Sunday, 26 July 2015

Here I go, with the camera (and all the chargers) bag, full of notepads, newspapers, postcards and pens, and with the even heavier duffel bag, full of socks, food, watercolors and inks... With this on me, the road could take me anywhere, especially towards the sea or down a slow wide river, and I would be in my comfort hunting grounds. Call me a road poet or a road fiend or a huntress of beautiful frames between blinks: I am no different than a mass of young travelers with similar bags and similar skins, hungry for new city scents and summer humidity that promises adventure. Imagine a great traveling god exploding and the shards of his soul getting stuck in a number of people - all of us are right here, going right there. All chatty, all interesting, all kind, all good lovers, thieves and bums the lot of us, all wise and unspoiled. Never say no to food, never say no to water, bathroom or bed, and always sample everything within reach. Pity the stagnant. Pity the clean.
Walking pass the tables of the street cafes is like tuning the radio: every language is different and every conversation has a different tune. Because I am not tall, young, dressed pretty or tanned, I am completely invisible and nobody even noticed the sound of my camera. It's 99 in the shade, so the comfort seekers flock under fans, umbrellas, sprays and air conditioners like you see sheep do under rare trees in the field. Kids play in the fountains and teenagers pretend to be playful and kick the water at one another, cooling off and getting away with loud behavior. Nobody is talking on the phone, because you cheeks literally get wet from glass. Icarus wouldn't have gotten off the ground at all, today, the wax would melt off his falcon suit like bad honey. 

I arrived to the tiny train station in Čatež, a tiny little town with a medieval core I am yet to explore, several really sad abandoned villas  and a lot of brand new shopping buildings that are exactly the same in isle blueprint as everywhere else and you get dizzy with disorientation when you walk out and you are not in your own street ... I miss one of those, because I have it studied down and they have great cheesecake dessert, but am not allowed to go. Rules are back on! That's right, I am back in my baby's arms! There was kissing! There was covetousness! There were deep passionate stares and lots of things said about how much we've missed each other. And a chariot ride to my castle. (An old Hyundai to the camp bungalow, if you must nitpick.) I gotsta say, when I suggested I have no problem walking from the station to the resort, I might have not taken into account 8 kilometers of asphalt in 104'C. Five miles is a morning stroll for me, but not at three in the afternoon during the dog days. 

The resort is massive if a bit on the worse-for-wear side, with large winding pools with waterslides and waves and really a lot of people in them, looking for any means of cooling themselves. A lot of them get shoulder sunburns, because after two hours in the neck-deep majority of the area, everything washes off and you still don't want to leave. Because you can only use the poor card once a day, people enter the pool site and make themselves picnic-comfortable, then leave in the afternoon. This is living at its most normal. I can do this. I’ve read about it. I’m mentally prepared. The General's mum can't get out of her mother hen mode and continues to care for everybody, arranging clean towels, sun block spray (and after sun burns spray), food, cold drinks, cleaning up, making sure everyone is comfy. The three youngsters are hazel brown, running about, playing card games, comparing waterslides, occasionally doing chores and sleeping under the roof, up a ladder, where they usually throw things down. (Like cell phones. Or themselves.) Clumsy buggers. I took over G's tiny room, because I love tiny rooms and it's too hot for two people to share it, he’s been evicted to the couch. Only because he managed to forget the chord for the hammock ... Levitation is way overrated..

For its mildly posh trailer park, I can neither imagine this is a white trash drug dealer type of hell, nor really a cushy Cuban beach site. I miss my dog. I found some kittens not too far, but their mother was not too happy me borrowing one. They keep a lot pf cats around, I must have seen at least four, probably to maintain vermin control. It's nice, if not as neat as it could be and I really cannot abide trash. They do a lot to keep the place clean, just not everything. Same as kids do. ‘But I DID wash the plates! Nobody said anything about the glasses!’ …  You stray but a little from the main attractions and already the trash cans are full and rotting and have been since the start of the season. Consistency is what I'm saying. Keep it expensive or keep it poor. I understand it's too much to expect there'll be a murder or at least an armed robbery any time soon, but I can also see why some people come here to do nothing but read on porches, have barbecues in the evening and play in paddling ponds during the red hot days. 

I've already explored everything I possibly can within the perimeter and arranged a coffee date with my brother who lives none too far, and also plan to go see the castle and the town and probably something else ... The days here are VERY long. Problem is, I have decided to never do anything without the General again and he's in the reading-sitting-eating-paddling mode this week. Damn the normal folk for seeking comfortable vacations. How can they not understand I LIKE suffering in heat, blisters, backpack burns and smelling like something that's been on the train for eight hours? ... 

these are my barns from the other side! I never rode pass them on a train before :D

Just 8 :D No street name. Just 8.

Note the kitten? :D

There are so many of these. Massive old houses, completely abandoned.

This is 'the Pirate' section of the camp

Now I know corn can walk.