the Quetzalcoatl complex and how to push a 90kg postie up a volcano
its not easy, i tell you, when you are in the middle of a 70 degree hill and your little baby just decides to stop, and you have to break it with both breaks, hand and foot because if not its slides down… and you have to kickstart it again with the same foot you are breaking with
and you are there… looking up, looking down… stopped, almost vertically, the concept of doing more turns to save a mountains hill doesnt exist… if we can draw a straight line up , why not?
what do you do??
well… you slide down, then you start it, you move down, and then you run up the 2500m volcano with a leather jacket at 35 C pushing little red, hoping in vain she does not decide to give up in the middle.
its my biggest amount of excercise ive been doing since i started riding
exhaustiiiinggg
desperation
4 hours 5 hours crazy amount of hours to get out of the nice, and pretty and peacefull lombok valley
buttt rewarding at the end, and i dont know whats wrong with her, but she was a beast up other mountains… took her to the hospital, but nobody knows…
well hopefully she gets better,….. because i want her with me
and then… it was dark very dark and i stopped at a little road place for dinner, and the family didnt let me go.
you are not riding at night… you are a woman … you can get killed the say
you are staying here… so there i stayed with the nice sasak family, a muslim lombok type…
and i was their monkey…
all the town, all the village, all the kids came to see me, to say hi to me… the mothers brought their little babies which starting weeping and crying when they saw me… the grandmothers walked from all over to touch me, they looked they stared at me when i ate… they looked and stared when i smoked… and then i started playing some seed sasak games (reallyyy fun) with the kids that showed me and suddendly i had all the town as my groupies
they clapped if i won, said big Ohhhhs when i lost, everybody offered me coffe and food, and of course its bad education if you say no, so there i was eating and eating like i never did before, trying all the dishes they knew how to do, overcaffeined by the amount of coffees by body was consuming,
then everybody started to talk to comment, and they all left, leaving me with the single men of the village, my own single men caravan
because you know, here after the basic common questions of whats your name, and where are you going, the mothers always ask
do you have a honey?
do you have a darling?
do you have a husband?
and all the unimaginable synonyms for it…
to which of course i say yes, i say that he is working very very very hard and that’s why he cant join me
to which they answer
so when are you going to marry him?
to which i say… well not for now you know im still young…
and then its when they call all the marriable men that sell themselves as great husbands
and they are soooo shy soo shy, but we ended up watching an indo magician on tv and playing other seed games which was nice and then they were more relaxed and even talked to me, (a few knew english)
and next morning the families kid took me to see how the uncle slices up a buffalo and skin its
which was coool very cool
hmmm but im getting worried if i will get used to all this attention, they day i leave any market in barcelona and i dont see 300 people staring at little postie and eager for conversation, what will i do? what will happen to my ego?
hmmm maybe i just dont leave indonesia
time clicking and been ages at this internet
haven’t said but im in bali today… sooo many bules (what they call the tourists, it means albino, isnt it a cool word… i love it) and the whites dont care about me, and they all know english
i have to move to a village
bsbsbsbsbbsbs
