Maybe I'll feel better using English as I speak to myself in this country.

Let's give it a try.


Anyways. Wtf, CouchSurfing? What do you mean, Welcome home! - how the hell can you call this home? Yes, a country of origin. No, not even the part of it that I live in. Just, eh, I'd like it so much more if you said that back in Spain. Or anytime I log in from the road. The Road, yessss!...

And well. As CS is trying hard to make me squat or crash in the parks more, maybe it's high time to go back to Mother Hospitality Club, or look for some different options - which is exactly what I'm doing now. For an interesting review of the organizations - and some truly fucked CS facts go here.

No more talking about CS. Let's get back to my favorite subject.

YES, squatting!...
Over-night "squats", those wonderful derelict/under-construction/abandoned for good, for holidays, for the winter, for.../... houses, sheds, gardens (squatting gardens, how I adore it!), eh!
Finding those that actually exist - just because you bump into them, into people that live in them, or going all through the continent "because there's this cave squat with running water near Granada!". For a night, drink, concert - to visit, to stay, to live. La, lalala.

And how beautifully things connect. What would scare me away a few years ago is now such a wonderfully huge part of what I am, we are. Lalala, la!

YESSS, parks!
Beaches, benches, train stations, pubs - all being wonderful little homes for a moment. Dry or not so dry, silent and peaceful or well, not really. Who cares, in the end? Just rest, give your head some sleep to start moving again in a few hours.

This open hippie disco-bar in Caños de Meca, with mattresses all around - who remembers now that it was raining? It didn't rain so much anyway.

Those stoned Slovenian rockers that took us from the road in Serbian mountains, the ones for which we changed our route - to stay with them, sleep in their camper, drink and sing when it really got freezing cold in Žabljak. Somersaults in the snow. Lala, lala!...


Felippe didn't like the mosquitoes and mice in the park; for me it felt more like home, like field work - I love the rodent voices so much!

The turtles on Nicky's terrace wouldn't go out because of the freaking wind. I feel cheated, need to be back; I want to be able to say: Now I remember this one morning in Gibraltar when I woke up with a turtle bite!

And however unconnected it may all seem - it's all the same story, it's a single, long story. And in the end it all ends up with someone giving you a loving hug, with someone else saying you're a sick sociopath never to find love. 
Oh, well.

Homes, homes, homes. There is no big truth, no one and forever - and AH, thank you for that, Mundo pequenito!



And thanks CS for giving me a reason to learn, and not to study. Eh. Work, silly girl, and you will move to a better climate so soon, so soon!