Crtd 12-08-24 Lastedit 15-10-27

This is another new start in life (I lost count of them), though I do not know what exactly is starting ^{[go to my previous life]}. I have several options, the main ("plan Rio") one is to put my cabin Southern Portugal, learn Portuguese and the modern Brazilian music repertoire (I play saxophone), then off to Rio de Janeiro. But I like not to choose for a while and enjoy the limbo. The Netherlands never felt like my lands of promises, and that got more pronounced by a 10 year absence while in Africa. When I left I erroneously thought that at least it could not get worse with red tape, nonsense regulation and silly standards of political correctness. Moreover, my parents (89) vehemently reproached me on table manners, and visiting my sister, going to sleep in my micro camper (see below), the neighbours immediately called the police. A blond uniformed cow woke me up. Her male partner stayed hidden. She thoroughly checked my car, and called base to have my passport verified ("Hallo, kun je even een persoontje voor me verifieren?"). The respondent at Police gave totally wrong details about me, which fortunately were thought uneventful. My irritation of this Dutch treat was visible: she asked me about it. I told her it was because there were three burglaries going on in her district and she was not there. Somehow this made her a bit friendlier. I was told, now on a helping an informing tone, that sleeping in my car was not allowed (fine 120 euros, she knew by heart, did not have to check). At my question about the thousands at this very moment all sleeping at Dutch highway fuel station parkings she replied that was not public space, "it is complicated", she added. I nodded understandingly. After all, we are in The Netherlands. At home in Uganda you do everything because it is all allowed, here because it is all forbidden anyway. In Uganda, police stops you to blackmail you into paying a bribe. Dutch police merely spends, seeing my Ugandan number plate, a minute or 15 to check all my documents (three times a week on average), then tells you not to sleep in your car and parts. Fortunately, in Germany, France, Spain and Portugal I had no such experience ever. This is a purely Dutch phenomenon. But notorious. I even was taken from the highway by a police car with a "POLICE FOLLOW" sign on the rear window.

... Willem II channel, Netherlands. New addition to the inventory of my microcamper ("de boot"): ball costume (hanging left) ...

Another issue is my atrial fibrillation. It is a recurrent non dangerous heart beat irregularity. I have it for 15 years every now and then. The heart's pumping capacity goes down, so all longer-duration strain such as climbing causes Olympic final lap sensations. When you get older the irregular periods usually get more frequent and longer. In the past years it started to last from three days up to a week. The record was nine days. Moreover, the regular periods got shorter. My present fibrillation looks like a quantum leap. It started almost three weeks ago. It seems realistic to assume this will get permanent. Or it may already have become so. You can get very old with it, but there is a limit to body exertion, borderline issues to be inquired are paragliding (probably no more fun) and golf, hopefully though tiring just doable. The first job is to go through the initial frustration, like suddenly considering all-important some things you can't do anymore while actually you did not attach much value to them while you still had the capability, and blaming small discomfort like acid stomach or substandard brain function on fibrillation instead of the true causes ranging  from extreme heat to hangover, etc.

On the road. My destination is Le Raffour, an hour's drive into the mountains behind Grenoble, where I should find my mobile cabin or its remains. Just in case I find all well, I carry a full "wheel" of Gouda cheese for Dominique, the goat cheese farmer and seller on whose farm I left the cabin. But I last saw it 4 years ago.

The public road sports a host of new signposts since I last was in Europe. First price for ridicule, category Netherlands, is beyond reasonable doubt: "Auto te gast". It can be observed on Dutch shopping and small country roads. I immediately went on-line to check whether the Netherlands "Wegenverkeersreglement" contained a new term "gast". But no.  Now this is a good occasion to study the Dutch culture of hospitality. In many countries, when you think of "guest", you immediately imagine entire wild pigs being put on the fire, heavy casks of old wine born in with big smiles and strained muscles and musicians unpacking their instruments. But this, as "auto te gast" neatly illustrates is NOT what "gast" means in Dutch. In the Netherlands it means: you are, by grace of the host, allowed access. You are supposed to be grateful, humble, attentive to the tiniest of your host's wishes, and you should not make the mistake to think you have any rights whatsoever. If you carefully attend those rules you will be tolerated.

In French Belgium huge signposts on highways state: Conduire trop vite ne prouve rien. (Driving too fast proves nothing). In the Dutch part Sabine ("21" is added as her specification) gets the floor and is quoted te hard rijden vind ik een afknapper. (Driving too fast for me is a letdown). We are obviously invited to imagine Sabine sitting next to her new date driving her to the disco. Too fast. The date is invited to realize he lost it already.

But leaving the Belgian discos behind and entering France, there is shocking news on the French electronic signpost-front! That scene used to be dominated by the French highway poet:

But this Assurancetourix, always so delightfully shortening your trip, has been chased off the French high budget electronic road information boards and is replaced by:

Look how anxious the new texting appointee has been to use tutoyement (arrête), since "arrêtez" would make an accidental rhyme. This matter has been dealt with seriously. No more rhyme!!

Indeed it was hot. During the day temperatures rose well over 40^oC and the electronic boards changed into something appealing more to my sense of drama:

Though naturally I was more worried about my wheel of Gouda cheese. Another new text, more regularly appearing below Dijon and also off the highway:

This encouragement to drive lower than local maximum speed is especially effective on single lane roads where only one environmentally responsible citizen can cause kilometers of jam.

Finally beware that:

Prochaine sortie
Gendarmerie
Is accidental
Poetry 

... cabin intact (tires still full!), well protected by high stinging nettles ... background: Chaine de Belledonne (wolves!), East slope

... precious finds: floppy disks, Montaigne, voyage à la côte des Cafres ...

... it is all forbidden anyway ...

The forbidding heat prompted me to sleep on 1600 m, on the highly scenic garden and forestry refuse dump of the mountain village Villard Reculas. The next morning I woke up by a live alto saxophone playing with a car radio background. I peeped out of my car, saw a civilised gentleman practising jazz standards, quit my sleeping bag and grabbed my soprano sax to join him. While assembling my instrument he already came to apologize he woke me up, but I said: OK but now I am awake, I join you! He turned out a retired nuclear engineer from the Marseille region. While playing I wanted to take an automatic picture of the two of us but pressed the wrong button, so it inadvertently became a video.

... Fleeing the heat ... picture taken half way Pic du Col d'Ornon (1600 m, Villard Notre Dame) direction ENE Bourge du Chambon/Les Deux Alpes ...

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