понедельник, 22 октября 2007 г.

Memories of a trip to Alsace (II)


Bonsoir tristesse. Fast post charm meets the barren Klause left of the limited entrance of the campsite "Pierre de Coubertin" in Ribeauvillé. Two trainingsbehoste campers to laze shabby plastic monobloc chairs. The bulk of the space is empty. Even Lost frizz gray lines from the dust on the worn linoleum floor covering. Some faded posters hang for years on the wall. Printed they are attractive Truss, tried geknispten facades. At the time, before they were angepinnt here, they can no longer remember.

The Dartboard and the surrounding wall wallpaper behind her mother stab wounds. But the pain. At least hurts the disc nor the Bull's-Eye-Gegend. Mostly their peripheral areas of the puckern still pinched. For tonight, they rest. Almost no one is there. And the only guests who might be dangerous, hanging like a sip of water in the curve in their plastic chairs and drink flat Kronenbourg.

The receptionist hakennasige kokelt enormous patience to Papas cord, the fire begins immediately. As for us because cloud, easy route to the barrier, instead of obediently at the designated site before Anmeldeparkplatz stop. Whether we maybe even a hidden washer and a dryer in our caravan portable. The fact that we do not need to imagine, after 22 hours by car or on the ground to drive. Alimentation only between 8 and 9 am, depending on the mood but also ne quarter of an hour shorter.

Small clouds of smoke still thinks it days later, on the head of my father strubbelfrisierten exercise, if he thinks it back, flanked by ricocheting fury. But it flies away nimble again, and finally, the actual holiday enormously relaxing and nice.

A Dutchman with zerknautschtem Bull Dogg's face kneeling on his terrain and mounted a huge steel tripod KILLINGWORTH his satellite dish. But the fine adjustment raises problems. The Contact into space will slow further. Sinuskurvige Dauerpiepstöne accompany his manipulations. The Danes, the celebration evening trousers unpacked. The beer tastes, seems's. A lonely doormat lies motionless on the pitch. Two pair of sandals bore on it. The accompanying mobile home is still on. Three children rampage before squeaking joy at the huge playground scaffold. Ponente! One is the Kletterleiter down. His green cap is down. He blubbers glasklirrend. Mama comes running. It's all good. The moon shining through the livid feuchtkalte fog plush blanket, which is good for the night on the forest floor and laid before. Knee High Position lamps have buttermilchigem license with the route to the caravans as Leitlichter an airplane runway. The belly curves are satisfied and exhausted by powerful powerful delicious and tasty food. Without knocking climbs the cold night through small cracks in the still pleasantly warm caravans and trembles even to himself, when the gas heater off.

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