Dravel Tream

And how would it be  … ?  Being away, “free”, floating ?
No obligations, no “other half”, no persons no job no limits. Nothing that pins one down to a certain situation or designation, a place on earth or on mind. Free to move, to follow whims – and, let’s assume, no monetary limits – ? Unbehaust, perhaps ?
With the smallest bag for essentials and spare clothes, a very useful west with pockets to carry stuff at the body, some electronic devices to keep you connected. And the best shoes one can buy for money : Shoes are essential !
I’d carry a pair of dancing shoes in a spare bag. Don’t laugh. I’m a terrible dancer, but I try, and know how to use my a**e.
Using cabs, buses, planes, boats – all transport where you do not drive yerself – I’m a passenger. (YES ! Of course it’s Iggy.) I want to look out, see the scenery, watch the light … driving is work, I do not want to work, I want to travel : Going places, hey !
How much would a cabby charge in a place like London / Paris / Barcelona / Turino / Vienna / Rome (!) / Berlin / Warszawa or Athens when you ask for being driven around for some hours ? Of course one should have a basic idea about the place, but wouldn’t it be great to just sit and watch – as life pulses by, as architecture changes from imperial via bourgeois to wtf, just being allowed to look at things as they happen.
I’d ask cap drivers in NewYork, Frisco, KualaLumpur, Jakartha, Delhi, Bombay, Peking, Kairo, Tehran, Moscow – and a lot of other places – “just show me the place” : Here is a map, this place’s name sounds nice, oh and here is even a picture of something – let’s go !
I would not snap pictures then – I’d be too overwhelmed with all : I’d just sit and look and allow it all storm at me. I’d take pictures at some points of this voyage, not outer locations, but when it feels right to me, and would have no idea what they’d show.
I’d need some kind of electronic supervisor, something that would record where I’d be. I think I’d get lost after the second aeroplane latest – especially because I hate to fly by aeroplane and it would need some severe drugs to calm me down. At least I want to be stoned beyond recognition when the effing tin can hits the ocean.
Going by ship would be something different : More time, more reflection, better pictures – and my liver would also appreciate.
Is travelling the art of getting lost ?
I doubt. Usually it is about getting from A to B, without hassle, in style, and without too much unwanted surprises.
What I am dreaming of is blowing up the bubble and then pushing it onwards until it bursts, perhaps finding a new direction.
Hey, it’s a dream. And i’m just jabbering …

Quick Update

I spend the evening mostly at the local waterhole, the Mogwash Arms. The locals were a bit, well reluctant in the beginning, but in the course of the evening it became pretty entertaining. A man called Sebastian insisted on a kind of ABBA-sing-along. I think he is also a member of the local teabagging-society. I may have gotten this wrong, but it could be related to the Teebeutelweitwurf of Eastern Frisia. Always astounding what survives in remote regions, maybe there is something to the romantische Kontinuitätsprämisse I just did not get.
The ice was broken and there were some charades or pantomimes. Especially impressive was a kangaroo that lost its tail, the crowd went wild and everybody wanted to touch this strange object. I tried to record the incantations, but somehow my trusted phone would not work.
When order was restored I found myself at the table  with a Canadian lady, who showed impressive drinking abilities. She introduced herself as “Mistress NK” and was in the company of some colourful characters, fellow diggers perhaps ?
I remember that there was talk about something like bond & bail and a tall gentleman from Texas insisted that I carry lots of gay coloured bracelets as a precaution, so be it, if they do not cumber with the digging.
I learned a new word – toodlepipski – travelling educates – and then went back to this idyllic guesthouse of Mr. Bates (free wifi), humming ABBA’s greasiest hits.
Ah, the Mogwash parking lot is my oyster !
Toodlepipski y’all, as The Lady said.