Tag Archives: caravan

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence 3


At the end of the summer holidays, the school board did not need a teacher for math and science. I decided to move on. After the black page in my history, I was not interested in trekking. Life was dull and weary, like a meal that tasted like putty. But I had to move on. There was no other choice: I did not belong at the place where I was. The days were stringing together. Autumn started and it was soon dark before the evening meal. The hills showed themselves in a dark red glow like clotted blood.

[1]

That year the winter started early. In end of November it froze solid and snow was falling. In early December I found a man lying in sleeping bag far too thin for that time of the year. The man had a dark blue colour, but now he was pale. By the hypothermia he was not approachable. With difficulty I moved him into my caravan. I put the heating on, put him in my bed and laid down beside him. For first time, I was pleased with a hot flash by the transition. After a few hours the man was still nauseated and shaky. I made something to eat and to drink. With great reluctance he eat and drank. Every a few hours I have repeated this action. The next day we moved to a winter camping. The owner looked suspiciously at the man with the appearance of a wanderer. On this camp-ground we washed his clothes. He showered  and I cut his hair and trimmed his beard. Now he looked presentable again. Now I had a goal in my life again, although temporally.

In my youth I cared for my sisters without success and for my dolls with success, but that did not count. Later I had nobody to care for. I only had to look after myself – a lonely bird did not know otherwise. During my research others sometimes took care of my safety. But now I had someone to care for – a proud man.

He was born in Africa around 1960. His mother cared for him, for his brothers and sisters and for his father. His father was an wandering storyteller who received care and shelter when he visited his mother. Then he told his adventures and everyone was happy.

At school he learned reading and writing from the nuns. The rest of his life, he visited every library for food for thought. From his father he learned storytelling.

With the change from boy to young man, he noticed that he fell in love with other young men. His mother sent him away to a country where men may love other men. After a long trip he arrived in Amsterdam. His life was a feast. His exotic fragrance wafted through the city: he met the best and most beautiful lovers. But also in this city he slept in the open air – on a balcony or with all windows open if he was with someone. From an exotic young man, he became an older man with greying hair and a flax beard. The love floated as fast as the years. This spring he started to drift; his wanderer’s existence began. In his biography more about his life.

[2]

Still he could not and he did not want to sleep under a roof; the first nights after our meeting he was far too weak for objections – I left a small light on. For the next cold nights we painted the starry sky in luminous paint on the inside of the roof of the caravan: in the dark it seemed as if we were under the starry sky. When the weather was good, we slept outside.

Together we moved on that winter. We told each other of our adventures. I also told in vague wordings about the black page in my history. He told his dark pages. We did not have a relationship: he loved men and I was closed in this area.

The following post is about the start of our Odyssey.


[1] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herfst

[2] Source image: processing in several ways of a photo.

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence


Carla Drift – Nomadic existence

I cannot write more about my work in the area of crimes against humanity, because I will bring other people and myself in great danger. With state secrets, secret services, authorities and powers which have added stark dark pages to history, one cannot be too careful.

In Western Europe, many people think that this dark pages are written by authorities and powers in distant countries. From South Limburg I did not have to travel far. South Limburg itself had never had many ambitions to fulfil a role in world history, maybe robber gangs like the “buck riders” [1] added a few footnotes to history. I leave further research into black pages in history by South Limburg to others.

[2]

From my village in South Limburg I did not need to travel far for a number of my investigations. With a few hours walk to the East, I arrived in Germany with crimes against humanity during the Second World War. With a few hours walking to the West, Belgium is located with Congo as black pages in history; in elementary school we only learned the abuses against fathers and sisters and massacres of innocent believers, but later more became known [3]. To the North, Holland is located with its dark history in the slave trade. Also dark pages were written during the suppression of rebellions in Indonesia [4] where a President of the Council of Ministers [5] in his early years has personally played an active role. Finally – against the wishes of Holland – Indonesia became independent after a war that was called police actions [6] in Holland. I was involved in investigation into war-crimes during this war. Furthermore I have done research on all seven continents – also in Australia with Aborigines and in North America with the world power.

[7]

After every research in the tropics, I came home exhausted and sick. Luckily I still had places at home where I could recover. In Amsterdam I had my room in the house of friends of Man and me for a long time. When I came home in South Limburg there were always happy faces – when I came and when I went again; I was always greeted as the prodigal daughter but I was too independent and bold – “vreg”; the pastor, the Mayor and the City Council noticed this pretty fast. In short, several temporary places to recover and to make preparations for new investigations with all adventures involved. Always under a disguise playing a game of hide-and-seek in order not to be unmasked with all fatal consequences involved.

About 10 years ago, I left my room in Amsterdam, because the friends of Man and I decided to live in a smaller apartment at their old age. Their beautiful house in the Centre of Amsterdam was sold. I left my room with a rucksack, a sleeping bag, a bivouac sack, lightweight camping gear and some clothes. All my books were in the University libraries – with a number of library cards easily accessible. I sold my other belongings. All in all, an enormous wealth.

Several years ago I came back from a research in the tropics – but now I was seriously ill. I did not recover fully: after small efforts I was quickly tired. I noticed in my body and soul that tropics years counted double; After some 20 years in the tropics I had reached my retirement at the age of 50 years old . With my savings and some small consultancies, I could bridge the time until my “state pension”.

After a nomadic existence of researcher with recovery periods in Amsterdam with friends and in South Limburg with family, I was now dependent on a new place to live. In South Limburg I did belong any longer in the society of the village where I grew up – I left too long ago. My father and mother were proud grandparents of the children of both my sisters. These nephews and nieces were almost independent – two were studying, one was craftsman and the youngest was still following high school. My sisters were happily married with nice partners. My friend from my childhood was well either. He came along when I was in Amsterdam for a visit to world city with all its challenges. Sometimes he visited me abroad. How welcome the home nest in South Limburg might appear, I did not belong there any more.

I was a nomad, but a nomad who needed a roof during bad weather and cold nights. Through friends I bought a caravan that was adapted for wintertime.

[8]

There was another problem: I had no driving licence and I did not want to get one. Trough acquaintances in South Limburg, I bought a small tractor. My father checked the tractor on shortcomings. I think no tractor was ever so thoroughly checked, because my father intuitively felt that this might be one of the last things he could do for me – his problem child and apple of his eye.

[9]

The village waved me goodbye when I left with tractor – caravan combination and I waved back, again only happy faces. The following post is about the treks with this tractor – caravan combination.

News

My publisher has its new website available:

www.omnia-amsterdam.nl


[1] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokkenrijders

[2] Source image:  http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokkenrijders

[3] See also: Reybrouck, David Van, “Congo – Een geschiedenis van”. Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 2010

[4] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atjehoorlog

[5] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hendrikus_Colijn

[6] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Politionele_acties

[7] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aborigines_(Australi%C3%AB)

[8] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caravan_(aanhangwagen)

[9] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tractor