… and back again, to the magical mixture of clean, high air, friends (old and new), chemical free beer, home brewed schnapps and to-die-for cakes.
To Linz via a Germanic-efficient and very dramatic “go-around” (aborted landing) at Frankfurt’s massive hub. Arriving late at the “Blue Danube” airport. Which must have disrupted the lives of people who were collecting me … though you would not know it from their greetings.
Life moves on different wheels here. The pace is human and addictive, relaxing and energising. People are friendly first, ask questions later: no pressure, smiles are big, generosity bigger.
Sleep is easier after the first night and long walks, big, Continental thunder and shared humour kick in. I feel so blessed to have such good friends; including the ones I have only just met. Summer lies and breathes gently in the farms and landscapes here: the bees, the hay, the long-strawed barley fields. The calm bulk and shadow of cattle with enough space and pasture to roll brown eyes and flick tails at flies at leisure.
The big ants lumbering across the pine needle strewn floors in shady and butterfly haunted forests. The slabs of light that fill the air between boles of pines in tangible blocks in which motes swim and glide. The carried hammering of woodpeckers and Red Riding Hood foresters carries on the ageless stirred breezes.
I am back again: it is a catch up, a reflection, a re-birth of sorts a re-making of patterns that, this time includes the delightfully well-kept secrets of Krummau (just across a terrestrial border) and a sleepover with a band (Big thanks and much credit to MP4) after a rock and roll gig.
The river, the lake, the lost in a diversion, the girl from Hong Kong who was asking where she and her husband-to-be should honeymoon, the lake, the alpaca and peacocks on the farm (yes, really!), the roof top walk with the theme of birds: eccentric yet somehow typical.
Travel? I love it!
I had a fantastic time, but asked what I liked about England I listed:
… but a line from the book I have been reading during the away-days (Skyfaring* by pilot Mark Vanhoenhacker) echoed insistently in my brain as I waited at the gate for my return trip:
“Every landing [homecoming] is a return from the possibility of all places to the certainty and perhaps the love of one.”
Bis Bald people.
* Recommended reading, by the bye.