Day 82. Miracles never last long

There are days when you leave a campsite from hell with a big road running behind a wall 10 meters from your tent and a sunday gathering of christian choirs on the field on the left side, singing about Jesus since 8 in the morning (amplified) ready to continue all day, to find a fairytale house along the Danube where you get a cheap room with a balcony from where you can almost touch the boats that are passing by and in the empty living room - I am the only guest in the house - there is a choice between Bob Dylan, lute music from the 16th century and Charlie Parker with strings. The clouds that have been getting darker since the choir started singing even waited until I stepped inside, but not a minute longer. I took it as a sign. It will rain the coming days. It is time to practise staying.

 ...... and on a day like that you might end up drinking champaign with an 80 year old circus acrobate while a former pulmonologist - a physician who knows all about lungs - is preparing you a plaice (fish, no lungs there) in saffran sauce. And afterwards you can go for a stroll along the mighty Danube under your pink umbrella and fall asleep in a soft bed.

And then you wake up in the morning and you decide to stay two more nights to enjoy this small paradise, to work quietly, to hear yourself breath, to sit on your balcony and stare at the Danube, to rethink what has happened in the last 80+ days before you walk the final 180 kilometers, before you will arrive. And then the drilling starts. And when you walk to the other house where the breakfast is served you see the rock they are trying to drill away, it is massive, it is a monster rock, they are trying to master it and turn it into the foundation of a house. And the man who rented me the room in the fairytale house tells me there isn't really a problem, I can take the bike and cycle along the Danube and find a spot where it is quiet. And he doesn't understand how much I need a house today, how difficult it is to go back to the decisionmaking again, the ever returning question, "do I stay or do I leave?" And I almost fall in the trap to think it is unfair and I didn't deserve this but it is nonsense. On the road I have my human rights. They don't include silence and happiness. And tomorrow will be another day. I might still be here. Or on my way. In the end it is the same thing. It doesn't matter.