At last, I am reunited with my creative outlet. All the pouches are with me and I am already sending out.
What went before: we lived in Spain before we left for an extended South American travel. While traveling we sold the house while our haphazardly selected stuff in boxes awaited us in Spain. But due to Corona we could not go back so easily. Instead traversed via Germany to Hungary. When we saw a chance, we took it and flew to Spain. There’s a short window where the borders are open and where we might manoeuvre our truck back to where we want to be for the moment. That was a week ago.
The truck has stood still for a year. In the harsh sun. Floods gota fria gripped around the wheels. I have no faith this vehicle will drive us back, therefor I joined my husband; when the journey becomes a failure, he is not alone in it.
Mobile diary notes of day 1: Driving a truck fit for African roads makes us the slowest among the overall presence of new trucks, stable on the road like blocks of concrete. We swirl with wind coming from the Mediterranean ocean and keep concentrated while I am in a continuous struggle with the discomforts of the safety belt.
Mobile diary notes of day 2: Visiting truck stations in the 37 degrees heat of France is the highlight of faceless tourists, being among folks anonymous. Many prefer the outdoor toilet and so it happens we pick-nick among dried-up poop and toilet paper sticking against prickly scrubs.
The speed at Italian viaducts and tunnels is too much for me. There’s a changed perspective too, cars not aware of the cumbersome truck we’re in making moves spiraling my adrenaline grade. Its an unpleasant experience, driving an African sort of truck, living a truckers sort of lifestyle. Having sorted our belongings, hauling them through 5 countries as quick as we can.
The loads of trucks show the disgust of consumerism, the dependence we believe we love. Being on the highway and through cities is seeing the American style example people crave for: malls, shopping centers and abundances. And we… we are part of the disgust, but with our hopes aimed at the opposite sort of lifestyle.
Mobile diary notes of day 3: Geo his feet swell. Headache prevails for me. Doubtful campsites. Great Italian macchiato’s. Wild figs. No, I don’t like this sort of travel. Neither does Geo but this is our tiny house on wheels which has to be brought to where we want to be for now.
Bye bye old, welcome to the new. Bye Spain, with your bleached colors and stark mountains. Bye to the people and authentic eateries. Bye to the beautiful land and a language we can make ourselves understood. Traveling is escaping.
Who wants to be in a building filled with music not his choice? Having breakfast at highway restaurants is sometimes coping with insane sort of music. Besides eating questionable ingredients. We witness transportation on a web of once natural wonder. We wash in toilets with loudspeakers so eager I can’t really handle the ‘nightclub’ sound. And so, traveling in a truck of 7.5 ton is anything but escaping reality. Its being right in the disturbance. Spot on into the insanity. Seeing prisoners loving the shackles of security.
Mobile diary notes of day 4: Cotê d’Azur and its built up jungle is a hideous view. Maserati’s and Lamborghini’s taken out on a Sunday linger behind us in the traffic jam. I liked seeing this Italian car though:
I can’t help noticing blurring of cultures, going from one border so quickly to another. ‘Universities killing diversity’, is a segment of a song of Mike Love, coming to mind. Clustering the big players, succeeding easily in pushing away the authenticity. Times have changed when I last drove here (as a child with my parents on holiday), but toilets along tourists routes have greatly improved.
The smells in the truck mingle, shirts worn without being able to wash the body they clothed, wet by rain and sweat. The vetiver, sandalwood and lavender soap from the Italian supermarket. The unwashed feet pressed into the muddy camp spot. A wet towel used as fridge and washing cloth. Washed underwear. Gorgonzola. Our truck is not as immaculate as many other truck cabins.
Mobile diary notes of day 5: Slovenia looks attractive, if only for the high feel of normality. Driving its highway is pleasant, if we assume driving on highways pleasant. Its neighboring country is where we are heading. I went with Geo, as letting him do this unpleasant task alone would leave me feeling utterly unfair, irresponsible and even guilty. And isn’t shared suffering half suffering?
Mobile diary notes of day 6: Hello Hungary. Hi to the new. Hi to Hungary, with their Lada cars on patched-up roads and back-in-time atmosphere. Hi to the people and large patches of woods. Hi to the agricultural land and a language we can not make ourselves understood.
And, remarkably enough, once back, glancing over my shoulder, I kind of liked the truck trip. I have admiration for that beast, who made it effortlessly, droning its motor-block like a big buzzing bumble bee.
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