The Blog
Diary of a solo traveler wandering around Europe

The blonde asks, “Welche sprache sprichst du?” A second passes before I find my voice and explain that I do not speak German. “What language were you talking?” she asks. “Hebrew,” I reply. “Oh? you are from Israel…?” The blonde smiles and sneaks a glance at her friend. Somewhere in the back of my soul I feel a fleeting sense of loneliness. I want to sit between them, have each of them hug me from either side, and then quietly die.

Unfortunately, the room that is closest to the Winery, is the Music Room, where a wind orchestra practices every day. I assume the players are quite young. Their breathing power fails to sustain long notes. It sound as if all the music students at every hour of the day are preparing the same musical piece and it is obvious that many of them are completely tone deaf.

The toilet flushes as explained, the garbage bag is opened and spread over the toilet basin, and everything is executed to perfection. The friend with the long hair found a bride, and I found wonderful relief and freedom - freedom of having to look for hidden spots or using dodgy public facilities. From now on, everything can be done in my Nadedet efficiently while maintaining all hygiene rules.

I walk down a dark hallway until I come to a door behind which a female voice is instructing, "Inhale and exhale" in French. Is it possible that a French yoga class is taking place here? Yoga is good. Yoga means that these people are also breathing so there's a better chance that no police will be involved. I knock on the door, and on the other side all goes quiet. Eyes wide, I wait, and then the door opens. "Yoga!" I say, "C'est très bien!"

The parking spot is perfect. Behind me are the silent village houses, and in front of me the sun is setting over a mountain. I roll out the awning that creates a sort of porch, open the back doors of the car, and lie down on the bed. If earlier I thought that the chirping of the birds was excessive, now, in the sunset, the choir has settled on all the treetops surrounding my Nadedet, and is simply chirping to its heart's content. I lie there and listen. Today is Friday. Tomor

On May 29th, after a refreshing sleep, I wake up in a hotel room in Lyon, stretch, and replay the yesterday's entire film in my mind. A wave of self-satisfaction washes over me. If I got through that, it seems I can handle anything that comes my way. At this moment in time, what I cannot imagine is how much this realization will be put to the test.

The scenery here is breathtaking, and the rain that had fallen has vanished as quickly as it came, and once again the green glistens, with the villages blending perfectly into the hillside, and the camper fills with adjectives that suit one of the most beautiful regions in the world.

With all the excitement and fear, my body, quite literally, begins to tremble. Do I need to register? Where do I park the camper? How do I connect to electricity? Who do I ask? I pull over to the side of the road, turn off the engine, and slowly make my way from the driver's seat to the ground. After so many hours of driving, I can hardly walk, and my blood pressure feels like it has dropped to an all-time low. I have to lean against the car to avoid falling to the ground.

You return to your room, sit in front of a screen, seeking validation for your discoveries. You watch countless videos on YouTube and realize that to narrow the radius of your pendulum, all you need to do is fly to Germany, go to a used car lot, announce your arrival, select a Wohnmobile that meets your needs, pay for it, and drive. Simple, right? Well, it turns out, it’s not quite that easy.

This method of taking care of other people's homes and pets is one of the cheapest ways to explore foreign countries. Aside from a little food I buy during my stay, I have no expenses. In contrast, I have a bike, a bed, a shower, a toilet, a fully equipped kitchen, and everything at a five-star level. Yes, and there are bunnies that you just can't help but fall in love with.