paljajalu asfaldil

It is 28 degrees out today! I have discreetly escaped indoors avoiding getting those extra brown spots that appear on my frail Nordic skin like people to the queue for a tourist attraction. Welding sounds from downstairs are periodically muffling Eddie Vedders voice who I had put on after hearing a street musician playing his songs on the bank of the Tangus River this morning. Morning, that had started with a few sunny-side-up eggs and sweet strawberries that I picked up from a corner shop. I was strolling the streets of Lisbon with just a camera and 35 mm film as my companion to my thoughts. After an swift eye-contact, a stranger approached me questioning my odd non-touristic behaviour. Brief and a little bashful introducing stage followed and ended with a shy question "How did you end up here?" I saw the curiosity in his eyes and a sweat bubble on his forehead. The wish to kill the awkwardness between the two, courageous enough to talk to each other, strangers I told him about..

„..the summer of 2011 when we took on a low-budget hitck-hiking trip to Southern-Europe. Trip for what 187 GBP was enough to spend on a tent and a sunscreen, two sleeping bags, approximately 56 liters of water, 78 sandwiches and a map that covered all the 2325,3 km of the journey that started from Faro, Portugal. Trip that was a year ago cancelled because of the eruption of Eyjafjallajökull. Though, recreated by passionate and foolishly inexperienced young travellers. A map and a sunscreen seemed invention of comfort and fear! Only after shedding like a snake when its skin shackles his growing, we springed up in a full extent!

We were there! In the wild! Hungry, tired and in pain. Feeling everything why people have built the cages to live in, so that society could take care of those needs and hide those possibilities. Still looking for comfort from that same surroundings that we had left behind. So we heard back from a couchsurfer, who had a place for us in his apartment in Lisbon. It was him who introduced us to the narrow streets of Alfama. Fado music touched our Northern souls the way we let someone kiss us the first time. We had felt the freedom and happiness partially. It only became real when shared with others. With music! With dancing! With conversations with strangers! The night was spent on a mattress and a cold shower washed off the confusion. Only the nostalgia and the sunburn were left. „Nao faz mal!“ said our host and handed us a tube of an aloe cream.“