10/02/2005

Yesterday I returned to Sturovo. I left Albert in Amsterdam. Fortunately I love being alone as much as I hate saying goodbye to him. The airplane was delayed. An hour later than expected the machine taxied along the runway. Inbetween the long stretches of asphalt big birds of prey stared at the enormous silvery bird I was sitting in. We left the ground and as always I had a strange euphoric feeling because of this magical event. This manmade mass lifting itself into thin air.
Not even a week ago we drove 1400 kilometres to get back to Amsterdam, slept in a small hotel, unexpectedly filled with a big crowd of noisy, rude Dutch families on their way to the white slopes in Austria. We arrived in Holland, visited Alberts 92 year old mother who looked like a boxer because she had fallen over and bruised her face severely, came home, ran around for three days and said goodbye again. Albert to me, I to my house and everything in it. As I said: I hate leaving. But I love to be away.

Nothing has changed here. The bridge looks as majestic as always. There’s a lot of ice on the Danube. My house is cold. Half of the heaters in the living room don’t work. Nothing has changed. I turn on the coocking plates to warm up the living room. Slovak live makes me quite inventive. There’s old snow outside. The sun is shining bright. People walk the streets with sad faces. That hasn’t changed either. But it’s probably the same in Amsterdam. Maybe spring will bring new laughs. Or maybe I have to make them laugh?

I thought of a second project. Actually I wanted to wait for March, but this month might be just as fitting. It’s quite simple. I want to spread a sentence through the city. Written down on those square yellow glue-on note papers. Being stuck everywhere: on walls, doors, car windows, trees, tables, where ever I can stick them. The sentence is in Hungarian, it’s the first full sentence I learned here. Jó világ van. It’s a good world.

And indeed it is.