I have spent one night on a campsite with three fine gentlemen from the region of Aalst (ah). Non-Aalstenaars do not understand them weird sacred traditions: dressing up as women (however ‘voil’) on a cold and rainy winter day. On campsites you get to observe campsite people. Unwillingly you become one of them for a certain limited period. Many bonjours are exchanged. “lotj mij me rust!”
There, we have shared handshakes, food, drinks and camping seats. A mini-communist experience, comrades. At the end of the trip, the bill is nicely split among the four of us. Should we not do a social-taxation? Or a hybrid communist state where the basic goods are the same for everyone, but we get to buy stuff exclusively for our own? You might ask what the point of this weird thought pattern is. Well, I don’t mind sharing stuff. But I am also attached to my own stuff: my precious Swiss army knife, my tent…
On the campsite, you earn respect with food: baking eggs with bacon in the morning and cooking a stash to take on a hike. Success guaranteed! You also have to stand your ground, if you need to consume your food before going on a hike. Something to work on. A triangle of dominance, according to C.
Men, women, kids of different layers of social islands get together on the campsite. You do live in a bubble, I contemplated. For instance, I am surrounded by PhD students, postdoc’s and professors. I guess that is how we network: we need people alike in our jobs. A “classless” society does not exist.
On the campsite, you spend 2 hours cooking, which would normally take only a 30 minutes. It is nice, this slowness. Meanwhile beers are consumed. Snacks are consumed. It puzzles me why this is difficult to apply to a normal working day. My mind would be much more relaxed.
Grandfather’s car, a longtime companion on leisure trips
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« at the bridge of Khazad-dûm »
« morning sunrays at the campsite »
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« Who’s motorcycle is that, baby? »
« It is a chopper, baby »
« Who’s chopper is that? »
« Who’s Zed? »
«Zed is dead»