Red Cap on a Trip to Germany
Been there, done that and all that crap. Yes, I have been around, met some people (and things) head-on you can say. Rather, I have been unceremoniously dumped onto things (and heads attached to things called people), mainly against my will, and mostly to my horror.
So I decided to go into hiding for a while, and then maybe ask for asylum in that African heaven called Zimbabwe on the grounds of physical and emotional abuse by a white man. I even talked to old Robert about my plan and he was rather excited about the prospect of having an authentic Red Cap in that rotten banana republic of his.
But then, Oh Glory of Glories, I heard about my moron’s intention to go to Europe on vacation! I could hardly contain myself. I almost voluntarily jumped onto his head to make sure that I did not stay behind. We are going to Germany, to the land of the Furher. I am so excited, I almost shouted Zig Heil, but then remembered what happened to those stupid Potchefstroom students that got themselves investigated and transformed just because they did not know about the man who single handedly caused the greatest havoc on Earth since Jesus kicked those tables to smythens in that Temple so many years ago.
I hopped into the moron’s suitcase so fast he only saw a red blur before he slammed the lid on me. Bastard, he was going to leave me back home, on my own and play the smart ass know-it-all world traveller. Well, not without me buddy, you won’t. “I will follow yooou, follow you wherever yooou may gooooo. I’ll follow, I’ll follow” and oceans too deep and all that crap. You know the tune. You get my drift? We are going to Germany.
Next thing I knew, we were on the plane, me squeezed flat and freezing to death in the luggage compartment while His Lordship, the moron, were sitting snug and comfortable, and drinking Whisky somewhere above me. It was a ghastly flight, with a ghastly eight hour stopover in Tinker Town in the middle of the night in the middle of a ghastly dessert. By the time we reached Munich, we were in tatters. If this is what holiday feels like, I shudder to think what Hell must be like. I vow never to go there ever. That is a trip my moron will do on his own, thank you. And go there he will, no bones about that. Child of Saturn!
Munich, glorious Munich. City of kings, and playgrounds of a little man named Adolf. I can hardly believe I am here. Tonight we sleep. Tomorrow we start on our first adventure. We are going to explore Italy, land of leaning towers, pizzas, Gladiators and of course wine, woman and song. I do believe that I will not be able to sleep tonight, being as excited (and sensitive of natural inclination) as I am. We will count the hours to daybreak. Lo amo l’Italia!!
Are we visitors to these far lands? I believe not, because visitors come and drink tea (or coffee, or whatever), and chat about this and that (mostly gossip), and then go home. We want to see, and intend to drink a lot more than the casual cup of tea, thank you. Are we travellers? I believe not. Travellers go from point A to point B on business, mostly. Our business is not business, not on this trip, no. Our business is to observe, to watch, to learn.
We are not wayfarers either, for we will do our traveling not on foot, but primarily in style by luxury motorcar. But of course we will walk, or rather, the Moron will do the walking. Lots of it. Me, I will be sitting pretty, watching.
Pilgrims, that’s what we are. We will walk on holy ground, we will visit holy sites, but, being human made and trampled by human feet, and soaked by human blood, it will by default be more unholy than holy. Different from travellers or visitors, we will not only see or hear, we will experience, we will feel, we will immerse ourselves in the culture and history of our surroundings and the people who lived there, or are still living there. And I will judge them. I will judge them severely, for they are merely human, and to my experience, mostly brainless, amoral, brutal and unworthy. I hate the bastards.