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Thursday 21 July 2011

Diary III

6.7.11

Sunset and the sky flows pink and delicate. We arrived early, 4.30ish so first a lazy afternoon and then a walk. Crouched under foliage, squatted on boulders, eating cherries straight from the branch.

Today I paddled alone. It was great, I was part of the flow of kayaks on the river, passing, resting, smiling, chatting. The sun shone on the high banks of pine trees, I pulled my feet from the musty pit opf my kayak body and lolled them either side of the boat, hairy legs to the sun, paddling from the front of my arms. Slowly we all talk to each other, slowly we know each other. There is a couple in a green kayak with the most beautiful paddle motion, an almost imperceptible pause in the change from left dip to right, an elegant twist, always perfectly in time.

I saw M coming from a pirateship cafe, we paddled and chatted then after a while I floated and ate peanut butter, finger-smeared on brown bread. M called me to the side and we picked cherries from a treee overhanging the water.

While we waited for the lock, all arriving one by one, hanging around as giant coal barges passed bym, I talked about walking. That's what's great about being here, everyone has a story. When I say I will walk to the UK from the Ukraine next year, the answer is "Yes? Last year I walked 2800km". We are all adventurers. The Bulgarian national rafting team are here. T starts stories with phrases like "When I had a coffee farm in Malawi". Everyone is special.

We all paddled into the lock together, a fleet of tiny boats, ants in the water, paddle legs dipping and rising. It felt brilliant to be part of this. The fat body of my kayak bobbing and rolling with each push of my arms. I know how to do it now, how to use my shoulders, my sides. First 10km is an achy warmup then the next few hours are a forgetting of muscles, only free flowing movement.

Rain came as we left the lock, I paddled circles around Y as we floated down the final 4km. He had saved me chocolate and I had saved him cherries.

Tuesday 19 July 2011

Diary II

4.7.11

In a tent by candleight, side of the Danube in the city of Linz. Saucepan of free food filling the tent with smells of fried chicken and bread. My shoulders ache and my legs are damp; it's amazing how long you can be wet for once you stop noticing it. Serbs outside, chatting. I have retired, tired. A 20km stretch this morning to chatch the first lock, weather with low hanging cloud, floating through the tops of the pine trees in the high, steep banks of the river. The water was still and slow and gave no resistance to the paddle. As I dipped through it and glided, I could have been flying, the gurgles of water the swish of my wing beats.

I am in the water but not of it. I am of the water but not in it.

Sitting comfortably on the surface, but unconnected until I trail my hands in the water and feel a spark of life flowing from the river to me. This water will run 2000 km, down to the sea, winding through countries connected by culture.

As I lie here now I feel the rocking within me still; when all is quiet I hear gurgles and splashes. Land sick, they call it.

5.7.11

Already the dark has stolen the details and I have only hazy images to recall. Soft wet rain falling on me, Y and M as we drink Romanian brandy under a tree. M's fat little body bobbling around under the umbrella he stuck down the back of his neck, yellow fishermans trousers covering his stomach. Paddling away so fast as Y chased him to rearrange his flag, shouting No! No! No! and I laughed, the rain streaking my face and only Y's warm wet lips to tell me I am cold.

When rain hits the water and all is still, there is no sound, only gliding water all around. The ever widening circles of droplets coming home.

Songs, sausages and beer at the side of the river, a sweet Austrian singing river songs and playing guitar.

Saturday 16 July 2011

Diary excerpts

2.7.11

Days are running away with me. Each one an intensity of life, brimming with beauty, cold rain or hot sun. There is no time to stop, to write. I am in constant reflection but it never gets collected, outpoured. We speak to oneanother, share our days, our hard times and our beauty.

The river is alive, when I put my hands into it I feel beauty, slick silken water I forgot we were floating in. Like slipping underwater when swimming, twisting downwards from the hips, the water envelopes me. Each paddle blade dip a pleasure, a sensual twist through the water, swirl of bubbles following the curve of the watter pressure. Over and over and over and over again; the paddle dips, the shoulder pushes, the wrist flicks. Each stroke a balanced, measured amount, designed to keep me in motion, no more no less, and so I will make it through the 8 hours of paddling. Sometimes floating but never sprinting.

3.7.11

Tent is shaking with wind, soggy silver sides bowing down in the gale force, touching the squat gas stove upon which I am shortly to prepare soup.

The river days are paddling and sitting, sometimes together but really, as soon as someone is 10 metres away, you are alone. Pladdling and sitting and looking, watching the swallows fly low over the water, the high banks of trees, dead branches floating and small duck families dabbling. Float carefully under fishing lines, bob in the wake of passing ships. Paddle in rain, in wind, in storm and in sun. Carefully ease out a piee of food from behind the seat, not moving too much so as not to topple the boat, a banana, a radish, some seeds, a piece of bread. Eat as we go, on the cheap. Yesterday Y and I went for a walk to look for food, we gathered ears of wheat and handfuls of blackberries to chew as we walked.

Wednesday 13 July 2011

wind blows

dazed days of river and sun. hot air in my face and shoulders working. Feet press gently against either side of my boat as I push with each paddle stroke, arms, shoulders, wrists.

White beaces and green trees, lazy people reclining at the waters edge. There are a lot of nudists in Austria. People use this river in many ways, an orgy of sport. An exuberance of health. Bikes, boats, canoes, fishing, picnics, fires, families.

It's so much. Never have I lived SO MUCH in the moment. By the moment I mean, what happens today, what happens tomorrow and that's it. When I arrive in Romania I will have nowhere to live and nowhere to go....but I will start thinking about that when I arrive in Romania, right now is just the daily paddle.

Wake up, pack tent, bring boat to river, a slow slide into the water, balance myself, get in and paddle. Swish and slide the paddle into the water, each stroke a small push forward until I gain momentum and am gliding. For the day. Sometimes a stop for a swim, sometimes to squat beneath bushes in the company of crackling dead branches and eat thick peanut butter smeared on good black german bread. Sun gets too hot in the afternoon, arrive in camp tired, dazed. crawl into a tent and kiss. Talk, chat, make new connections and tentative friends.

Today is a daze, as soon as I sit in front of a computer my head is spinning, I can't express this, it's too much all at once. Every day is a universe of pleasure. I am tired and I am angry and I am in love and I am trapped and I am happy and I give and give and give and then receive tenfold in return. Massage and songs and kisses and food.

Wild cherries, apricots, nettles, flowers. Squatting on boulders eating cherries from the low hanging tree branches.

Diving into cold water, current pushing insistently at my body.

Drinking schnapps in the rain, learning Russian toasting rituals.

Endless sun and endless river. Coal barges flowing past, dwarfing us, we ride their wake, floating up and over the swells of water.

Paddles dipping and rising as we paddle together into a lock, like small insects, struggling in the water. We are the ants of the river, slow swarming, ignored by the huge iron ships, the cruise boats with golf courses atop them, making it.

Everyone here has the spirit of adventure, an open heart....in whatever degree....we are all good people here. And I am one of them.

Today I am in Bratislave, capital of Slovakia. I have paddled 680 kilometres to get here. Another 1800 or so to go. More or less.

Tour International Danubien 2011 this is where I am....http://www.tour-international-danubien.org