Day 26. Friday 22nd
August (continued)
What
a sight for sore eyes. The average size of the woman made me wonder
that perhaps a burka was maybe not a bad idea. Though I suppose it
could get caught in the chain and snap a few necks.
Instead,
they all had skin tight cycling shorts with some legs built to kick
start a Saturn Five rocket, never mind a Jumbo Jet. My perverted
mind's first thought was perhaps this was where a lick of lesbians
(colloquial term – look it up) were gathering in this secret place
after warming up from a ride.
The
puzzling slogan about 'Slapper' was also soon dispensed with. I had
misread it. Although in Czech, it was rather easy to conclude that
this was a women's cycle club from a town I had passed through called
Slapy, about 40 clicks to the north. My guess they had followed the
river, taken all day (judging by the fact none of them seemed to be
covered in sweat), and this was the evening's watering hole. I also
noticed that not one of their bicycles had any form of luggage. This
was solved as some nerdy, weedy looking bloke turns up in a car
completely stuffed with bags of things women need when they go
camping.
So
chirping loudly, they were distributed amongst the various tiny
wooden chalets and started queueing for showers. I decided to head to
the bar/restaurant area, plug in my high tech stuff, and write up
another diary entry.
After
listening to Blondie singing a 45 minute extended version of Atomic
twice over (I had her last night for dinner as well), with a bit of
pidgin English and sign language that I suffered from various mental
illnesses and the doctor had specifically warned me that Atomic on
perpetual repeat would drive me insane and force me to set fire to
their HiFi system, we needed to find a solution.
I
also explained that I had all the necessary equipment to churn out
some mellow vibes like Simon and Garfunkel and they didn't hesitate
to let me take control as they studied my bulging eyeballs, twitching
head and jerking knees. Job done and I settled down for some serious
writing.
As
the sun was finally beaten into submission by thickening clouds and
the fact that the planet spins, a small activity disturbed my peace
of beer and looking up English grammar, when two of the staff set up
an amp, a couple of guitars and started jamming. They were good, and
soon they were rewarded by an enthusiastic audience of exactly one
person – me. Many of the songs I knew. I recognised the tunes, but
the lyrics were gibberish. That was because the song book, Jon (such
was the name of the singer), was using had all OUR music translated
into their language. Such sacrilege. 'Hey Jude', certainly comes over
rather oddly.
Sadly,
after 90 minutes of me howling along to any recognisable chorus, the
fun and games had to seize as the fat bottom bicycle girls had
gathered on the veranda and started their own jamming session. Nerdy
bloke had a guitar and to much linking of arms, the matching track
suit lasses howled away some local folk songs and a few western hits.
Some of them haunt me to this day as they certainly murdered them. It
was beyond painful to listen to them turn what should have been a
fine rock concert into 'Michael row your boat ashore' in a foreign
language, with me thinking a ground to sea missile could solve a lot
of problems.
But,
before I decided to hang myself as an alternative to pouring hot wax
into my ears, Jon and I started chatting. His English was limited and
he didn't speak German, but I understood the whole picture of this
weird and wonderful place. The original camp site, as promoted on the
internet, had long gone bankrupt. A small group of friends and family
had taken over. In fact, they had only started opening up to the
public a month before. The reasons there were no signs yet was now
obvious. The infrastructure could not cope yet. This was obvious by
the fact the men’s toilet block was a building site, the now
communal women's toilets had a huge turd swimming in a broken
flushing toilet and generally, this place wasn't so much as run down,
but being run up. Time and especially money, was the answer. But, I
also clocked, for all the staff's enthusiasm, they needed not only
some serious investment, but a proper project manager. It appeared
all so haphazard.
Day 27. Saturday
23rd August
Rained
all night. Overcast morning – I saw no point in going anywhere.
What for? I like this place. The fat bottomed girls staggered around,
as I brewed my coffee, and I gathered from the wailing that most of
them were going to have a serious problems mounting their bicycles
again due to a large consumption of brain rot they had consumed to
grease the vocal chords.
After
much “Oh, I have forgotten my brain and toothpaste”, they finally
wandered off. Jon came over to me and under what was really starting
to clear skies, parked a possie and started whittling some sticks
into a point. I wasn't sure what the point of this exercise was but
he explained that at any moment, the place was about to be invaded by
people not sound in the head.
Literally,
as we supped coffee, (or I think I had already cracked a tinnie), a
convoy arrives. Jon says - “All you must say is 'Ahoy' – it is
Czech for 'Hello', and everything will be fine.
Fine!
What is fine? And why am I now seriously frightened? You know I
cannot handle anything out of the ordinary. And then it became
obvious – at least thirty people, all aged from late twenties to
late fifties, and all lunatics. Completely off their trolleys.
And
so, it is of course hard to describe the experience. I do not make
fun of the mentally handicapped – I am one myself, but the whole
scenario was bizarre for me.
Jan
was pretty cool. I was nervous. Their 'leader' used a whistle to
gather them around. That she was obviously well loved was shown by
their enthusiasm. She distributed them among the cabins. I watched. I
did not feel sorry for them. Why should I? It was clear that they
were happy in their own way. Beyond recognising that they were
'different'.
I
was fascinated and also a little perturbed. Strange, I have my
problems but understand them and along with medication, can live an
almost normal life; but these people, without help...
Just
a few years ago, Hitler would have smoked them. And here they are,
all happy. But – let me describe what I witnessed. Of course, what
was instantly logical, is that they must be none violent, otherwise
they wouldn't be here. One bloke, with a mouth of rotting teeth, as
tall as Herman the Munster and just as ugly, held hands with a woman
that had a massive tongue that she stuck out every three seconds.
Anther bloke wandered around and every 15 seconds would shout and
clap his hands. Another bloke sat on a bench next to me and looked at
a small notebook and shouted out lines – regardless if he actually
could read or not!
And
the noise of them all! I split, wandered down to the restaurant and
started to write. Lunchtime – they all rocked up. I couldn't cope
and gapped it. Jon told me that they were having a bonfire jamming
session that night. I thanked him and went down to the river. I
needed to escape.
Confused.
I just chilled and buried myself in the awful, depressing book 'The
classic slum'. Charming thing to read about where you come from –
hell on earth.
BUT,
that night, when I wandered over to the bonfire, the loonytunes had
gone to bed and I was to enjoy the best evening of my trip so far.
It
was perfect. The music, the camp fire, beer, the stars – everything
was a recall of times long gone and I thought that in a couple of
days this whole adventure is over, but here and now – I was in
paradise...
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