking upside down either! 

But maybe these cockroaches are smiling, who knows.. I didn't check!

cross my heart, hope (not) to die, if I..

....
last post in February 2014... where did my words go?
Was I talking too much for two years and releasing them too fast?
(hmmm, no.. a million words a second is what I've been doing all my life...)
Did they run out, did they jump aside, did they hide?
I've eaten a lot of beautiful words instead. Now my head is full of them.
So I have to write it .. (that's just to make sure I will):
I'll pull my derelict words back together before two years of silence are complete.

"Magda recorta palabras de los diarios, palabras de todos los tamaños, y las guarda en cajas. En caja roja guarda las palabras furiosas. En caja verde, las palabras amantes. En caja azul, las neutrales. En caja amarilla, las tristes. Y en caja transparente guarda las palabras que tienen magia. 

A veces, ella abre las cajas y las pone boca abajo sobre la mesa, para que las palabras se mezclen como quieran. Entonces, las palabras le cuentan lo que ocurre y le anuncian lo que ocurrirá."

Eduardo Galeano in "Las palabras andantes"

life on tour or the continuous adventures of 4D across trollandia

It's the Dream

Olaf Hauge - Drops in the East Wind, 1966
It's the dream we carry in secret
that something miraculous will happen,
that it must happen –
that time will open
that the heart will open
that doors will open
that the rockface will open
that spring will gush –
that the dream will open,
that one morning we will glide into
some little harbour we didn't know was there.

Well, here in Norway something miraculous happens every time a 4D show starts. No, really! 

Brilliant dancers, gifted and hard working technical crew put up a special evening for their audience, no matter what the conditions are. Show must be. Be beautiful. Precise. Moving. Magic.

That's great! but that's the serious part. 

Now what happens behind the scenes.. that's more interesting.

It all started with a rice-cooker in a green room. 

Of course, we were all terrified by the bill we received after our first dinner out. That's Norway. For the sake of your bank account, avoid eating out unless you like bad pizzas and hotdogs. Our solution is called "Nienke's green kitchen". A cooking box with a few bowls, some cutlery, spices, olive oil, veggies of the day , whatever ***. and ***. find on their way.. and a rice cooker with a steamer.

In this prestigious traveling kitchen of ours, we produce delicious vegetarian dishes that some people of the crew call "grass". (But we don't mind, because we're cool) 

Since we're afraid to cook in our  hotel rooms (very sensitive fire alarms up here!)  we squat the theaters even when we're neither performing, nor building. Also because in some places we get free cinema tickets. (Just say you're from Eastman dance company, you can try it too if you're there. It works!) 

When we finish our gypsy vegetarian cooking , it feels a bit schizophrenic to go back to our luxury spa hotel. But that's what we get, and we have to deal with it. 

After a day in the spa, after cooking, eating and watching a movie one feels very tired, you know. Some people read, some Facebook, others skype with loved ones, some sleep, some get drinks for free at the bar...And some even watch videos of birth-giving and cry of emotion (no not their own, not their relative's or close friends'.. just random ones). 

Spa time was great for a few days (you get very easily hooked on hot tub, steam baths and jacuzzis) but we were happy to go, to discover another port and for some to finally get some social life. What we got when we arrived though, (after a marvelous 7 hours snow ride through the mountains) was an annual rally of the Norwegian Christian party checking in our hotel at the same time as us. 

Breakfasts are a nice time. Studying everyone's breakfast choice is even more interesting. ("Did you see what he/she's having for breakfast???!!!") Breakfasts in (our)Norwegian hotels are very good. Suitable for all tastes. Lots of fresh fruit smoothies in mini glasses  - so you have to drink 4 of them at least. 

You can make your own waffles. And when you don't know how the dough behaves, well you put too much  of it in the waffler, it starts swelling and then you have  it eeeeeverywhere around. And then you leave the place without your waffle because it looks really stupid. But the next time, you know..  and you can eat it with that famous brown Norwegian goat cheese. (Now I understand better why I almost threw up the first time I tried it years ago in Oslo. I didn't know it was meant to be sweet and eaten like honey or chocolate on pancakes. So I ate it with smoked salmon... NOT a  good choice, trust me.) 

And evenings? evenings are fun. When we manage to gather all together. Not always easy to have everyone sitting at one table and having a drink together due to technicians' longer working time. They arrive late. but they also last the longest. (understand they are a danger - but they're not the only one :-)))) 

Speaking of danger, apparently, the night we performed in H. lots of people got so drunk downtown that they ended their night at the police station. No worries.. Not us! However, it doesn't mean that I can disclose what happens sometimes when the night falls on 4D. Because as I already wrote once, the best stories are the ones untold.

PS: Olaf Hauge is a Norwegian poet. (I did my homework!)

Saint Laurent's tears or the Perseides expedition

We had read the Perseides were going to shower the skies that night and thus decided to find a place out of the city's light pollution to watch the precious St Laurent's tears.
We - me, the professor from Paris and Sarajevo - met at the Opera house at midnight on the dot and were to drive some 20 minutes to Kalmthout natural park.
Maybe the meteorites confused the notions of time and space, or maybe we were too busy telling funny stories and trying to name the movies matching with the famous film themes we were listening to, anyway, somehow, we got a bit lost in various diversions and entered Kalmthout only an hour later. The streets were empty as in a dead city and the tune that just came up was "Twisted nerve" whistling...spooky!
We drove around  Creepytown in search for a person that could show us the way, and it seemed completely deserted, until we finally found the only opened bar with a woman and two men standing outside. We stopped and kindly asked for the way to the natural park. Was it for the time of the night? was it for us? was it for them?  they looked at us three as if we were ugly aliens and first answered with another question : "WHAT are you going to do there?"
The three of us thought of saying the same thing... that we were going to dispose of a dead body there...but they didn't look like people with much humor, so we innocently said we were going to watch meteorites (isn't that obvious???!) so they seemed satisfied and indicated us the right direction, but kept on looking at us as if we were insane - or highly suspicious.
We finally arrived on site, parked the car, took out the blanket, the Cava bottle, the glasses that Sarajevo had brought (that girl is always prepared for everything) and headed to the forest entrance. Trees on the left, trees on the right, a small path in front and darkness all around. Sarajevo had also a good light on her front head (the one she used as the Slugexterminator, but that's another story) so we had no problem at all and stepped on the path. We didn't even walk three meters when we heard a crack in the obscurity. We stopped dead and switched off the light, our three pair of eyes peering into the blackness. A light flashed for a second in front of us. We flashed back. Flash again. Made two steps forward and three steps back as we saw two shades quickly approaching. Even the professor had lost her assurance as she whispered: "des militaires!" Sarajevo only repeated "des militaires?!".We were tempted to run away but eventually held our position strong. Two men passed us swiftly, hardly looking at us, equipped with crossbows. We turned round and watched them walk out of the forest. WTF? We should have asked them how far was the first clearing. Brave as ever, Sarajevo ran behind them saying "hello! Sorry!" and it seemed they were walking even faster as she was chasing them. She managed to catch up with them and they even answered that we had to walk 5 mn to the first open space. And right after that they jumped in their car and hurtled off on full speed. 
What the hell were these two guys doing with crossbows in the forest? Were they the only ones? why did they look so scared of us? After all, we, three normal girls, were only carrying a bag with a bottle of Cava and glasses in a forest at 1 am...Were they hunters? what were they hunting? rabbits? in the middle of the night? Were we about to be the accidental rabbits of some weird hunters if we went in? 
We decided to stay where we were, arguing the cloudy sky had just cleared up above our heads and going further would not help us. We were not scared at all, no no no.
So we opened the bottle,  laid on the ground and were rewarded for all that effort and all these little fears. Every now and then we tripple-echoed an enthusiastic "OH! did you see it too?!" when the stars were crossing the night sky in clear bright rays, magical.
The night was cold though, so at some point we agreed on leaving right after seeing all three a last shooting star. I needed to pee though so I walked away and I just heard: "No way, keep on looking up while you pee so that you don't miss it, or just pretend you've seen it too if we shout!"
It was too late though, already half past three and the clouds were slowly taking hold of the starry heaven again.
Too bad, for if Saint Laurent was watching us that night, I'm quite sure he must have been laughing to tears.

the monster made of eyes & the drunken boat

Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes. *

The monster  made of eyes
Up there the skies were infinite and the clouds hung at our feet. The days were hot, green and translucent, the nights were cool, deep and sparkling. We were gathering on the hotel terrace after every concert, they were telling jokes and we were all laughing to tears echoing far in the surrounding stillness. We had some beers, smoked a bit, I felt like a little walk and went down the terrace and turned right toward the church. I wanted to look at the sky. Past the second house was the last lamp, a bench and the beginning of a little path bypassing the hill. Past these, a curtain of darkness. I walked a few meters  and  disappeared behind the backdrop. I was all alone, and looked up, in the uncanny silence of the witching hour. My eyes were probably mirroring the countless glitter of the night, and I thought of that strange old woman wrapped in mystery that had told me once, years ago : "the most beautiful I have seen in the Sahara desert was the moon reflected in a dead donkey's shining eye". Stars, everywhere, all around, shining still, or crossing the  magnitude in a swift ray...Was it a solid firmament  sustained by the strong shoulders of Atlas or a colossal tenebrous living creature?  For I couldn't remember who, of us two, me and the night, was watching who.

A thrill of thunder in my hair:
Though blackening clouds be plain,
Still I am stung and startled
By the first drop of the rain:
Romance and pride and passion pass
And these are what remain.*

The drunken boat and the storm
That boat was getting nearer and looked almost as if it was drifted towards us. We were sitting approximately 6 meters above it on the waterfront and I was not very comfortable with having my legs hanging so high above the water level, but the cool breeze at dusk felt so well, bringing the sea to our nostrils and freshening us from the sticky heat of that summer day. 
The barge, already heavily loaded and looking close to sinking, started doing strange moves, going sideways, back and forth, and we, well we were being watched and watching, hypnotized by this weird ship who, most certainly, like the piano, had been drinking,  until it made us feel sick and ready to join the party by dropping down. Luckily, before we jumped in the depths, we looked at the the silver lit port in the distance and noticed  the setting sun had disappeared behind a wall of clouds. In the vertical clouds hanging there, beautiful lightning bolts started flashing here and there. As the wind suddenly got to the edge we were sitting on, blowing stronger, I could almost see Zeus standing in the clouds, half upset half grinning. It was time to leave the battlefield to higher powers and ride into the night for another kind of pleasures.

(Street art by Sam3)
*Poem by G.K. Chesterton

have you ever seen a flying horse? orelse summer in Antwerp

Summer in Antwerp is like summer anywhere else... just perfect. 
Life unfolds in soul caressing sunny mornings and late warm sunsets, peaceful evenings mirroring in the Schelde unless it's in the beer you're having on a roof while listening to strange birds making even stranger noises. (In fact I think they're flying monkeys thinking they are birds, or the other way round. don't ask me what they're doing in Antwerp, I didn't ask them. I just shouted "f*** you!" when they were too noisy --which, as I was said, is weird too..)
Summer and its storms that catch you on an open air festival evening. Sarajevo laughed at me when we hit the road between the corn fields and headed to Sfinks festival because I had flip flops on, whereas she had a pair of brand new sneakers to avoid wet feet...well when we came out of Anderland (the music box) after a great set of Acid Arab and all that was around was mud, I couldn't help from having an evil smile on my face as I took off my flipflops to walk happily barefoot. Rain,water, power cuts and thousands of people dance walking in some kind of apocalyptic vision that gives you though an immense sensation of freedom and relief. For one moment, you are perfectly free to wade in mud like a kid (or a pig) and it's amazing!
My smile faded away when I got home and found out my legs were brown up to my knees and realising that it probably already was so when I was proudly dancing on the box next to the djs.. (sexy dancer in a nice dress with legs covered with mud.. hmmm)
Summer and its working days when everybody is melting on their office chair in the middle of a meeting and someone has the great idea of getting some cakes and fruits and have a break because no one can think straight.
Summer and its naked sensuality, while you cook in your kitchen and first hear, then see a couple making love in the frame of an open window opposite yours and you suddenly realise you're also exposing yourself in underwear in an open window.
Summer and its magic mood that makes you dance and sing out loud hoping no one is gonna complain about it, and no one actually does because no one cares. Even if you sing about a flying horse.. by the way have you ever seen one?- a horse that flies? 
For I have. I may even tell where..but you can only see it in summer...