This is how my feet feel :D

 

Though, granted, I only had one blister this time - a stupid water bubble all around my little toe. Been a good girl. Back from the longest trek so far - almost 27 miles (43 km) - and I've discovered a fantastic new route: a 12 mile beauty of a walking path right alongside a river, with no interruptions and constant change of texture. From a field pathway to jungle-like paved deal, on and on and on in the shadow, listening to the birds and the stream.I started at five, so there were dawn mists everywhere, rising from the field and the path was so safe and lovely I let the dog off leash and only called her back if we met a runner or a fellow hiker, which were scarce.

          The second part of the hike was a bitch, though. First I deviated from my course, following the less well kept continuance of the path into a redneck trailer region, praying there won't be any dogs charging at us (happens all the fucking time!!) and then all of a sudden I was following the wrong damn river. I'm telling you, those things are mighty shifty. Of course I didn't have any map with me, certain this region is so familiar I couldn't possibly get lost, and then I had to call the General and describe the scenery to try and find out where the heck I am and where the heck I was supposed to be.

          Worst part of the walk was having no road to walk on other than the main driveway. No shoulder to speak of and the traffic was awful. Walking on asphalt is a bitch as it is, even though this time I wore running shoes with a foamy sole, but the cars passing so fast and so close by me is another complete turn off. We stopped by the river, on a shore we sometimes go to, to dip our toes in and literally cool our heels, but even though there was a lovely forest path on the other side, that now I know of, it would be impossible for us to cross the river to get to it. I mean, not impossible, but I would have to really try hard and throw the backpack across, the dog would probably hate it and have a hard time swimming while on a leash (off a leash she wouldn't swim it at all), and I would have to let the current take me down quite a bit. Luckily I didn't have my swimsuit or swim shoes with me, so, maybe next time. The one place where it would be possible to wade would be just before the shallow dam, but being an avid student of silt, I happen to know you can't wade before-dam rivers. It would be like wading a pudding. 

             My main desire from there on was finding paths that weren't the main road. Sometimes I got lucky, like from Mozirje, where my 2-p-m-crisis kicked in and I stopped for a coffee and took the two painkillers I now habitually take, and from Mozirje to Nazarje a lovely park hiking lane sticks to the water. And a little further on, but after that, again, the main traffic line. I chatted with an old lady who lives somewhere there and she told me that there's a sort of shortcut through the forest to get to where I was going, but I was running late (I thought I had until 6 pm, but Maja, who was going to pick me up and drive me back, finishes at 5 pm... Only later did she happen to have to work a bit longer, so all in all, I would have made it if I took the forest road). Ultimately we stopped one settlement before our destination, sitting down at a Okonina bus stop and we didn't get up again :)) I phoned Maja how far along is she and if she said she's a few minutes more, we'd get up and go on, but she said she's just getting in the car, so that was that. The dog's stopped speaking to me a while back :)))

           I didn't have the camera with me this time, so no real pickies to speak of, but I will do this again the first chance I get, knowing better... I now know what to wear, what to not take with me and where to save on the nerves, avoiding bad paths. There are paths not marked on any maps, which are not only idyllic but also ideal for this sort of walking. Here, I'll show you - in a few days :)

General's line of the week:

"Stop wearing my t-shirts, you look like the upper half of a Terminator."

In case you're into vegan cheese kuidaore (eating yourself into bancrupcy) :)))

http://vedgedout.com/2013/11/15/kick-ace-extra-sharp-raw-vegan-holiday-cheddar-cheese-ball-virtual-vegan-potluck-edition/

http://www.rawmazing.com/roasted-garlic-and-sun-dried-tomato-vegan-cheese/

http://www.maplespice.com/2011/04/baked-almond-feta-with-dill-oil.html

http://www.ezontho.com/blogg/vegan-parmesan/

http://flourchild.ca/recipes/raw-vegan-dill-cream-cheese

http://www.vegkitchen.com/

http://profoundhatredofmeat.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/black-pepper-herb-vegan-goat-cheese.html?m=1

http://www.veggie-wedgie.com/?p=2337

https://peaceloveveganfood.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/cashew-brie-yum/

http://melomeals.blogspot.ca/2012/05/vegan-blue-cheese-recipe.html

http://www.includingcake.com/recipes/?recipe_id=6046798

http://www.rawmazing.com/raw-recipe-simple-almond-cheese/

http://invegetableswetrust.com/2013/10/22/cashew-cream-cheese/

http://www.bloglovin.com/blogs/chel-rabbit-10593407?blog=10593407&post=1899850921&viewer=true

It's about three p.m. and I'm in a small town midway home, drinking half of white coffee (I forgot these people don't know me and don't know I disdain the foam on my drink, as once you've taken it off, the cup is about two thirds empty. That's not pessimism, that's a physical fact.) and eating basil ice-cream. The owner of the cafe is ruining it for me, I hate that ugly cunt, she treated me like shit when I was working for her, but she won't remember me and I am doing my best to ignore bad things lately. 

We had an extended family reunion lunch on the Sunday and although it was lovely, I kept getting more and more depressed and I couldn't understand why. There was no reason, I just kept feeling bad. Only later did the General admit that the cook who's been preparing our food had a death in the family - her mother died right that day - and fuck me but that theory how emotions translate into food is super true. I am not a hocus pocus yoga guru bullshit kind of a person, but seriously - it took me two days to get out of that melancholy daze.

Anyways. I made some money yesterday and wanted to treat myself to diabetes. It's not that it's been a long day, it's just that I enjoy living this life to the max. I sure hope that the parking spot isn't on a meter. It didn't used to be and I didn't check. That would kind of ruin the basil ice-cream's otherwise sublime taste.

An hour ago I was shooting softcore promos for a massage studio in the industrial zone where Tinka also has her shop. The madam of the salon kept ogling us when we shot the pastry until finally we gained the courage - me to ask for an interview and she for a photographer. I thought the interview was going to be different, so I didn't charge her anything at all. Didn't think it was going to be a graphic shoot, either. Regarding the first, I have read way too much Marquez and think all ladies of the sensual trade are interesting and cool, and regarding the latter... I tend to think I am good at my job and understand photography, but apparently, I have a lot to learn. To portray an invitation to sensuality, a lure, a mystique, a promise of pleasure ... is obviously not as important as photographing a groin. You really have to be a special kind of a nerd not to get turned on in a house of pleasure. 

Thing is, the madam also offered me a session - the use of a 'Paradise room', where you can enjoy a lush yakuzzi, cool champagne, a large bed and if added to the experience, a young woman to assist with ... the massage. To get the General to come to such a place is a no no. To get me to pretend I haven't met these girls... Is difficult. Don't get me wrong, I am all for threesomes and girl on girl action, but I have to like the girl. There are several women I would love to bed, even in a threesome, even in a yakuzzi... Not these. Nice girls and all, cute and all, just ... I like to keep my brain on while I have fun. Turned on. 

This is the first time that anyone has ever asked me to shoot more like another photographer whose work I've always considered degrading and gruesome - and I had to use all of my considerable imagination to see what a witless horny man would find inviting. Yesterday, during the interview, a customer walked in and asked for a girl with large fake breasts, young and slender and blonde and if her lips are real or not. They were not, so that was a good thing. Considering that this form of massage requires the lady to use her whole body on the man, how do you really enjoy such a contact with someone with big fake boobs? I've no idea. Like I said. I am ever grateful for my imagination the size of a big fake boob or even bigger. 

Grab the lot, stuff 'em in a pocket, bring 'em home and pretend you aren't seeing or hearing anything, until he forgets we don't have six kittens :D It's bound to work :D

Before I left, I uploaded some music on the iPod, in case I got to a stretch of a road where there will be nothing but sun and pain and the beaty backsound will cheer me on. I only listened to a few songs while on the walk, but after I got on the train and it was very late and I was too tired to do anything but watch the world though the window and think no thoughts, I heard this piece for the first time (though I love Mumford and Sons.) ... The day knew exactly how to end itself :D

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rId6PKlDXeU

The second time around

I woke up this morning with mosquito bites on my hands – and not much else. As oppose to the previous time, when I didn’t wake up at all or moving, alongside of blinking and breathing, posed such a strain, I nigh wept for most of the Monday.

Here’s what I did different.

-          Left the dog behind. I met with at least 6 off-leash farm dogs which came to sniff me or just to bark at me and that was that. If I had Lyra with me, that would have been either nothing, or a rape attempt or a fight. That said, I don’t think walking 28 km in a scorching sun would have her appreciate me. She spent the time at my parents, a.k.a. heaven.

-          Had with me only a plushie beagle substitute, a notebook and reading book I never opened once, small map, extra socks, tiny first aid kit, Kleenex’, the camera and the phone. Along with water it wasn’t more than 5 kg.

-          I studied the map really intensely. Not only did I have the printed-out topography pages, but I also took photos of the GoogleMaps aerial footage of the route, so that really saw which route leads where and what size it is. It STILL puzzled me from time to time, especially crossing that mount, but I didn’t get lost a single time. Didn’t lose morale once.

-          The General was a lot more supportive this time. I mean, he was TOO supportive the last time and I caved in, crying. This time he just encouraged me and gave me instructions. I thought about quitting pretty much most of the second half, but I didn’t. Haha, he also failed to meet me at the station and I think he was embarrassed by it. Bought me refrigerated dessert, though. Yay.

-          I ate a little in the morning and snatched a piece of pie during the walk and bought a yoghurt at the end, other than that I carried no food at all. And just one flack of water, which I kept refilling at the local farms.  (Which were plentiful all the way.)

-          At some point, blisters notwithstanding, I realized that I am perfectly fine with everything about the walk, except the excruciating pain in my feet, especially the soles. Walking on grass and graves as much as possible helped, but there is a LOT of asphalt in the world. So, around 2pm, which seems to be my crisis hour, and where I quit the other time and now could barely move, I did what any sensible person who’s been reading too much Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas would do, and downed two horse-sized painkillers, then marched on. I daresay that was the only reason I succeeded. In fact I literally jogged the 5 km off the mountain and back to the asphalt valley road. I was full of adrenaline, endorphins, my muscles were warm and stretchy, I wasn’t tired in a regular sense, and I made it thus far.

All in all I walked 28 km, made it to the train station red in the face, soaked, smelly, looking like something a large animal might chew and regurgitate … But no tears this time, no feeling of despair. And a lot wiser. I have one more test, I think, and then I should be ready to do the route…

I talked to some people on the way and I got that 'what a cool older person' feeling from some. Like I am the cool old hussie now. Minus the slutty bit. Really. Nothing at all slutty about the way I looked. 

The weather was hazy, so most of the photos looked watered down - I made the BWs instead and continued the trend of patching together individual shots in an accentuated fashion :) 

... I wonder if the next time, I should try walking in sneakers? Or is it simply that my feet are too soft thing? Ah. We'll see. Practice, practice. It's only been the second day, out of sixty. 

God is everywhere ... No, but seriously. You can't pass a crossroads without that poor person, what's his name,
being crucified on it. This certainly is a very devout country. Best part is, the churches are heavy and old
and very cool to sit in the shade of and it is easy to navigate by them. I would see the belfry in the distance
and know I'm going the right way.

Through some of the updates on the news sites, I noticed two things that made me want to kill myself early on.  Not literally, but certainly intellectually and… Fuck it, something has to be done about this. I TRY to be sympathetic and regard the bigger picture, I really do. I just …

The retard who wrote 50-shades-of-you-must-be-fucking- joking  is now writing another book of the same subject, told from the perspective of that sick rich guy. Normally I would think, hm, a bestseller is a tough act to follow – looking at contemporary rock star authors who managed to write themselves into a corner and got stuck, like Martin, but mostly about legends of American literature, who felt like towards the end they wrote all the good they can write and were being depressed and disarmed – like Truman Capote, Hunter Thompson, Hemingway, even Scott Fitzgerald and Kerouac … These people really worked hard – and a lot more than just these – and it broke their heart when people said they were pass their creative prime. But the retard of 50 shades? She couldn’t possibly write worse, it is just not universally doable unless she ties her face with a wet dishrag and randomly smacks her head at the keyboard – and still her work will be a bestseller. Nobody will ever be able to say her last book is not as good as her previous four or whatever many there already are. That’s just fucking genius.

The other thing that hammered a nail in my coffin was seeing that Kim Kardashian published an expensive looking book of her selfies. It’s bad enough they put her transgender stepfather on the cover of Vanity Fair as if those morons of South Beach need any more publicity and as if he is the prime representative of the transgender population – it seems it would be impossible to sell the magazine if they put on the cover someone who can spell .. But to create a coffee table book of some retard’s selfies, trout-pouting and shoving her fake tits into her camera phone …

I am not kidding. This shit just kills me. I don’t stand a fucking chance. The harder I try to write a really good book that an intellectual society and other authors of contemporary fiction would be proud of, the further away I am at a chance of ever seeing it sold.

I will never admire good writers or otherwise authors more than seeing them insist in the struggle against the dumb fucking popular demand. It is an impossibly unhappy task. Futile, too. But if intelligent men and women of the arts cease to try and keep the dam from overflowing with stupidity, the game is over. And society is lost. It seems to be on the brink of going back to completely stupid for most of the time as it is. I am only just now starting to be able to broaden the picture of obvious subjects. And see how men who were great because they were charismatic sometimes did impossible terrible things in the long run. I gotsta try and learn more, but for what and for whom? Whom would I tell, who would want to listen or read the things that’s taken me 40 years to figure out? We are so many. And we are so incredibly easily entertained.

.. I would write more about this, but I have to use the lavatories.