Why did I wait 24 years before learning how to walk? Now I'm coming to my senses, and I'm loving every bit of it. I refuse any other transport than my own two feet, making my speed sway between 6 and 7 km/h, and my daily distance between 30 and 40 km. That's slow enough for me to see every stunning detail nature has to offer, see every face, answer anyone's curious questions. It is beautiful beyond words.
This seemed quite bad at first. The home-made hinge between my bike and my cart just snapped. I stood there completely dumb for a good half-hour before realizing what this meant: the world is telling me to get rid of half of my belongings. I had the choice between the bike, and the cart. You know how I preach minimalism: this time, the joke's on me.
As we all know, every end is a new beginning. The end of my hinge is the beginning of the real pilgrimage: I keep only the cart and must go on by foot. It will be slow. I will have to leave my habits and learn how to walk. And yes, this is the greatest, most fortunate bulls**t that has ever happened to me.
For almost a week, Isar River showed me the way. It gave me countless amazing places to sleep, it cleaned me, it washed my clothes, entertained me, and replaced my map. What a good friend to have.
Crossing Switzerland, I felt a bit like this llama in the Alps: not unwelcome, but definitely from another continent! What a contrast between my hobo life and these Swiss luxury dwellings. But it was funny, and it made people laugh. I loved it.
I'm back on the road, free as a bird, after more than one year of a nearly-sedentary lifestyle. First mission: head North-East to make my way around the Swiss Alps, through Germany and Czech Republic. The air is cool, and my friend Spring is just around the corner. It's a good day to be a bum!
They call themselves Companions. Some call them Journeymen, Wandergeseller, or Apprentice Craftsmen. Many countries have seen such a community, and no matter what we choose to call them, the underlying principle remains the same: learn the art of creating with your hands in the midst of a family always willing to teach you, to learn from you, and to learn with you. In today's world manual jobs are often considered lowly. But what these guys do is push their skill and teamwork until it becomes an art, a master's craft. The photo above, the House of Companions in which we all live, gives an idea of what they build.
The first Companion Craftsman (rather craftswoman) I met was Kurela, a German stonemason who happened to be living in the l'Ane Vert Community, Morocco, to help us make stone paths and stairs. She convinced me straight away. I realized I had to learn from more experienced people in order to help build a better world with my hands. One way to help the world and its people is to build shelter for those in need, and know-how is a jewel. So I left my hippy life in l'Ane Vert, not without a touch of sadness, and joined the school and community of the Companion Craftsmen. They sent me to Nantes, a city in Brittany, North-Western France, with the mission of becoming a roofer.
I spent one year following the schedule offered by the School of Companions. Building roofs is heaps of fun! It was rich in learning, but especially rich in relations. I lived with so many people with whom flowered beautiful friendships - deeper than anything I had imagined before signing in to this cold-looking city life. We would spend all day learning and goofing around at work, and all night tripping out. What a life!
But enough of the West. India is calling me.
...and the end is the beginning. Being complete means being at the beginning, yet knowing that the end is not elsewhere, in space or in time.
I migrated there and I migrated back. I made my little loop, I completed a cycle. I donated The Hermit Crab to the l'Ane Vert community in Morocco and made my way back to Switzerland pulling a little cart behind me that I built by African standards: rusty iron rods and junk wheels hammered together with scrap wood and nails. I then walked, hitchhiked, took local buses, trains, and a boat to cross morocco, Spain, and France. By some miracle, my rusty cart held together until 10 minutes before getting home!
So here I am, at the starting point, without bike or crab, the same as before it even started. And yet, I have something more. Understanding of the cyclical nature of life, and the world. Birth and death is the same process. Materially, you end up just where you started, no difference. You may find that despairing, and you'd be right. The material world, stripped from spirit, is pointless and despairing. That's why we are scared of death, that's why we wear seatbelts. But if we look into this cyclical nature of life, we start to touch its underlying spiritual side. It is not pointless at all, or despairing - it is in fact rich, and beautiful, and deep beyond words. Like all of us, I am more than just my body. I am a cycle, and nothing will stop that cycle.
Thank you for listening folks, and may whatever come!
I repeat, Heidi is in the kitchen! As for Spot, he thinks he's a cake
Paradise kidnapped me! I'm living a life-changing story at the green donkey a.k.a. l'Âne Vert. It's one of these rare places where love reigns instead of money. We chill out, we chill in, we build a house, we sleep ontop of eachother, we go surfing, get high, fight Walter the Donkey, repare shit, run naked at the beach early in the morning, we even throw eggs sometimes.
In other words, life's good and we're living it!
The Crabavan is in the photo. Find it!
That's the name of the jewish neighborhood of Essaouira. Their ceilings are literally falling on their heads, and none of these buildings are abandoned. That's where I met a funny french guy named Damien (left), who happened to notice my bike on a small sandy road. He was walking with his shaman, an old moroccan man full of wisdomness and depthity, and said, “nice bike dude!”.
On the right, here I am with Ashak, the old shaman, in his home. This is a photo of his whole home, which wasn’t hard to take considering it measures 4 square meters. Bottom line is, I spent one week in Damien’s place in Essaouira, amazing place of material poverty, inner wealth, and above all compassion.
- Good evening, this is the police
- Shit (very softly). Good evening.
- Are you intending to spend the night here?
- Uh, well… you see, the night came and uh…
- We can't let you spend the night on this land, there's dangerous people (always the same excuse but it's not true). Take your bike and move further on.
...
(I start packing my stuff to leave)
...
- Are you alone? No friend?
- My friends are everywhere. They include you as well as the dangerous people you talked about. That's why nothing can happen to me.
(The cops think for a moment)
- Goodbye, we wish you a pleasant night and welcome you to Morocco.
Love always prevails!
