My self-chosen life as a vagabond

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September 2nd 2009
Published: September 2nd 2009
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Forest frogForest frogForest frog

in Poland
Torun, 24-07-2001.

Torun surely has charm, a soul reaching touch of clasic admosphere that breaches the charactre of this ancient realm of the Teutonic Knights, small cobble-stoned streets overshadowed by mighty churches which ghotic appaerance makes me feel small and insignificant...

A ring of powerfull looking walls surrounding the inner city is testomony of my first visit to this ancient place. A light rain drizzling down on my head while I push my overloaded iron lady through near-empty streets, my sweaty and rained upon head trying to make an owl's turning, trying hard to take it all in. The omnimous darkness of the thunderstorm as yet awaiting me ignoring, I look for a small bar for lunch...back to tasteless Polish froth that the locals gobble down like it is a bowl of Red Wine with the fermented grapes still floating atop but I myself find rediculously overestimated...

Still...sitting in this small little Imbiss working on a weird potato dish - Polish froth already amazingly fast behind my throat, surrounded by quiet and submissive looking clientĂȘle, my head still full with Stories of Hope of my fellow campers back in Malbork, having come from the corners of the world
My camping placeMy camping placeMy camping place

in the forest
in search of a better life while I set out from Amsterdam with my cr*ppy old bike in search of the life of a vagabond, no money in the pocket, the forest my chosen nightly home...

Convinced of the rightiously of my chosen life style I leave the Imbiss cycling back down the road, back to that small forest I discovered a few kilometer before reaching Torun, back to that small lake where the forest frogs were huge and bold, their loud frog communication will be the music to my weary ears that I heard last night while drinking beer with African fortune seekers, the melangoly inspiring chores on Gipsy fiddles...

Through the patter of rain on top of my tent I can hear the frogs still insistent on their mating calls, procreation is on their reptilian minds tonight. The sinister sound of an owl preparing for the mid night hunt...I am back in my self-sought solitary vagabond excistence feeling tranquil and peacefull of mind after three weeks of excersize and living it rough...


5th September 2009

Great sketches. :)

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