The way to the south


I lack the imagination. For that reason I have to pack, stuff into my pockets odds and ends, passport, money, and go see what it’s really like. Whenever the time of year or the weather changes, I have to pack up whatever I can’t do without and visit all those places I’ve been before, to make sure they still exist. Andrzej Stasiuk On the Road to Babadag: Travels in the Other Europe.

I’m in Portland. Together with chickens and Sara and Maya. We are sitting on the couch, playing a silly game which doesn’t even have a name. You may name it, if you can. I packed chickens into a backpack, then flew to the States, took the bike out of the garage, attached panniers and tomorrow I’m heading south. I have brought the sun to Oregon, outside over eighy degrees, a little unusal as for this part of the year. Hens will stay with the girls, they will have their own, cozy house.


Refinery and I are to hit the road again. Moomins are also coming with us. Ghosts fly through the open window in the evening. Everything will be fine. This time we will get where we are supposed to get and maybe finally we will stop for a bit.

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