My grand pa was a hitch-hiker
After two wild months in Kosovo, which started with a 3 week long meditation about loneliness and the necessity of positive human interaction but ended up in an artistic and social roller coaster spent watching amazing films, partying until morning, and playing bob marley songs in cementeries, I found myself sitting at my grand father's dining table.
I cannot hide that however hard it was to adapt to my life in Prizren, leaving it behind was even harder. My time there intensified progressively, and culminated with the festival, during which there was more to do, and more interesting people to meet than I could cope with. From midday to midnight, there were film screenings in seven indoor and outdoor cinemas, after which there were concerts and DJ's playing all night long. With the master classes, panels and a little work added to that a few hours were left to sleep each day
After such an experience, going back to 'normality', especially when that means flying back to the Netherlands (a country famous for its exhuberant and spontaneous lifetsyle!), can be a bit of a shock. Well so it was; I was devastated, to leave the place I was finaly starting to feel at home in, and all the people that had become such close friends to me. And after my two year long boycott of planes (the boycott did end for practical reasons, I am back to being an Evil Polluter of the Planet), my body and brain still cannot adjust to the idea that it is possible to travel 1500 km in 2.5 hours, especially when this involves going from mountaineous, warm and wild to flat, cold and tidy.
However sad as that sounds, I cried when I got out of Eindhoven airport. I really try to get myself to like this country, but I can't hide that my soul feels more at ease in other places (I am getting more and more diplomatic each day). Anyhow, this long introduction was meant to lead us to my grand father's dining table. So here I am, in the Hague, tired and litteraly spaced-out, talking to my wonderful grand father. There are a few bright spots in my Dutch life; long conversations with my grandpa and bumping into Gavin the street musician are two of them.
My grandpa spends his days writing books, sitting long hours thinking, and visiting his friends from the Hague's art club. Like many old people, he has got great stories to tell. I know a lot of them, and each time I hear a new one I think 'well, this might be his best story!' but I end up being surprised again.
to be continuuued: how my grandpa hitchhiked on a donkey ;)