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.

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

I am completely engrossed in horror films of various kinds when suddenly I sense a presence behind my left shoulder. In a swift motion, I turn my head and see a man smiling at me through golden teeth and in his hands a rifle.