Wanted to hitchhike from Budapest to Vienna
two hours and thirty minutes by car said Google
everything was ready
had asked God to give me the ability of right distinction and a safe arrival at my goal
but there was fear
because of being alone now
a man who held his hands at his belt and didn`t look me straight in the eyes but first did a quick bodyscan was enough to lose the trust that wasn`t there in the first place
a man whose girlfriend didn`t have small breasts and neither a wide t-shirt, but at least in that way I could see she was a woman,
to whom I told that I was looking for a lift to Vienna, looked at me and asked me What kind of lift do you mean
that was the last drop, no man would be trusted by me today, not even the trustable ones
most of the familycars were full and those who weren`t were taken by more fat than skinny people whose goal was rather the Mc Drive inn than Vienna
So after one hour I gave up and gave in to the longing for safety and security
The trainstation was within a 5 minutes walk so that was a nice present from the world
I payed 30 euro`s and sat in the fast modern jetrail whose charm was nothing compared to my love, the Balkan-express
But everything together, Eastern Europe had been crossed a bit more and Vienna was reached
where even the little sideways are huge and where vegetarians like to eat things in the form of sausages and even lobsters and where I saw Jan and Els, the first familiar faces since a long time
I realize that I`m not giving Europe the respect she deserves by crossing her in such a hurry
but for the moment there is no time
and neither time to lose
on the 31st of may I am expected to be at Roland Garros because that is a present from my sister whom I`ll meet in exactly four days
unbelievable
From the day I set foot in Istanbul again, the West is slowly coming back into the veins
the safe traffic, the metrosystem that leads you to wherever you need to go, that warns you for the gap!, that tells you which way you should get out!, that costs you as much as two meals in India!, the women wearing whatever they feel like, the supermarkets where there`s nothing you can`t buy, the places where there is space for art to be made and to be seen, the terrasses, the weather, unreliable as ever,
the cows that are not on the street anymore, the garbage that is being collected!, the eyes of the people not staring at you anymore, the atm`s that have to be visited by me much more frequently than before
and so on
coming back from the East via Istanbul and slowly making my way to Belgium
a good way to get used again to this great, exhausting, peaceful, capitalist, familiar, secure world where I was born
for the next few hours I am in Munich
then there will be a nightbus to Paris
the last stop before
HOME
donderdag 27 mei 2010
zondag 23 mei 2010
zaterdag 22 mei 2010
I could cry again but I won't
because I am in a coffee bar at the railwaystation in Sofia maybe
I could cry because of the beautiful way all things fall into
Arriving here at six in the morning and a train all the way to Budapest leaving at 12 am
Sofia. The woman behind the counter smokes
In fact, no woman who doesn't smoke
In fact, no man who doesn't smoke
A church where religion still means something for young and old
Fashion of the 80's without an ironical touch next to the newest expensive designers
And then the train!
You wouldn't get me more easily on the most luxurious cruise than on this incredibly romantic slowly but steadily moving oldtimer
A coupé all for myself
The train hasn't changed since it was made, in the 40's I would say but the sign says 1970, I believe
Don't go all the way to Russia for a transcontinental trainexperience.
Get on the Balkan-Express
What a treasure what a pleasure
For 60 euro I am traveling from Sofia all the way to Budapest
I couldn't be more at ease than here
I don't need to be anywhere else than here now
Smoothly on my way to the next stop, Budapest, where some singing friends called The Durgas who I once met by accident in Paris will be coincidently performing on sunday I heard from the girlfriend of a bandmember who appears to be a good friend of Jan, my good friend. What a world.
And then heading to Vienna where some biological and Belgian friend is living for already 4 months and I didn't know
That's enough looking forward, you never know what life will bring
But do me a favour, come and take this train
You should've left already
work will wait
And is in any case not that important as we think
come
I could cry because of the beautiful way all things fall into
Arriving here at six in the morning and a train all the way to Budapest leaving at 12 am
Sofia. The woman behind the counter smokes
In fact, no woman who doesn't smoke
In fact, no man who doesn't smoke
A church where religion still means something for young and old
Fashion of the 80's without an ironical touch next to the newest expensive designers
And then the train!
You wouldn't get me more easily on the most luxurious cruise than on this incredibly romantic slowly but steadily moving oldtimer
A coupé all for myself
The train hasn't changed since it was made, in the 40's I would say but the sign says 1970, I believe
Don't go all the way to Russia for a transcontinental trainexperience.
Get on the Balkan-Express
What a treasure what a pleasure
For 60 euro I am traveling from Sofia all the way to Budapest
I couldn't be more at ease than here
I don't need to be anywhere else than here now
Smoothly on my way to the next stop, Budapest, where some singing friends called The Durgas who I once met by accident in Paris will be coincidently performing on sunday I heard from the girlfriend of a bandmember who appears to be a good friend of Jan, my good friend. What a world.
And then heading to Vienna where some biological and Belgian friend is living for already 4 months and I didn't know
That's enough looking forward, you never know what life will bring
But do me a favour, come and take this train
You should've left already
work will wait
And is in any case not that important as we think
come
donderdag 20 mei 2010
I could cry but I won't
because I am in a soupbar maybe
or because I realize it is because of the corny music on television
The journey flashes frequently through head and body
Memories are there without being asked for
Are there, because they once have been lived
Because I wanted to
Because life has given me what I needed
Memories are there again because house is coming closer, because I am back in Istanbul
Again, like seven months ago, crossed the bridge that connects West and East
across the river that seperates West and East
I could have cried, or at least looked around in confusion, because I can walk around again in pants and t-shirt, because people here know about tourists, because of not being special anymore
Because there are no cows in the way anymore
Because the weather starts to ressemble that of the country in which I was born
Because it feels safe being in a place you know
As much as you don't want to admit it, as much as you want to call yourself a die-hard traveler, not afraid of unknown paths, holes in the ground that call themselves toilet,fruit- and vegetable markets in Pakistan, wooden things that call themselves bed,snakes,men in little villages,cold mountaintops,new people, all the time new people, diarreah that follows days of constipation etc., women sitting on your lap in the bus, dying people in trafficaccidents
still it feels good seeing the West again
the well-known signs of a Western city
How beautiful it all has been, it is good being on the road again. Home now
The only missing parts are the old familiar faces
The mama biting her nails for 8½ months now
the papa following uninterruptedly, sometimes from far, sometimes ın silence, sometimes with words of poems
The sister giving advise on the right moments and never not being there, not even in the night not
The best friend whose life has taken so many turns that it is almost abnormal that I wasn't there for her
Susan, who was the special companion at the very special beginning and has gone her own beautiful way afterwards
Lau, who was in the big middle part and is already applying all the lessons we have learned
Jan, who silently without me realizing it fully, gave me his silence and peace to take with
And all the other faces who have helped and followed
who are luckily all still there and who I will see,meet and befriend again one by one with all my gratitude
But first I will still have to come a little bit closer
The busticket to Sofia is in the pocket
Bulgaria
From there it goes to Budapest
In the trainstation of Istanbul a hand-written note was hanging saying that the trains to Europe are not in function and we don't know when they will work again
That's why I'll take the bus
Until it stops
or because I realize it is because of the corny music on television
The journey flashes frequently through head and body
Memories are there without being asked for
Are there, because they once have been lived
Because I wanted to
Because life has given me what I needed
Memories are there again because house is coming closer, because I am back in Istanbul
Again, like seven months ago, crossed the bridge that connects West and East
across the river that seperates West and East
I could have cried, or at least looked around in confusion, because I can walk around again in pants and t-shirt, because people here know about tourists, because of not being special anymore
Because there are no cows in the way anymore
Because the weather starts to ressemble that of the country in which I was born
Because it feels safe being in a place you know
As much as you don't want to admit it, as much as you want to call yourself a die-hard traveler, not afraid of unknown paths, holes in the ground that call themselves toilet,fruit- and vegetable markets in Pakistan, wooden things that call themselves bed,snakes,men in little villages,cold mountaintops,new people, all the time new people, diarreah that follows days of constipation etc., women sitting on your lap in the bus, dying people in trafficaccidents
still it feels good seeing the West again
the well-known signs of a Western city
How beautiful it all has been, it is good being on the road again. Home now
The only missing parts are the old familiar faces
The mama biting her nails for 8½ months now
the papa following uninterruptedly, sometimes from far, sometimes ın silence, sometimes with words of poems
The sister giving advise on the right moments and never not being there, not even in the night not
The best friend whose life has taken so many turns that it is almost abnormal that I wasn't there for her
Susan, who was the special companion at the very special beginning and has gone her own beautiful way afterwards
Lau, who was in the big middle part and is already applying all the lessons we have learned
Jan, who silently without me realizing it fully, gave me his silence and peace to take with
And all the other faces who have helped and followed
who are luckily all still there and who I will see,meet and befriend again one by one with all my gratitude
But first I will still have to come a little bit closer
The busticket to Sofia is in the pocket
Bulgaria
From there it goes to Budapest
In the trainstation of Istanbul a hand-written note was hanging saying that the trains to Europe are not in function and we don't know when they will work again
That's why I'll take the bus
Until it stops
dinsdag 11 mei 2010
the next step
Next monday the overlandtrip will make an exception on its name again
Considering the negative advise of many about crossing the Baluchistandesert and considering the time I have left to get back home,
I will take a plane to Istanbul.
The plane to Tehran was too expensive and the Iranian embassy wouldn`t allow me a visa in time.
So, heading to the West a bit faster than foreseen.
From Istanbul I will most probably cross Romania, Hungary, Austria.
But let us first reach Istanbul. Step by step.
Home is coming closer.
As well as lower temperatures.
From 12pm until 15pm one can do nothing here except lying on a bed and breathing the dry, hot air in and out.
But, no complaints. It is beautifully interesting here in Pakistan.
Happy to eventually have come here.
See you on the next step.
Considering the negative advise of many about crossing the Baluchistandesert and considering the time I have left to get back home,
I will take a plane to Istanbul.
The plane to Tehran was too expensive and the Iranian embassy wouldn`t allow me a visa in time.
So, heading to the West a bit faster than foreseen.
From Istanbul I will most probably cross Romania, Hungary, Austria.
But let us first reach Istanbul. Step by step.
Home is coming closer.
As well as lower temperatures.
From 12pm until 15pm one can do nothing here except lying on a bed and breathing the dry, hot air in and out.
But, no complaints. It is beautifully interesting here in Pakistan.
Happy to eventually have come here.
See you on the next step.
Pakistan - that is all
In Bhai Pheru, a village 70 km from Lahore, I meet father Leopold.
Father Leopold, or Bara Father, the big father, or Baba Ji, or father Ji, or Leopold Evens from Meeuwen-Gruitrode, Belgium, is living since 40 years in Pakistan. As missionary. But not to convert. Because that word is often being misinterpreted.
Father Leopold is here to help the Christians of Pakistan out of their miserable situation, to integrate them in this society where Christians are still often considered as untouchables. Unbelievable. Sometimes I feel as if I am being transported directly into the Middle Ages. Villages where Christians are living together in miserable conditions far from the centre, next to the open sewers. Muslims who, as I am being told, don’t want to talk to them, don’t want to touch them, don’t want to eat with them. This is what is happening in the villages, in the city they are apparently and luckily a few steps ahead. But here, where literate people are exceptional (only 25 percent of the population is literate),here the future of the Christians is often hopeless.
To help them to integrate and to release them from the status of untouchable, education is the key, father Leopold realized. When one is literate and well educated, then the kind of his religion only comes in second place. Then he is appreciated because of what he can do for the society. Christian, Sikh, Muslim or whatever.
That is why father Leopold started founding schools. For the Christians, because they needed it, but also for the Muslims, because bringing together these two religions is of utmost importance to get rid of the prejudices.
The Middle Ages are not far, seeing the working conditions and the feudal system. The largest part of the land is in the hands of a few who own factories, brick ovens, land for wheat. The villagers work for them, often living in houses – if a room with a bed can be given that name – next to the working place. For cement there is no money. Bricks are being piled up and that is called wall. They are fully dependent on the landlord who often doesn’t even give them the minimum wage. Many children don’t go to school, because that means two hands less to work meaning less income.
When these people could be given the opportunity of a good education, even only one member of the family becoming literate, then there is hope for a better, independent future.
That is what Father Leopold knows and what he lives for. Child by child, stone by stone, school by school. He doesn’t keep anything for himself. His patience is endless. “You need to have 25 years of patience.” That is what his predecessor, Father Henri, told him and what he himself found out to be the truth.
Between the houses of the brickers he has started at least three times a little school. Every time he was chased out by the bosses. Bosses, at least these ones, don’t like smart people.
Under the name St. Paul’s educational system, Father Leopold has founded 15 schools now and 60 churches, spread throughout the villages of this parish as big as the Belgian province of Limburg.
Much money is needed. He doesn’t always know where it is coming from. People he never met before, but who hear about him and his work, and know that it is right what he is doing, transfer money or send containers. From different parts of the world.
In Bhai Pheru, where the missionary is based, there’s a hostel for boys and one for girls and a school. Since one week I am staying here. Filming. To show people what is happening here. To translate my amazement about the situation in images – the Middle Ages, they still exist, really. To capture the love that Father Leopold gives and is. There are almost no words for it, there are maybe images for it. I try.
Love, when pure and true, seems to be endless. As well as gratitude. The children of the hostel are eating out of his hands, hanging at his clothes, his beard. They realize, some more consciously than others, that they have been given an uncommon chance to improve their and their family’s lives. Everyone passing by, or visited by Father Leopold -parents, babies, Christians and Muslims, dogs and their puppies- everyone knows that he is here to help them. Not to help himself. His life is a life devoted to the weak, the suppressed, the children, the poor. Everything is in function of them. When the electricity runs out (from 6 hours per day up to 24 hours) he gets angry and irritated. Because the water pump doesn’t work anymore. Not because he can’t take a shower, but because of the children being out of water, the people of the neighborhood being out of water. Luckily the hostel has a generator, but what should the normal people do? Without water, without power? He wonders sweating in his sleeveless shirt. One fan, attached to the battery, is still working. The temperature is around 40°C now in may in Pakistan.
I watch with big eyes. Never before have I seen so much gratitude all together, never before have I been so close to the misery of people, never before have I realized so strongly how lucky a Belgian is.
Every day someone passes by, from nearby or from far away, with a gift. The first milk of the cow that has just given birth. They don’t possess much more than that cow. They can’t afford the journey nor the gift. But still. The Christian brickers we visit offer us meat and cola and fruit. Meat! That’s a few days’ wage, they can’t afford that. And still. And that shows the sincerity of their gratitude. After having spent a week here I know that their gratitude is rectified.
I learn what being a Christian actually means. Giving love. That is all. No sermons, no empty prayers. But help, food, education, hugs and chances. That is all. That is really all.
Father Leopold, or Bara Father, the big father, or Baba Ji, or father Ji, or Leopold Evens from Meeuwen-Gruitrode, Belgium, is living since 40 years in Pakistan. As missionary. But not to convert. Because that word is often being misinterpreted.
Father Leopold is here to help the Christians of Pakistan out of their miserable situation, to integrate them in this society where Christians are still often considered as untouchables. Unbelievable. Sometimes I feel as if I am being transported directly into the Middle Ages. Villages where Christians are living together in miserable conditions far from the centre, next to the open sewers. Muslims who, as I am being told, don’t want to talk to them, don’t want to touch them, don’t want to eat with them. This is what is happening in the villages, in the city they are apparently and luckily a few steps ahead. But here, where literate people are exceptional (only 25 percent of the population is literate),here the future of the Christians is often hopeless.
To help them to integrate and to release them from the status of untouchable, education is the key, father Leopold realized. When one is literate and well educated, then the kind of his religion only comes in second place. Then he is appreciated because of what he can do for the society. Christian, Sikh, Muslim or whatever.
That is why father Leopold started founding schools. For the Christians, because they needed it, but also for the Muslims, because bringing together these two religions is of utmost importance to get rid of the prejudices.
The Middle Ages are not far, seeing the working conditions and the feudal system. The largest part of the land is in the hands of a few who own factories, brick ovens, land for wheat. The villagers work for them, often living in houses – if a room with a bed can be given that name – next to the working place. For cement there is no money. Bricks are being piled up and that is called wall. They are fully dependent on the landlord who often doesn’t even give them the minimum wage. Many children don’t go to school, because that means two hands less to work meaning less income.
When these people could be given the opportunity of a good education, even only one member of the family becoming literate, then there is hope for a better, independent future.
That is what Father Leopold knows and what he lives for. Child by child, stone by stone, school by school. He doesn’t keep anything for himself. His patience is endless. “You need to have 25 years of patience.” That is what his predecessor, Father Henri, told him and what he himself found out to be the truth.
Between the houses of the brickers he has started at least three times a little school. Every time he was chased out by the bosses. Bosses, at least these ones, don’t like smart people.
Under the name St. Paul’s educational system, Father Leopold has founded 15 schools now and 60 churches, spread throughout the villages of this parish as big as the Belgian province of Limburg.
Much money is needed. He doesn’t always know where it is coming from. People he never met before, but who hear about him and his work, and know that it is right what he is doing, transfer money or send containers. From different parts of the world.
In Bhai Pheru, where the missionary is based, there’s a hostel for boys and one for girls and a school. Since one week I am staying here. Filming. To show people what is happening here. To translate my amazement about the situation in images – the Middle Ages, they still exist, really. To capture the love that Father Leopold gives and is. There are almost no words for it, there are maybe images for it. I try.
Love, when pure and true, seems to be endless. As well as gratitude. The children of the hostel are eating out of his hands, hanging at his clothes, his beard. They realize, some more consciously than others, that they have been given an uncommon chance to improve their and their family’s lives. Everyone passing by, or visited by Father Leopold -parents, babies, Christians and Muslims, dogs and their puppies- everyone knows that he is here to help them. Not to help himself. His life is a life devoted to the weak, the suppressed, the children, the poor. Everything is in function of them. When the electricity runs out (from 6 hours per day up to 24 hours) he gets angry and irritated. Because the water pump doesn’t work anymore. Not because he can’t take a shower, but because of the children being out of water, the people of the neighborhood being out of water. Luckily the hostel has a generator, but what should the normal people do? Without water, without power? He wonders sweating in his sleeveless shirt. One fan, attached to the battery, is still working. The temperature is around 40°C now in may in Pakistan.
I watch with big eyes. Never before have I seen so much gratitude all together, never before have I been so close to the misery of people, never before have I realized so strongly how lucky a Belgian is.
Every day someone passes by, from nearby or from far away, with a gift. The first milk of the cow that has just given birth. They don’t possess much more than that cow. They can’t afford the journey nor the gift. But still. The Christian brickers we visit offer us meat and cola and fruit. Meat! That’s a few days’ wage, they can’t afford that. And still. And that shows the sincerity of their gratitude. After having spent a week here I know that their gratitude is rectified.
I learn what being a Christian actually means. Giving love. That is all. No sermons, no empty prayers. But help, food, education, hugs and chances. That is all. That is really all.
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