10) The things we use

10) The things we use

Back to the slides. What have I got here? On the slide rail that says ‘Gran Canaria’ I’m confronted by a riddle. The first slide shows a tent in mountainous terrain, high tops in the far distance and among huge boulders our tent. One of our tents, the Fjällraven, beautiful tent, sturdy, easy to set up, spacey, but heavy. How does it end up in the mountains? As far as my memory will allow me to travel we use the small and lightweight Eureka Moonshadow when walking in the mountains.

The sight of the tent makes me realize equipment is important. Don’t show the surroundings, don’t show the view from a summit. Show the things you use, the jacket you wear, your headgear. What kind of stove to cook on. Things that get outdated but are considered top of the bill when you use them. All of a sudden I see we camped long before fleece or goretex became commonplace.

Did we use the Fjällraven before the Moonshadow? Then the trek must have been quite strenuous indeed.

But is it really Gran Canaria?

After the mountains we see a gentle slope with a primitive church and a lady leading a small herd of cows along a narrow path through a pine forest. This can easily be a picture made somewhere in the Alps.

Another indication of time is the map. Chantal reads a map that looks like a photocopy. Wish I could see that map. In the beginning of our travels maps were a problem. Hard to come by and expensive. Sometimes we use photocopies instead. But what strikes me is her backpack. That’s the one I carried in Indonesia in 1978.

It is a cross between a suitcase and a backpack, more a bag then a backpack. The fibre is cordura and it has lots of zips. We think we will look less like hippies in Indonesia if we carry this bag because you can hide the straps and let it look like a respectable suitcase. With a lot of fantasy that is. Back to the slides:

A meandering river in a caldeira?

A view from a window?

An ass standing in front of a church?

Where or when did we take these pictures?

Their maybe an answer to that.

Chantal leaves me with a stack of diaries. Next to an avid photographer she is a meticulous reporter. Her writings can shed light on a lot of these slides. The letters she writes me I keep and I have no problem reading her handwriting. But as yet I cannot set myself to read her diaries.

They are not meant for me. Notes for your diary are letters to yourself. They are hers. For her eyes only. That shows I’m not a detached historian of my life. With diaries from somebody-else I will not have these qualms.

I must admit. I once leafed through a diary. It is the diary of Evelyn. After I have found her in our apartment with her arm in a bucket of water and blood. It is a cry for help I cannot prevent nor answer. Her older brother comes to our place and takes her home. A week later he fetches her belongings. He forgets her diaries. They are in the bookcase.  Only when he ask me for them do I see them. I cannot resist leaving through them. To my horror I am not mentioned once.

Is it because of the slides? I don’t know, but I dream of Chantal. We are travelling and she has to get out of the train. I lose sight of her and have to continue travelling on my own. It is inconvenient and I feel abandoned. But I feel also a consolation as I know I will see her again at the end of the trip.