Best System is a Sound System ~ Bordeaux, FR Rave Protest 4/13/24

It was a day of protest Saturday, April 13th 2024 with 5 or so music trucks walking along the streets in Bordeaux, France.

pics of the street music protest and band playing 4/13/24 at Deus Ex Machina Bordeaux

I had just arrived in Bordeaux by train from Montpellier hours earlier – a 7am train after having to reschedule a train that would have arrived at midnight on Saturda. After dropping off my bags, I went across town to get an espresso and pastry at a place I have liked, Chat Noir Chat Vert Black Cat Green Cat. I was leaving there and started walking towards the river with my bicycle when I detected sounds and a crowd down the street in the distance. I had no clue this was happening, then realized it was a crowd of people marching behind a music truck towards me. What? A protest with music! Yeah!

Screenshot

As they approached, I joined immediately walking with my bicycle. I realized there was another music wagon behind the first. Eventually there were 4 or 5 separate music trucks with a group walking behind each (preferred dj). My lucky day! I couldn’t figure out any particular theme, bc every sign had its own message; anarchy style. I made a sign too ”Stop Genocide for Real Estate Profit” 

This was the best sign >The Only Good System is a Sound System< The sign in the background says “the government pisses on us and the media says it’s raining” “Le Gouvernement nous Pisse Dessus Les Medias Nous Disent Qui’il Pleut”

Many people were really decked out in punk and whatever sub genre style of fashion. Eye candy everywhere … I could have taken thousands of close-up picks of dress, hair, makeup on girls and boyz. It was non-violent fun, while making the statements towards freedom from oppression and police violence and the right to gather and enjoy life.

That Saturday night in Bordeaux I bicycled over to the riverfront to Hanger 16 to find a crowd of people at the outside tables at Deus Ex Machina to hear another band for free. 

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Biarritz, France | Basque Identity Dominates

I was told from several people that Biarritz is worth visiting. The splendid first picture that popped up in google maps for Biarritz caused my jaw to drop. That was all I needed to convince me to make the trip, in the opposite direction of where I needed to be in a week. I strategized to use Jost Bordeaux hotel and hostel as a base and visit Biarritz (with my bicycle) 2 hours away by train. I was allotted 6 hours from Bordeaux; no earlier or later trains on the L51 route. It took 20  minutes or so to reach the spectacular view of the wide ocean cove before me after leaving the train station; disassociated from the town which is tucked in the hills above the coast. Here was a steep drop, with a very attractive network of walkways. Glad to have a bicycle.

It was only after arriving there that I realized I was in the Basque region. After arriving at the Biarritz train station from Bordeaux, I saw a guy with Asian eyes and a bun in his light hair walking from the same train. I asked him if he’s local. He nodded yes. How do i get to, and I had to fumble through my pack to find my little red book, where I’d hastily written down tourists notes about places to see in Biarritz, . befor they’d disappear from the screen because of lack of WiFi. Ou est le ‘Rocher de la Vierge’?

At this point he said, I speak English. I asked him if he surfs, since I was told Biarritz is a known surfing spot. He answered that he does, adding that he’s from Tahiti, enough said. I asked if one of his parent’s is European? He answered, Yes, my mother is Basque. Hmmm. He didn’t say French, though he lives here in Biarritz, France. So, I was thinking to myself, Basque people identify more with their traditional roots than the country in which they reside.

I was told that the Basque history extends thousands of years before Christ. There’s a strong identity of the Basque people (the Spanish perhaps even more so than the French) and that the Basque language really has no roots with any other language. and I began writing this on the train returning from Bordeaux to Montpellier; about my Sunday venture on a local train line to Biarritz from Bordeaux. 

This half Tahitian half Basque guy told me the way to get to this area by the ocean. Up this road straight ahead, and which direction to go at each roundabout. The oceanside was the first place I intended to visit. A priority. I wasn’t interested in the town or in restaurants or shopping, but the ocean view I saw on google maps. I asked him where do people here surf? He answered that personally he goes to the south surfing beach, ‘Cote de Basque’. I remembered writing it down. There’s another beach north called ‘the Grande Plage’. 

I followed his directions…later winding through these streets, I asked two french women walking their dogs who explained that basically – waving their arms – the ocean is that way. I followed the steep streets and the road lead me finally to an opening overlooking the Atlantic ocean far below. I was looking down at a postcard view of the Atlantic ocean far below, extending quite a distance to my left, on my way to the Rock of the Virgin which I still hadn’t a clue where it was.

I wanted to touch the Atlantic ocean. 

I gazed along the coast from this high lookout point, then wound down the very well maintained walkways to the sea level. I noticed two surfers in the water, far out from the shore. Then saw one of them moving towards the coast lined with boulders. The wind was strong, the waves were tumbling in to these large black boulders mounded up in front of the sea wall. I was dubious as I watched the surfer approach the waves crashing into the rocks. It looked like it had to be well choreographed and times in order to not get pounded into the rocks. Soon at the boardwalk just above sea level I spotted first wet suit booties perched on the wall, then came upon several tents and signs indicating that it’s a ‘Surf School’. There was a lot of paraphernalia, boards and wet suits. I approached a man at the tent rolling a cigarette and said to him in french, that i saw surfers getting out of the water and that it looks quite dangerous. He nodded, the tide is coming in. He said the surfing school only operates in mornings. An hour or so later, walking by, the tents were sealed shut with no indication of a surf school.

I walked first away from the touristy place in the direction of where I had spotted from above a sandy beach, beyond a chainlink fence. Sure enough, as I approached them there was no way to get through, signs stated No Entry. I spotted several wide concrete paved walkways, like a boat launch, leading down to the water with stairs carved out in the middle of the path. The waves at their base already looked hectic, thrusting up into the walkway from where they crashed below. The water was rushing in with power. There were occasional high sprays as the waves hit the wall of this walkway.

Yet, I decided that I had to be touched by the Atlantic Ocean. I watched the water, the sprays, the metal hand rail that stopped abruptly several meters from the sea level below. There was no way I’d risk attempting to get in the water as these waves gushed in to the walkway with tremendous force. However, I could walk down it to where the hand railing ended, to be sprayed by the ocean. The metal hand rail ran down the sloped concrete walkway to within several meters of the water level where at the opening, waves as waves thundered into the wall and rushed up the concrete slab. The surfers know when they need to get out of the water. The surfer I saw timed it to the last moments. The waves were already pounding into the stairs surrounded by rocks that he was approaching. It looked really sketchy.

I didn’t have time to contemplate. Time was of the essence; one last train. There was an elderly Asian woman doing leg stretches at the top of the walkway, and an elderly couple whose path I crossed. Á guy was standing, staring down at his phone. I lifted my pack over a low wall land side to stash it. Took off all my clothes, no bathing suit, no wait, maybe i did have it (back at the Jost hostel in Bordeaux). I walked down the slab of concrete, hen to the stairs in the middle. When i reached a stair moistened by water, it was really slippery. I decided to move to the wall immediately and reached for the hand rail. I was close enough that the likelihood of a wave crashing over me was more probable. The couple stood watching from the inner walkway. I waived and smiled. They were grey haired. They waved, curious perhaps to see if I was stupid enough to attempt going all the way down to where the waves were barreling up the concrete walkway. Pretty soon a huge wave of the Atlantic sprayed forcefully over me as I gripped he rail. It drenched me. And frankly it was a bit scary, and enough to get the taste I wanted. I turned around immediately, and almost ran back. The couple were still watching me, smiling. I was nude and really didn’t care because hardly anyone else was there. The Asian woman now reading, had never looked up. The guy staring at his phone earlier was gone. I stood exhilarated, letting the strong breeze quickly dry me off. I was fascinated looking at the tremendous force of the ocean. I dressed, unlocked my bike, and proceeded to bike and walk along a number of different look out touristy points. 

At one place where I came to, I paused and happened to peek over the rail and was surprised to see a restaurant below, built into the rocks. There was a boardwalk deck and tables tucked into a low cliff. Below it was a small cove with a lot of kids swimming and screeching. Most were wearing wet suits, some with snorkels. I could hear their laughter and shouts way before I saw them swimming and playing. I had turned to look in the other direction when I heard a crash and screams. I quickly looked over the railing. A huge wave had come in and spewed right over these outer tables. Five or six people were scrambling away from the table, soaked. I saw a broken glass on the table and a woman reaching under it for her cell phone and pack of cigarettes. The picture below is where they exited from the tables.

By the time I was returning back to the train station I better understood the layout of the town in relation to the ocean front. In retrospect, I recall taking a photograph and noticing a prominent white virgin statue on top of the rock. Okay, so that was the ‘Rock of the Virgin’.

Biarritz, France on the Atlantic Ocean

So, I made it there (he he). It’s a rock island which juts out into the ocean, connected by a very high and narrow boardwalk bridge. Tourists streamed along to visit it. Every once in a while, I’d here screams when a wave sprayed over them on the boardwalk surrounding the rock, drenching them. 

I found plenty of lovely places to sit among nature’s beauty throughout the day.

It was on the train returning to Bordeaux that a young guy sat down catty-cornered from me in the same 4 chair facing seats. I was writing in a mini notepad, he got out a notepad and was transferring info from his phone. Eventually I got out the iPad to write, then he got out a laptop. We hadn’t yet even had eye contact. I asked him if he’s studying and taking notes from text on his phone. He told me that he teaches and organizes dance for kids, and is gathering information about students. He studies in Bordeaux, and was returning there from visiting his family in Bayonne. He announced that he’s Basque. Once again, the individual identified with the Basque heritage, outweighing the French. 

I told him I noticed that the signs have two different languages. Yes, one is Basque. I mentioned that it seems to have a lot of X’s. I asked how you pronounce an X. He responded with ‘shhh’, like the Portuguese. Yes, he said with a smile that Basque has a lot of X’s, Z’s and K’s. I asked him to say a phrase, and then commented, wow, it seems to be much shorter, with far fewer words than typical french or english. He answered, that’s right, Basque is a condensed language. It was quite into the conversation that I learned he is a dancer himself, and that the dance he teaches and performs is traditional Basque dance. 

I asked him in french if he speaks Basque. Yes, he does. I was surprised, thinking that like other traditional languages, it’s more the older people who speak the language. He mentioned that it’s been quite the opposite. That during the time of the dictator Franco, it was illegal to speak Basque. I said, perhaps because he, Franco, couldn’t understand the language whatsoever (no roots close to languages of Latin origin or any others), and feared that people would organize amongst themselves to overthrow him. Or it could be he just wanted to preserve Spanish, as pure, and deride any other culture. 

Mattin mentioned that back in those days, in schools for example, any time a student was caught speaking Basque, they were handed a baton. It was passed to different students throughout the day. Whoever was holding the baton at the end of the school day, was punished. He said that since that time, there has been tremendous progress in preserving the language. Presently, there are schools that teach Basque only, others that are French and Basque.

In a later conversation I chatted with a Turkish architect in Montpellier. I said that the Basque language was not permitted by Franco. He mentioned that although indeed Franco did horrific things, he also did some quite good things. He said that as a conservative, Franco felt that it was important to repair the many monuments and historical ruins that had been crumbling in disrepair. The architect Fuoad mentioned that the Spanish have become experts in the finesse and technique of renovating antiquated structures, particularly in the town of Granada. He had gone there as a VIP architect to learn specifically their restoration techniques. He brought up a phrase describing that nothing is merely black and white, good and evil. He mentioned this due to the fact that though Franco is remembered for the horrific things he did oppressing people, he also was strategic in beginning to preserve historical architectural sites and monuments, which had been abandoned and left to deteriorate in many countries.

This Sunday venture to Biarritz was preceded by the weekend in Bordeaux. I had earlier looked at the event calendar of Deus Ex Machina, a restaurant, store, merchandise located on ‘the Hanger’, the wharf of Bordeaux. I discovered the place months earlier the last time I was in Bordeaux. I was scouting for a new bicycle kryptonite lock all over town and finally found one at a shop way down at the wharf. I happened to be sitting in the restaurant of Deus Ex Machina afterwards to learn that later that evening a band would play, free entry. It is a really fun place, the music was good, WiFi and a band playing later in the evening. Sure enough, they were hosting dj’s and live music again.

After creating and posting two blogs this particular Saturday, I happened to look at one of my tabs on Safari where I had saved info about a music event on FB which once again was happening at Deus Ex Machina. I was suddenly reminded. I bicycled there across town, along the river’s edge on a concrete & boardwalk pedestrian / bike path. As I approached I saw a large crowd. 1 IPA pint is €9, so it’s not exactly free. A dj played music and then a live band.

A drummer, bass and xylophone player ~ playing the melody with two sticks in each hand. The rapper was obviously native tongue English. Ah, but 15 minutes into his set, he started rapping fluently in French. When the first set finished, I followed the band on their break out to the deck to ask him if he’s from San Francisco, cuz I thought I heard him say, “I’m from the Haight”. He said smiling, no, I’m from the eight! His birth date.

It looked like it was a full moon, riding back to Bordeaux on the train from Biarritz. Both Bordeaux and Biarritz are lovely.

My thoughts

A dog’s wagging tale is an extension of their heart and genuine expression of joy and affection.

A french woman’s words.

“The antichrist is ‘money’.”

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Eureka in the Pyrénées with Fréderic & Chopin | Dog’s Tail ~ Extension of Heart

Recently I again spent a chunk of time google-mapping and investigating train travel between numerous locations and their alternatives. After staring at a screen and doing this tedious stuff, when I walked outside with the dog, an intuitive understanding swept up to realign my thinking. With specific deadlines already confirmed for a cat sit on the far eastern border of Switzerland in France, and first going in the opposite direction to the west coast, I wound up booking the final stretch of travel towards my destination, then worked eventually in reverse order, to the present. It worked! Calculating train arrivals from Lyon to Geneva, a week away, I then booked the cool hostel I know in Lyon, and figured out the rest as time and bicycle availability dictated. 

Just weeks earlier I began feeling that I was extending myself too far outside of my comfort zone, of personal investment by not having a more stationary existence.Yet, within hours of arriving at my new Trusted Housesitters sit for the cat and dog (Fréderic and Chopin) of a Dutch couple living in southern France with a view of the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrénées ~ something clicked ~ the eureka moment. 

Fréderic

Chopin

Dog’s wagging tales ~ expressing affection and delight ~ are a direct extension of their heart. 

Upon conversing with the Dutch man host who told me he coaches people. he asks how they feel about situations, listen to one’s gut. He says that many of peoples’ conflicts and problems and fears, are what they perceive that have been passed on from their parents, their mothers, along generations. And he said he has no time for those who are not willing to acknowledge a conflict/behavior nor to take the steps to move towards what they can envision where they want to aspire to. 

I listened. Realized that I’ve become more experienced and efficient booking travel and hostels in between sits, so that I have no excuse not to dole out time and prioritize completing my book. Within a day or two, I lined up two new pet sitting gigs, lengthy enough to allow me to relax, and began working on my book again. And now realize that with less social distraction, I can treat the current pet sitting lifestyle in mostly rural areas as a writers/artist residency. I am thrilled, I’m his exactly where I need to be. 

Chopin has been my heavy breathing companion. When he’s not sleeping, he is busily investigating and alert to anything that moves. Even when furiously digging and poking his nose into the hole, he’ll pause to look up at any vehicle that suddenly enters the soundscape, then continues. He has had a summer camp exploratory plunge into every field and ditch and river tributary, only once needed a leash, when had to cross a stream to get to the road to the local Chateau de Castelbon. Besides digging in rodent holes, Chopin bounces through fields and showed me where all the places are to get down the river banks where he’d bound into the rivers. It was as if he knew what I wanted, looking for how deep various spots were to see if we could cross. I’d investigate the hand holds down to the river and on the other side. I discovered through contact with the dog, that stinging nettles abound. 

He would become engaged in something and always look up, look back at me, to make sure I was still there. What an amazing feeling of ‘being needed and wanted’, unconditional love. And hearing his panting return into the radar if he’d drift away. With a tail that says eveything. His tale would start wagging, pounding rhythmically on the ground if he was laying down. It really is like an extended heart. Dogs tales wag when they express delight. Between observing this dog and playing with him in all our outings for hours on end, and having to continuously be observant of where any stinging nettles plants were in my path, I was very much so ‘in the moment’. 

Today I had a spa. I took off the boots and socks and walked barefoot along a stream, a soft bed of leaves, sitting on a rock sinking my feet into sand colored wet clay, letting the cold water surround my feet. Sitting there only hearing cow bells. And Chopin in delight, like a child running from one intrigue and scent to another, and always looking back at me to make sure I’m still there. Intelligent and hyperaware, Chopin always came to me when I called. What a delight. He is well trained.

Google Photos bordering Pyrénées in France

I adored them both and the delight and affection only grey. I was in tearing as I said goodbye. Fréderic always seems to love sprawling out on the dirt, anywhere, yet, always looking fabulously clean and fluffy. He does have a dreadlock or two. He’d roll around as if giving himself a massage with the stones poking out from the soil. Slept most of the day, hunted at night. Occasionally Chopin and I would come across Fréderic on our night strolls, and the three of us would walk together. Super experience of place and of the animals reflecting the open spirit of the hosts.

blogger Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz

Double happiness on a woven mat

Seahorses | Étang de Thau ~ Sète ~ Marseillan ~ Cap d’Agde | southern France by the Mediterranean

I came to the town of Marseillan in the south of France to care for two black male brother felines, Once in a while they bat at each other, but most of the time are cuddling and curled up sleeping with one another, Each purr machines and gentle, one more naughty. He had seemingly disappeared, until i spotted a lump under the covers; playing hide n seek.

I had been familiar with the name Sète, the village on the hill across the lagoon, traveling by it on the train. That’s Sète below glowing pink at sunset.

I’ve bicycled all over the place; google mapping routes, drawing maps and exploring. I found myself riding parallel to train tracks, often.

Between drawing maps and asking people, I found my way. And each time I started talking to a stranger, which I do often, I learned something new about the area. 

The seagulls are very vocal. White swans, pink flamingos and a variety of seabirds are everywhere. Many places are like a ghost town in the winter; massive camping areas for summer vacationers. I cycled to Marseillan Plage, learned that it made a big difference which side of the canal one is on, after traversing the distance and finding a dead end towards a light house and large building, with no bridge. I had to cycle back several km back. Later asked an elderly gentleman pointing to the canal who informed me that this building hosts students learning to sail. I spotted a class in session the other day.

I conversed with two men in french who met sailing years ago, and are now each self confessed  ‘nomads’ – living in different places with their boats. I said, hey that’s my music name nomadbeatz! 

At one point I mentioned the book I’m writing “A Seahorse Tale” and immediately one mentioned that this body of water – Étang de Thae – is a habitat for seahorses. What? Really?  

It’s a lagoon bordered with a sliver of land between Sète and the Mediterranean. I looked up the Étang and seahorses and sure enough, it’s true.

A Marine Dump that has become a privileged habitat for seahorses in the Étang de Thau (France)

Les hauts secrets de l’étang de Thau 

And other article in french (good language practice with google translate displaying the paragraph and its translation side by side) talking about the history of the lagoon, its past problems with pollution from a concentration of phosphates in the last 50 years, which has been resolved, yet with a current new threat of warming water temperatures. Climate. The threat hangs over the Etang de Thau

”In the 1970s, the Hérault basin was in agony. Over the previous two decades, agriculture intensified and the number of inhabitants increased without sewage treatment plants keeping pace….It is a fragile, precious environment, saved several times. But for how much longer? Between land and sea, the Thau pond is closely monitored by scientists. Because, in addition to the ecological singularity of this lagoon separated from the sea by islets of sand, the activity of many shellfish and oyster farmers depends entirely on its ecological balance.” Hippocampe is french for seahorse.

L’hippocampe moucheté ou Hippoccampus guttulatus

After looking up where in Étang de Thau seahorses are located, I made my way winding on road around Sète to the left side and around to the lagoon. This time I braved getting in the water ~ cold water bathing ~ and felt fantastic, shivering as i wind dried. I saw the crescent moon and got almost all the way back to Marseillan with enough sunlight to see the way (dusk).

I also was informed about Cap d’Agde and found my way to explore it, by this time, it was the full moon.

I also learned from conversation about the Canal du Midi, created to allow boats through to the Mediterranean from the Atlantic. This is it below looking in one and the opposite direction.

Canal du Midi

So it has been a nice synchronicity of discovery.

wind carving circles from needles of grass

bicycle path to Agde

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Conscious Unconscious Choice delivered

So, when I mentioned a few days ago that ‘I know what I don’t want, but not what I want’, a friend from high school answered, “that’s your problem”.

In the meantime, 5 sunny days in a row I bicycled south of Leipzig to this lake, 25 min ride. Everyone bicycles in Leipzig, all ages and persuasions. At the Cossi See > lake, I found the first day a couple in their 80’s, naked, just having got out of the water. 59 degrees F outside max, with a breeze. I didn’t have the nerve that day, but a day after I got in, then the following a little longer, and again the following day getting my head beneath the surface, freestyle and backstroke (very limited time in the water), but did it. I then explored the Tierpark/Animal park where I’d go to on the way home, looking at and feeding leaves to goats, seeing other wild animals. I felt sorry for the owls, in too small of cages.

During my pondering over where to live, I was considering Freiburg after talking to my girlfriend in Berlin, she mentioned Vienna as well, so did another woman. Freiburg is small. I checked into Vienna, too large (although Berlin is larger, but familiar)…but I couldn’t make either of these moves. In the meantime, the hostel said they can’t continue to extend my stay. I moved to a smaller 4 bed room alone, after finding weird actions from one of the men in the 8 bed room. I feel relieved for that, but realized i had to step on the gas. I saw one apt in that town where the lake was, Markkleeberg, but it would become completely empty. Germans, as Italians, take all of their kitchen (all components) with them when they move; fridge, stove, everything. A tradition in my opinion that causes much more expense and hassle to the renters.

Now had a deadline. Had to skip a day of bicycling to nature….

….I began again in earnest, not to look for housing in Leipzig, but in Berlin. I updated my ads, WG-Gesucht, Ebay Kleine Anzeigen, Craigslist, and mainly put out my own ads. I had previously contacted people in WG’s > WohnenGemeinschaft = shared housing.

Then today eating my oatmeal in the hostel, I looked down and saw my phone had a call, i hadn’t yet turned the ringer on. It was Klaus. He had seen one of these ads, he phoned me saying he has a room. Previously he had rented it to a Polish girl. He has two cats. He spoke exclusively in German. Good that I can understand and speak it. I called him a bit later to make sure I had the name of the town correct, yes, Kaulsdorf, directly east of Berlin. 1 hour bicycle ride, 38 min. S-Bahn (public transport train line) to the station of this town. I later phoned him to get the address, and he told me, then sent it on the phone. 10 min walk from the station, 16 min. bicycle ride from the house to the 3 lakes by the town. That’s right. I’ve been going to swim every day and to watch and listen to the ducks, and there they will also be. And I see there’s a Tierpark Berlin which is a 25 min. bike ride from his address. 

So perhaps I was consciously/unconsciously choosing what I’ve adored, and after putting out all these new ads, this person found me. 

I then walked to the Leipzig HauptBahnHof (train station) and inquired about ‘regional’ train tickets to take my bicycle, and was given several alternative times, then walked down two levels below to purchase the tickets. I haven’t yet booked a hostel, but have informed this man that I bought the tickets and will phone him as I get on the train, he’ll meet me at that train station and then we’ll walk the 10 min. (google maps) to his house. 

I then walked around Leipzig today, without a bicycle, in the rain, taking some photos of the standing architecture of antiquity that wasn’t destroyed in WWII. I walked in a church and saw that Johann Sebastian Bach worked there for several years, creating songs continually, in the 1720’s, and taught singing… 

So, I actually looked and saw no other responses. He seems fine, gentlemanly over the phone. I haven’t asked him a price yet, I said €400 max in my ad. Also, though there are high rise buildings several blocks away, this is in a neighborhood with self standing houses and lots of trees. 

I feel immense relief, because I think that I really didn’t want to venture further away from Berlin, a city I am familiar with and know several people, and could once again play ultimate. I also put out ads looking for musicians. This man says that there’s WiFi there, hopefully it’s not merely via his telephone. I will wait and see. If I have to ‘commute’ 38 min. to Berlin via the train to go to libraries or cafés, to sit and work, I will. And bicycling home would be like going from Annville to Hummelstown. That was my guess, and it is exact. 1 hr 2 minutes, 11.4 miles. And from Berlin train station to Kaulsdorf bicycling is 16.9 km 1 hr 4 min.

So, I somehow believe that it will be a nice reverse, being in nature, then commuting to the city. 

Feeling relief, even though I haven’t met him or seen the place yet. 

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Me in Berlin on Halloween

Moving to Ferrara, Italy | bicycle oriented town

Well, the guy blew me off, or maybe it was because I was late (after smoking with some Pakistani guys who were describing how limited the rights of women are in their country > ( can’t go out alone, can’t drive, can’t bicycle around in sport clothes with their hair flowing, once married – must stay home serving their husbands…said a woman my age in Pakistan would be almost incapacitated with health issues )…and I got lost making my way to the meeting point. 

However, what I learned from this Italian guy, after approaching him days earlier standing near me straddling his bicycle at the pier at sunset in Trieste, Italy to say that I am also a bicycle rider and striking up conversation, is that he mentioned a small city near Bologna, called Ferrara, with a remarkable amount of bicycle riders. Ferrara to remember ~ sounds like the car Ferrari, but also like the German word for bicycle Farrhad.

I dreamed about it last night, because I really am over living in a hostel and the continuous ~ back of my mind and forefront ~ stress over what to do and where to go. So this town popped in my mind before laying down to sleep last night and I woke up quite early (for me) in anticipation of what to do as my hostel accommodation stretched thrice will end tomorrow, to arrange things. Trieste is lovely in the pedestrian only ‘downtown’ places. However, when I’ve headed into the non-pedestrian hilly areas of this town, I am revolted by the loud noise and exhaust smells of motorcycles and frankly  frightened by the high speeds of motorbikes and cars. I absolutely need to live in a place that puts a substantial amount of attention and effort towards bicycle transportation infrastructure and caring about pedestrian areas. 

Translation from text above “View the routes directly on the map or filter the selection by type of experience and bike. You can then save the itineraries among your favorite routes.”

So, to check out what he said moments ago, I google translated bicycling = andare in bicicletta, and when I plugged this in with the town name, i got this !!!!! https://www.romagnabike.com/dove/ferrara. I’m immediately looking for trains to there, leaving Sunday. I will miss the water here. Google earth doesn’t show water near Ferrara, however the videos reveal water. In fact, I guess bicycle paths stretching to the water. When I plugged a random point by the Adriatic Sea, Taglio Della Falce, google maps says by bike it’s just under 3 hours. It is also very near to the river Po  as well.

“Renamed the “City of bicycles” due to the massive presence of two-wheeled vehicles circulating in the streets of the historic center, Ferrara is an unmissable destination for cycling and gravel lovers. Here you can cycle around the walls that embrace the historic center, take the Destra Po cycle path that crosses the silent Ferrara countryside, visit the Rocca di Stellata or venture on the dirt roads of the Comacchio Valleys in the heart of the Po Delta Regional Park.”

“Ribattezzata la “Città delle biciclette“ per la massiccia presenza di mezzi a due ruote che circolano nelle vie del centro storico, Ferrara è una meta imperdibile per gli amanti del cicloturismo e del gravel. Qui potrai pedalare attorno alle mura che abbracciano il centro storico, imboccare la ciclabile del Destra Po che attraversa la silenziosa campagna ferrarese, visitare la Rocca di Stellata o avventurarti sugli sterrati delle Valli di Comacchio nel cuore del Parco regionale del Delta del Po.”

By the way, there appear to be a large number of Pakistani men in Trieste. Apparently this city accepts foreigners more than other Italian cities. The really funny thing, is that having no Italian fluid speaking capability, I discovered that the mutual language I shared with two Pakistani guys was German, because one had lived in Hamburg, and the other in Berlin and Munich > Germany a country which has welcomed immigrants. 

https://www.trenitalia.com/en/services/travelling_with_yourbike.html

“On all regional trains – even those not marked with the special symbol – passengers are permitted to travel with a fully closed folding bicycle (even if not in the special bag) free of charge, provided that the size does not exceed 110 x 80 x 45 cm and does not cause danger or inconvenience to other passengers.” 

I’ve booked the train, a hostel for the first two nights and contacted hosts for a room in longer-term housing.

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Leaving Berlin to Italy – Trieste or a small town somewhere?

Rosenthaler Platz gegenüber von Sanct Oberholtz

I just went to the main train station to ask a few more questions and precisely figure out where to park the bicycle over night to find it upon arriving with my luggage on a bus, Turns out the train i had scheduled has a bomb threat and is canceled ( uh hum, glad I went there today) so the woman agent printed out a new starting point and time and new track. As if in a dream, part fatigue, slight edge of anxiousness, I went through the motions to see where i need to go, where the elevators are, preparing as much as possible so that it will flow in the morning. This is perhaps from the influence of my parents, or perhaps i am even more extreme about taking precautions. I scoped out where to leave my bicycle over night, near where I’ll get off the bus.

Postdamerplatz Berlin

I was able to meet with my friend whom I met and hung out with up until I departed from Berlin, 10 years ago. Great to catch up with Argentinian Mariano, doing well with his wife and daughter starting 1st grade. Still see things in a similar way and harmonious support. I am taking advantage of the last day of the 9 € regional train ticket, anywhere in Germany. Going this last day of Aug. 31st that it’s legit, to Austria by the border. Decided that I’d rather go there if I have to hang out with my stuff all night, than to sit in the Munich station. Then buying a regional ticket via Innsbruck to Verona. Still need to investigate a hostel, and where i might land. Gonna have to learn Italian, pretty quickly. 

Berlin is like a circus of activity. Soooooo many people in the streets everywhere, all night, presumably. Many tourists….blah, blah. The bicycle lane actually freaks me out. Super fast, super determined bike riders, along with those carrying toddlers in bike seats before them and in wagons. Love bike culture, but don’t love rushing, high speed,get over or get hit bicycling. Went to the freakin mac store where Hermann, 1 man show, is still operating very successfully. My bluetooth keyboard magically started working, in his store. He also informed me that one can buy an English keyboard in an Apple store. Good to know. Also got my bicycle very elegantly repaired with a Farrhad Doctor, Bike Doctor – Berlin (Fahrrad-Doktor – Berlin) Bicycle Doctor, literally situated blocks away. They found and exchanged the left gear fixture with one they had in stock that exactly matched the other. This also not a chain, but very small bike shop literally crammed with bicycles. You can’t enter beyond a rope. 

I was so happy to stroll through Mauer park on Sunday to see a street musician every 10 yards, the park full of people on a sunny afternoon and then coming upon the hundreds of people listening, singing along and dancing on the stage to the institution that Irish Gareth started bicycling with the speakers and hosting, MCing with comedic flair Bearpit Karaoke

Bearpit Karaoke

Garth from Ireland who has created this karaoke institution in Mauerpark Berlin, Germany

Now with my repaired bicycle (derailleur replaced from a bike at some guy’s house in Portugal) outside of Aveiro, repaired by not a bicycle shop but guy who is a machinist, creating shifting gears for automobiles. 

Sitting outside of ,Sankt Oberholtz, still owned by Ansgar and evolving and trickling into other areas.

Circus Hotel gegenüber from St. Oberholtz

Blue Heron in the middle of Berlin

I do love Berlin. And at the same time I’m sitting here looking up trains through Austria and Italy and finding that it’s easy to find the trains and schedules and all allow bicycles. 

And the trip continues.

Carol Keiter aka nomadbeatz welcomes donations for her writing, photography, illustrations, eBook and music composition. The PayPal donation button functions in Safari and Firefox, however is broken in Chrome.

Economic Reality Worldwide

I rushed off to Portugal, after determining a year ago that it would be affordable, so that I could complete my book. My oldest sister warned me that Lisbon would not be affordable, and sent me links to more affordable towns in Portugal. I hadn’t realized when I departed that august is the least affordable month in Europe, anywhere, and that the availability of rooms / vacancies in hostels etc. shrinks to nothing. I have been separated from my luggage, most of the time, except the first fabulous days in Lisbon at a wonderful hostel. Then I slept outside for over a week. Then i chose a random town in Portugal near the ocean, and have only once, for several minutes there, had time to jump in the water. I have been too occupied looking for occupancies. I found an expensive hotel there in Aveiro, and slept 12 + hours. Then there were no more occupancies there, or in that town. Same thing when I returned to get my luggage, no rooms. 

I found a remote hostel, an oasis in the dry Portuguese terrain, riding by swaths of formerly burned forests. Wonderful place, meeting enlightened people…and then I left, determined to live in a metropolis, as I mentioned, Plan B Berlin. However, Berlin is extremely expensive, little occupancy, huge competition….and the bunch of IT guys I met the first evening at a meetup, directly informed me of this…talking about how much they pay for a room (who can afford them and those who have pushed up the prices)…and that it can take 6 months to find a place because renters are protected by laws so that they simply rarely leave. I landed at a place after sleeping outside under a soviet military tank monument for shelter, and after sleeping 13 + hours, the stress I’ve had suddenly has made itself apparent in my body. 

This German guy’s coiffure I met at the U-Bahn pretty much says it all

I have an appt to see a place tonight, am absolutely grateful to have shelter yet now have more decisions to make about where to escape to, like a refugee, not of the climate, but of economic challenges. I just reached a wall emotionally, after discovering several possible places have slipped away, or are blatant scams. 

I will now go out into the town to use the resources of this city; replace batteries, get my bicycle fixed (bus driver jammed it into a space and the gears snapped). all along the way, I’ve had little successes, a derailleur that fell off, fixed by Portuguese men, the one key (the most essential one) for the bicycle lock suddenly appearing, after my key chain disappeared. And several people in town whom I can meet to say hello and catch up, (some who still have lived here, others who are returning in this exact week, to collect their things after having moved away a year ago). Several people have moved out of Berlin. 

Ukraine manifestation en Berlin, Allemagne le 24 Aout

August 24th Ukrainian demonstration ending at the Brandenburg Tor in Berlin, Germany

I more than likely must figure out a small town to live in where I can utilize a portable Glocal Me WiFi device with a local network, in an affordable town, either in Germany or northern Italy. Hadn’t realized that August in Europe is the least affordable with the least available spaces. I have hit a wall. I’m sure going out to do some errands and think as I’m riding, will help. 

Quatre Septembre | Day father James Marcus Keiter died 2012 | Listen to Intuition

Today is the 4th of September. It is the day my father died, in 2012. I paid attention to this date when I saw a street with its name in Aix-en-Provence, France. When i googled in English, i found no reference, until I wrote quatre septembre and then it appeared. http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/09/what-happened-on-quatre-septembre.html

“This particular September 4th was in 1870, and it marked the moment that a group of individuals in Paris proclaimed the beginning of a new Republic (the third) following the capture of Napoleon III by the Prussians in Sedan.”

My father was a musician, as was his mother. I played piano again at this building with a piano within their antique store, where the woman has gifted me with flowers and then local corn on the cob for my playing. This last Sunday I played really well, sensitively, fluidly. I was only under the influence of a full stomach and espresso. It’s the second Sunday in a row I’ve created the time to go there with my Classical piano music book. I remembered that when I was a kid, my father’s mother would join the family for a Sunday dinner and always play piano during her visit. I am carrying on her tradition, i thought to myself. 

My father also loved paint, dance and was a history enthusiast. I carry on these traditions. Thank you Daddy.

My father was dutiful and pragmatic. He relinquished the life of a clarinet musician to instead become a doctor to provide for his family. He warned me of not relying on art, or music and warned me of the last boyfriend with whom I was still in a codependent relationship, long after he ditched me. My father was an empath.

This article title popped up on my screen when I plugged into the WiFi network after bicycling to the closed library to sit outside of it. I ride miles and miles to different locations where I can plug in: to WiFi and electricity. I plugged the title words into google and it appeared. https://highlysensitiverefuge.com/9-secret-powers-of-highly-sensitive-people/

Frankly, I thought I would identify with it, and in many cases do ‘as far as aiming to save the natural world from humans’ and then in other respects I  don’t. I looked up ‘the opposite of empath’. Oh shit, it’s a narcissist. I guess I am a bit of both.

Last night on my way riding bicycle back from the next town, Hershey, with a palatable bar, I came upon a deer, a fawn, in the middle of the road, struggling to move. It was able to move three legs, struggling to get up. Horrified, I put down my bike off the road and tried to move it. Cars came. I swung my arms. Girls got out of their vehicle, one helped me to carry the deer off the road. They then left. I stayed with the deer. Didn’t know who to call. A man along the road said to call 911. I am upset by how the Policeman who arrived, responded. I was stroking the deer, holding her neck in my arms, trying to soothe her. The Policeman, without getting close enough to even check out the deer’s condition, announced for me to “get away lady, you are prolonging he deer’s misery.” The deer was only slightly wounded, the leg. He said that there is no place to take it. It will be shot. I was yelling as I was leaving, venting my anger about people driving so fast, hit and run. Police offering no other option without having even investigated, close-minded, thug mentality.

My plan had been to eject myself from the United States of Apathy (an example of why I am not exactly an ‘empath’). I don’t flow in and redistribute the energy to a harmonious new direction. I express my annoyance and all of my feelings, when I find people doing things that I think are irresponsible to others and unconscionable to the rest of the living world. 

I guess I can waver from feeling socially awkward and lacking in confidence, to feeling proud and annoyed with human behavior that I feel derives from not considering the larger picture.

So, just as I was sitting in Palmyra ‘pondering’ the upcoming UN Climate talks COP21 in Paris and then in a series of days I learned that an ex lover was involved in this, and within 2 weeks, I made the decision and went to Paris. Staying in a hotel reserved for the group of activists coming from all over the world and sharing their stories at the ‘placetobe’, was one of the more enriching and nourishing experiences I’ve ever had. I was and am passionately focused on  extending my knowledge and understanding. One of these people I met there and with whom  I’m connected on FB, had this message about the ‘pilgrimage to the upcoming COP26 in Glasgow, Scotland in November. I had this on my radar, as a deadline. 

I was planning to move back to Europe soon, and thinking Portugal this time, because once again, I cower to the living expenses and overhead. Lessons not learned from my father.

The plan Portugal, with the knowledge in the back of my head of COP26 in Glasgow. Then two separate event celebrations popped up in September in the USA, separate sides of the country, but doable. I contacted several different factions of the people who I befriended 22 years ago in San Francisco when I lived there. I have an odd human habit of not staying in touch when I’m not in the same physical space, despite things like internet, telephones and facebook. I think we are all a bit tribal, yet, most have more responsibilities and families to hone into. 

I said yes to the wedding invitation in Providence, Rhode Island and began investigating rail travel. Pretty expensive for me, didn’t book it. I announced and tagged several people including the organizer of the street faire that I wanted to attend on the west coast in San Francisco, CA. Last time I hitched to San Francisco from Tucson, Arizona to attend this event The Howweird Street Faire (6 years ago or so), and never found any of the people whom I had known. The event had grown enormously. That was weird. I hitched back not having seen any of my former housemates and people i danced with. 

On the way to SF, which it now looked like I was going to hitch, I was thinking of doing a detour to help indigenous ‘water protectors’ in opposition to Pipeline 3 in Minnesota, yet having contacted them, the timing is off, I have to be willing to get arrested and frankly, the point was to get to SF, CA. 

So I decided this time to in advance, contact some people announcing I was going to be in their area. Here’s where the empath comes in. It occurred to me, that just like my former frisbee friend, when I wrote a long letter through LinkedIn, and never heard back from him, I thought to myself, maybe NONE of these people are going to respond, AT ALL, in which case, why go to San Francisco at all. Montreal, never been there, francophone, it’s only 7 rather than a 44 hour hitch, and it’s in the neighborhood of Providence. I’ve been thanks to Covid, keeping up with my french conversation group through 2020, on zoom. All the people whom I sat around a table with weekly at the Alliance Française, in Providence, Rhode Island, speaking French with one another. 

Okay, So I will travel with wedding attire and sleeping bag. The indigenous person answered my email inquiry, Let’s see if SustainaClaus, the Canadian man whom I met in Paris at the COP21 ‘placetobe’ who has been living in China, will have responded to me. He is a busy man, yet somehow I think he may have found the time.

Things emerge and guide, as one listens. 

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergence

I do have the discipline of my father, however, I am definitely following a very different path. I  remember my father calling me ‘hyper’ one time. I actually was convinced that I could apply for a medical marijuana license as a classic ADHD. I have very high energy, and was never diagnosed with Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. A chronic condition including attention difficulty, hyperactivity, and impulsiveness…failed relationships. I have self-medicated all my life doing sports> running 3-5 miles, ultimate frisbee, swimming (when i can), bicycling, skiing, tinkering with technical projects, doing art, practicing music, painting, traveling, moving. 

the long of it:

After I was rejected from this last group house community where I didn’t quite fit in, that I’d circle back to the northeast and Pennsylvania, to my storage locker. I was now carrying skis and two pairs of ski boots and more boxes after passing by Taos, New Mexico where I had been storing this stuff in my friend’s house. I also thought, enough already. Since my affordable housing got covided out in Providence, Rhode Island, and I proceeded to investigate and chase ‘house exchange’ programs and then move back to where I had a lot of work several years ago in Santa Fe, New Mexico (substitute teaching during the weeks and a 1st year adult ski instructor on the weekends and holidays. It fit together perfectly. However, when I inquired to the ski school, covid now reduced the staff to last years’ return instructors. So, I continued searching for ‘affordable housing’, in Statesboro and Savannah Georgia in Asheville, North Carolina. But it doesn’t exist, at least, tougher when you are single. Ironically, after 11 days of sleeping outside with my linens and sleeping bag, I have found an affordable place, and swiftly found items to furnish the room … there are some undesirable characters there….yet I feel safe.

I’ve come to Hotel Hershey to plug in and then will go to dance to cap off the night. I took my bass guitar to my storage unit today, Sept. 4th and grabbed a bungee chord, some magic markers to make hitchhiking signs, and have been preparing. Montreal borders are open. Have my Passport and CDC Covid Vaccination card. Not quite sure where I will go. Will see what emerges.

—,-,-,,-,

quatre sept 

This proclamation brought to an end France’s second empire, but as it also coincided with the invasion of France by the Prussians, its constitutional laws weren’t actually voted until 1875. The September 4th date is therefore a purely symbolic one.”

Progression of a Room – hot plate √ tables, chairs & bed √ ceramic ware and green tutu √ cows to visit bicycling between towns for WiFi √

Landed! in a good way. Absolutely love various features of ‘my’ new small room that I moved into today; the lack of a hint of a smoke smell, the lack of an air conditioner perched in the window blocking opening it for fresh air, the style of the second door with nice character and the fact that the glass lets in more light and is an entrance to sort of my own porch (presently cluttered). It only took half a day to clean and prepare for myself to move into, after cleaning the larger room for the last week while I couchsurfed (work-traded). 

Things are swinging into a good way. I may not be in a hip metropolitan area, but there is a lot of natural beauty in this state and the towns flanking this one of Annville and Hershey are perks. A big key is that I’m now paying $150/mo less in rent, which is what all of this zigzagging around the country was in search of. The town of Palmyra has streets that are super wide, I mean like, 4 military tanks side to side would fit on almost every street. Huh? This was a town built post car era. Yes, bicycles are stolen (when left unlocked) but the town feels really quite safe. No bicycle infrastructure. No public transportation (yes, buses exist). And last evening when I was checking out this one property’s gardens, I saw two deer scampering away from the grassy area I entered next to a wall of a corn. 

I’m de lighted that someone suggested on this ‘local’ FB group a place they knew of that offered ‘extended housing’, and that my sister Joan Keiter suggested posting there that I’m looking for a room. My place is $10 more a week, than one hotel I checked out is day, the cheaper one. Like I said, the over-all manager whom I met third time I went by there (both times one of the residents was there to point out who was the live-in manager and then again when I came back to talk to him, then fill out an application form. As I was leaving him, the off-site manager was driving up. Because I offered off the top of my head to assist in preparing the room becoming available – with boots, strength, detailed skills in cleaning etc, they took me up on it – right away. She called and said I could go there that evening in the room that needs to be cleaned. I laid my sleeping bag on plastic in the closit and for a week, stood on a ladder cleaning ceilings (of smoke residue), walls, cleaning overall. This unit had its own bathroom. …………………Now today I moved out of that room, first helping the man Puerto Rican guy to move his stuff out of the smaller ground-floor room (great, i have a bicycle that I no longer have to carry up a flight of stairs) and have sink in the room with much more character and functionality…and ironically found day after day, pieces of furniture and ‘what not’ placed saying FREE, less than a city block away. Now I have a couple wood and whicker chairs, a mirror, a low wood and whicker table, and the guy gave me the curtain rods stands on wheels. I purchased one pot (every morning boil water to put lemon in a glass and also for oatmeal), a few cups, a small plate, one set of silver ware, and just found two nice glasses also at the TAKE AWAY FOR FREE BICYCLE SHOP TURNED GUN SHOP. huh? I’m sitting at the public library, limited hours, and have to bike two several different towns to get WiFi. cool. I get my exercise for free. Just found a local Glacier vending machine (filtered water through several processes) outside a grocery store. I make stops at these places on the periphery of town and next to another one: library, storage unit, grocery store…and have to choose the routes and times of day to stay alive in a place with barely any bicycle infrastructure. Stoked to have found just exactly what I need and a place right in town with an accessible and efficient manager and a ridiculously low price. Now I can begin to work on my book again on a daily basis, now that the housing is stabilized. In this new place I share a bathroom with a claw foot bathtub / shower. I shared a bathroom in the previous ‘community house’ where I lived in Asheville, North Carolina. Here there are signs and strict rules about common sense cleanliness in a shared bathroom, so I’m stoked about that. 

It just so happens that a store within a city block that had been a bicycle shop, went out of business, to become a gun shop. Way to go Amerika. Anyway, there were a few pieces of furniture with a sign FREE. Because I bicycle to get around, and literally went by these on the sidewalk to grab shade, I saw the progression of items put out. I first grabbed and walked with a chair, cracked at its shoulder. Having just bought wood glue to repair my bass guitar where the ‘strap lock’ port is loose and the Guitar Witch of Asheville explained to me what tools I need and how to do it. So I can repair this simple crack in the handsome chair…..Well, once the initial stuff was removed, more items appeared on the sidewalk. The other matching chair that was not damaged (just worn) appeared. I walked with that. Then two coffee tables appeared that sort of matched the chairs, walked with that. When i was almost at my door a man pulled up across the street asking if I needed help. I said, not with this, but there’s another piece that is too heavy for me to carry. He he grabbed the car, I bicycled to the shop, helped him put it in his hatchback and bicycled home to help get it out of the car. It turned out that the boots sitting on one of the tables were size 7.5. I slipped my foot in, they fit. I had no ‘rain/snow’ boots but a pair of antiques. It occurred to me today to put this super heavy mirror on the table between the rolling garment racks. I already had the string of Christmas lights and plants. I had washed the mirror and chairs and table thoroughly. So now I have a kitchen, living room, dining room, bedroom and closet > all in one.

Re-use, recycle, reduce, right on!