I was recently in Altwindeck, a small village not far from the victory. Along the narrow winding streets there are half-timbered houses, the very large and very small, which are quiet and modest, as it was their business to have to speak loudly of a past. The old mill, the town house, the village square and the Gasthof "Zur Linde" is to provide unobtrusive, are there for you, need your attention, however, not to be what they are: resting in the phenomena.
The past of Altwindeck does not seem to be great. I mean, major poets, musicians, philosophers, statesmen and entrepreneurs were not born there. And decisive battles have the hill away from this village, as far as I know, not taken place - yes, as far as I know it is from Altwindeck obviously do not know much. In a booklet about the village is only spoken of the "present" and the "future" of the village.
live today in this village about 300 people, few of them are on a Saturday night at the inn "Zur Linde", drinking beer, smoking cigarettes (the smoking ban Altwindeck has not yet reached), and allowed to talk about the little-big events of the past week. The villagers seem to get along quite well, and talks for three hours without any complaints or allegations. Something like "policy" does not seem to exist. And taste the steak, served with a pile of onions and potatoes, delicious.
Together with my partner, I spend the night with Charles and Mary Ann, two wind-nuts that hold an entire floor for guests ready. Down in the basement of the house there is a bar with heavy liquids from all over the world, I even discovered a bottle of gin Jonge from Holland. A half hour we talk about four of the whole world: no continent is left out. Charles was once an engineer, is now retired and has "a lot" to the ears. If I remember correctly, this week is a journey to Brazil. Annemie especially enjoys the fact that they can talk to my girlfriend in English: "Quiero espagnol" she says constantly cheerful.
will then spoke of the life of responsibilities, concerns, illness, stress, family situations - but again: no charges or complaints. Life seems to be OK in principle, one should not expend only ... A type of traditional self-knowledge shapes the narratives are not free of drama are, however, be considered in a "realistic" framework. The fact is that life sometimes hurts, it should surely not be surprised. Are we not all "people"?
Next Sunday morning, there are Altwindeck in a traditional craft market. More than ten thousand visitors are expected. The entrance of the village streets are guarded by friendly young strict: no foreign cars allowed to drive into it. Around the community center - where do you get coffee, beer, potato cakes and sweets - craftsmen may be found: watchmakers, weavers, blacksmiths and basket makers, broom makers and bread bakers. And a little horse is instructed to put the mill in operation.
The basket-maker, about forty years old, sitting on a stool, holding in his mouth a cigarette, and is in a slow pace of work, which it does not interrupt. Around him are at least a hundred wonderful baskets you could buy, the man would not have to weave in the process. I will immediately clear which basket I buy, so have to buy, because without him my life would remain empty and hopeless. I already know where I will stand up to the basket, on the broad windowsill next to the kitchen table where I always leave my texts arise. is
When his cigarette, watching the Basket-makers around him, finally noticed me, said nothing, however, appear to offer any of it, like a half-timbered house that unexpectedly opens one of its tiny windows ... I must therefore ask you something, for example, if I could buy a basket COULD. When I asked, so here is my question, he nods his head, which means something like: well, if you like ... So I buy a basket, I think of willow branches (I'm not sure, but trust me to not to ask that - something you should know it!) And leave the man alone. He has not spoken a word. In his mouth already put another cigarette and his hands have the rhythm immediately recovered.
Now the basket next to me in the kitchen. And I write. And I think: I would like to offer time as a craftsman in a market, then I take with my kitchen table, my chair from Ikea and my laptop, sat down and braid old texts. And if someone came over and would like to buy for nineteen € a text, I would say nothing. I would not even want to know, to appreciate what windowsill in his soul the lucky buyer intends to my text. I would say to me, Jelle, you are a traditional craftsman, nothing more. That's enough, right?
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