Gent: Home

Just as I got used to qwerty keyboards.

The trip’s over, I am home again. It may seem as somewhat of an anticlimax, but that’s not how I feel. Distance, time, quantity, it all mattered very little to begin with so none of them would have led to some climax to satisfy your voyeuristic needs.

What can I say? I was ready to go home. I was satisfied. There’s no longing to go back, or upwelling hate for my own country. I got back just in time, I think. Done and hoping to pick up where I left off as soon as possible.

I will keep writing, as I have done for years, but I don’t expect to keep many readers. I never started with that intent to begin with, the point was to keep something for myself to retrace. To map the changes that shape who I am today so I know where I came from, and who knows, be able to go back.
I’m going to digest this whole thing a little and try and reach some conclusion or other, over analyzing like I tend to. It’s not going to be pretty though, so if you were going to tune out, now’s your chance.
Kindly fuck off.

But here’s the intel on the last couple days.


As stated before, I was going to hitch a ride with a truck driver, going all the way from Stavanger to Paris. It sounded too good to be true, so nonetheless I half-assed planned getting there the way I had gotten around; hitching, bumming and cussing. All in all, I still didn’t expect to get home before the end of the month.

And I was right, at least in part. I had to get up early to catch my ride, some Dutch driver transporting microwave dinners. That is to say, to sit there and wait until he got his rig back from the shop. Something off with the balancing mechanism. He tried to explain but succeeded only in making me go "Wow this thing is more complicated than I thought. Durrr."

BUT in the end, around 11am, two hours behind schedule, we were off. It took me about 20 minutes in the cockpit (or whatever it’s called, Durr) to conclude that this man had a screw or two loose. He went on and on about the shit he stole, the whores he did and the employers he mouthed off to. He was an alright guy, he was just so full of talk it was hard to distinguish truth from fantasy or wet dream, accordingly. And during this rambling, he shared with me how he reacted when he was asked if he could have a hitch-hiker.

"This isn’t a taxi, I told him! I said, things would be different if he was a girl, but I’m not letting some guy sleep with me! I’m not a fucking homo! But when he said it was just to Oslo, I told him okay."

A few moments of silence followed. Just to Oslo. Well, shit. In my mind I began going through the same routine again: Internet connection, accommodation, means and direction of travel. To make matters worse, we weren’t expected to arrive in Oslo before 11pm. And thinking like that, I noticed how tired I had gotten of it. So far there had always been something I was able to come up with, but this constant nagging feeling when you don’t know where to sleep tonight, was getting old.

But at this point, my driver showed himself surprisingly helpful. Even though he had just virtually kicked me out of his truck, he began making calls without me even asking. While I was making arrangements to find a place to sleep, he phoned up his colleagues to figure out who else would be spending the night there and which way they were going. 5 different people, but only the last was both able and willing to take me in. As long as I wouldn’t be sleeping over.

I lucked out, second time in a row. He would be going to the Belgian coast and on to Paris from there, so I had but to pick my destination.
There was this woman in Germany that I wanted to meet, one of the coders of the game I am staff for, but at the last moment she seemed to have changed her mind. So sick of wandering, I figured I might as well jump out in Antwerp, stay with a friend, and go home the next day. But as it turned out he wouldn’t be home until late at night and we would be passing 30km from Gent, the choice seemed obvious. And for once, the obvious is what I went with. After hitching one more ride, I was home.

I let my friends stay at my place while I was gone, and I scared the hell out of them barging in like I did. This had been their little love nest for the past months, perhaps that is why they are now scrambling to move out like kids caught with their hands in a cookie (heh) jar, despite me insisting they take their time. I’ll be sad to see them leave. More time on my own isn’t what I came back for, but of course that’s my problem to solve, not theirs. And solve it I will – eventually.


For the last time, ladies and gents.
Pictures will disappear in a few weeks, I am taking them off. If you want them, let me know and we can work something out. I may put the best online at some point. Unlikely. Get ’em while they’re hot!


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