February 2. Hostel World.

I was taken care of once more. On the day I left, they took me to the bus station in Oliveira. Sixteen euros to get straight back to Lisbon. I dozed in the bus, let a lot of thoughts pass my inner eye. Where would I go? South America? India? Which country would be next – and how about my writing. Would it be recognized, do I need that? I was tired when I arrived in Lisbon,
and I went to the same cafe I had been in 2007 and the memory made me very happy. 2007 is a long time ago, I was a child then. The coffee was good, as everywhere in Portugal. The main reason to stay here for a while and write like hell. The spirit of total freedom. It’s a shame the Iraq war was waged under the banner of freedom. Freedom that imprints itself too much in the earth’s crest is suspect. My freedom is a shadow with a pen.

It was already dark when I started looking for a Couchsurfer. None available. After a while, I found an hostel that offered affordable beds for the nights. Breakfast included. A German guy, Klaus, worked there. He was a philosopher like me, planning to write his PhD in the philosophy of
mind. He didn’t like namedropping, he worked systematically about the gap between experience and knowledge. That takes a lot of Geist. The people her were all so young, and all on planned,
carefully scheduled trips. At home, a life awaited them, a life of being a mechanic, a textile designer, a photographer, a medic, anything. It must be a good feeling when a life awaits you.

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