Glimpses

Some glimpses from my latest journey and investigation. Beneath, an impossible rainbow I happened upon last year in Carinthia. I hope my words can depict these glimpses more eloquently than my hands!

Letters from Europe

Bread, Water & Washing Lines

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“...In some ways the sky fills the entire canvas, as the pale muted colours are reflected in this water beneath. The landscape features of a distant town, windmill or trees are steeped in these same tones and remain a part of the haze, unable to become subject matter...”

“...As soon as we were off the ferry we headed North for the beach at Cap Gris Nez and for somewhere to catch a little sleep. The day was still very young and the air that whistled through our open windows was fresh with dew...”

“...The flats meant I could see everything. I was being given an age to digest each vision. So I could see where I was going to be in an hour’s time, I was actually looking into my future...”

“...Outside, strange things are happening. Men in cream gowns march through the trees with chunky axes, two cows with long horns pull a cart in the opposite direction, and girls in peasant dress wave sweetly from it. Noisier still is an old tram that rattles past. There are chickens. There are windmills...”

We cross the over Waal, one of the major distributaries of the Rhine, and I realise the effect this heavy and hazy sky is having on me. This weather, this atmosphere seems to create a still moment, despite the speeding traffic, which is trapped. It feels eternal, like the paintings, and I find myself needing to take an impossible breath.

“...We asked the groom about his tartan trousers. Jeff explained that the Celtic tradition in Belgium had long since died out but he had Scottish blood from his grandparents and was eager to keep alive a little of his heritage and identity...”

“...We’re in Groenplaats however, and for very good reason – it is the Beer Passion Weekend. We’ve got our glasses, we’ve got our tokens, but before we can make up our minds on where to begin they are made up for us by a beckoning hand and the reliable refrain of “lekker lekker” – something like “tasty tasty”...”

Landschap III

“...I’m stood in front of a sheer cliff. My eyes dart wildly from various nooks and crannies, my neck pulled back horribly to try to comprehend such enormity, which towers impossibly above me, dwarfing even the multistory buildings behind...”

“...Here comes a barge now, humming as it slowly drags itself upstream towards Koblenz. The water is pushed up by its bow and this creates a flowing curve down the long sides of the boat. Its cargo is granite, its flag is Dutch, its wake will arrive in thirty seconds...”

“...A 1935 ‘Old-Timer’, painted brightly, somewhere between sky blue and turquoise, is almost as old as the man driving it. He is holding up the traffic...”

“...Lorelei, fair maiden was she, no longer felt loved by sir nasty he. She asked, begged to know what, changed hearts, couldn’t see, and took she to the rock to sing forlornly...”

“...But imagine instead that night is falling, and a tremendous storm is brewing, with wind whistling down the gorge and roughing up the waters. You’re making your way downstream, when, out of the darkness this spiky structure appears suddenly, right in the middle of the river...”

“...It seems incredible that there could be so many: this short 35 mile stretch, from Koblenz up to Bingen, holds more castles than any other river valley in the world...”

“...My knowledge of German wine could be summed up by the agglutination of these three words: lieb, frau and milch. And, as Monika, our wine-tasting host kindly pointed out – using fingers, a tongue and a disgusted grimace – this hardly constituted wine...”

“...Unlike other apiaries, the bees we found here were not carted about the country to pollinate for us, they were kept for good old honey, as the slightly demonic-looking but good natured bear outside testified...”

Earlier I was stood under these tall coniferous trees for shelter from the downpour. Now I’m under the same trees by the waters edge, looking deep into the romance of a misty lake at dusk, and although the sky is now clear, raindrops keep falling on my head, the water having finally filtered down though all these pine needles.

“...Here is St George, patron saint of England. He stands tall, in full shining armour, with the dragon slain (and this a little smaller than I had imagined) beneath his mighty feet. In his hand is his simple shield, decorated proud white with red cross...”

“...Beyond them is Achim, hysterical with laughter, and just as keen to make us welcome. His favourite phrase (at least this evening) is “Crazy Germans!” followed by more, almost maniacal laughter, which is truly contagious...”

“...We’re up high now, with only the Belchen mountain able to look down at us. I look up at it. It is shaped as a bell, and bald; the treeline giving it the appearance of a monk...”

“...The National Park stretches off to the south and east of the city, and the landscape is rich. The forest isn’t the thick impenetrable ocean it once was but large stretches of pine, spruce and fir rise up on top of one another over the rounded mountains....”

“...It is not hard to see why the beliefs that have shaped our continent were forged. The earlier religions in particular took great inspiration from these amazing natural happenings, in fact explanations for these occasions are vital still. We need to make sense of what is around us....”

“...It is apparently doubtful that King Ludwig II of Bavaria was as mad as was claimed. But Schloss Neuschwanstein, his castle and perhaps his ‘masterpiece’, is most certainly bonkers....”

“...Its overwhelming interior is perfect for restless eyes and the painting, endless decorations, trompe l’oeil, and of course the gold, are a remarkable feast, and one impossible to digest....”

“...The beer was passed to me with a knowing smile. All around were jolly faces and, I sensed, anticipation. The large mug it was passed in was clearly extraordinary; it was slightly asymmetrical and dented, and more it was hand painted with loose images of beer shenanigans...”

“...On the farm are three pigs, and not just any pigs, but famous pigs! Michael and Johanna are paid to look after these animals, and the pigs’ swaggers and contented gruntings suggest they are more than aware of this comfort...”

“...Things didn’t go that way however, war had moved on, and the Sarajevo assassination of June 28th 1914 became, as the writer Claudio Magris puts it, “the pistol shots of the suicide of Europe”...”

“...A wise man once taught me that “Marillenkuche ist die beste Kuche”, and if I tell you that Marillen are apricots and that Kuche is cake, you can imagine how best I might follow this most Austrian advice...”

“...From the top we gaped in awe at our 360 degree panorama, drenched in another slow summers sunset. A falcon landed on an adjacent crumbling pillar, and it too surveyed the land beneath, albeit a little more urgently than we needed to. It swooped off and began dizzying us with its circles. We lay back watching, my legs wobbling somewhat from the heights and the edge...”

Here “Glimpses” dives underground a little as I now make more time for the book I am working on; a book that will act as a culmination of these works. I hope this has acted as an introduction into my work on the road, and will gladly continue to add updates to this page as the journey continues. For now these are forced to be less linear however, glimpses of glimpses if you like, and in time the full extent will be made available.

“...Previous visits still can’t prevent a soft ‘wow’ from whistling from my lips as I stroll along the western promenade of bluest blue Lake Bled or make my way down the magical Vintgar Gorge. Nor when I swim in the clear icy mirror of the lake here can I help but shake my head in muted, slightly stunned, applause...”

“...My heart is beating faster than is helpful. But the track just falls away on one side, tilting the van horribly and suddenly a hole. “Watch out!” A boulder threatens to rip our underside. Another edge. Down again, but still no sign of the end. Up, up, wheelspin, back, up. “Bang!”...”

NEW!

“...We are heading for Pejë, a city in the West of Europe’s newest country (at least recognised as such by most). But Kosovo lies on the other side of a huge mountain range in front of us, and even my poor map acknowledges there will have to be some wriggling to get over...”

NEW!