We are still chilling here. The Kandinsky is apparently gearing up to leave, though we are not sure when. In what time we have left I am going to do another gig, try and get some new material down, and put the memory of getting lost in Duchamp to bed. I am in a deckchair covered in inspirational quotes, and stroking one of the cats. This one had the taste of peppermint.
A Year In Nadada: Week Thirty Two- Wild Cards
Crotti is what I needed after Duchamp.
Alongside the staff, about a hundred people remain on the Kandinsky. At the moment we spread across the island, and are almost enjoying a normal holiday. Time runs at a level that makes sense, and you can walk from street to the next without them hopping around. Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of weird stuff here. I will discuss the cats next week. But for now here’s a rundown of I spend my time in this section of Nadada.
A Year In Nadada: Week Thirty One- Flush Photography
A Year In Nadada: Week Thirty- The Population Of Hungary
Nearly there. Nearly up to date.
With the grinding of brick walls, the Freytag House shuffled off. A tacky fire door swung shut behind us. The ceiling is so low we have to stoop. Two woman at the bar drink pina coladas, and a man plays darts on a melted board with upside down numbers. His glass contained cocktail umbrellas, and lots of ice. Something with a lot of crooning plays from a cracked glass jukebox.
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Nine- Into The Freytag House
Sorry, my last post was a bit down. We are still having a fascinating time, even if our current office is a toilet. I am sure getting out of here is a case of finding the right lever, or wishing the walls to turn into Victoria sponge. And not needing to sleep is a good thing. We can finish off this blog. Hope they reach you, and I am not just sending thoughts out to no one.
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Eight- Reflections and Cisterns
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Seven - Metronome
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Six- Stage Diving
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Five- The Other Side Of The Mountain
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty-Four- The Man Who Wasn’t There
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Three- Catching Fishes
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty Two- Tube Sheet Tumour
Today I considered how our motorbikes are powered. We’ve been travelling for nearly a week, and we haven’t needed to refuel once.
On the surface we trek between gigs using train, or in a real tightness of funds, coach. One of these bikes up there would save me thousands. Jean-Michel refuses to tell us how the engine works, but I am sure there’s something like a bunch of flowers riding a miniature bicycle inside.
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty One- Time For Exploring
This far into the desert, time gets weird. I posted this this blog only three days after the last one, but I’ve no idea when the release date will be. The sand stretches to the horizon all the way round, and give little indication of distance travelled. Jean-Michel says not to worry. He won’t let us get lost.
A Year In Nadada: Week Twenty- The Sands Of Time
The desert is ready to explore!
Maybe deep under the sand is our cottages are buried under sand. Perhaps the monkeys carried Picabia brick by brick to fresh new lands. Whatever happened, sand and goats are all there is for 360 degrees around The Kandinsky. The sand underneath my shoes is soft, and reveals nothing of a hidden world. Even the hills have gone.
A Year In Nadada: Week Nineteen- Getting The Goat
A Year In Nadada: Week Eighteen- A Cog Of The Machine
A Year In Nadada: Week Seventeen- Reflections On A Castle
In recent weeks I have realised how you only see a tiny fraction of Nadada in these blogs. Admittedly there is a lot less admin than I was expecting from The Kandinsky. No need for health and safety information out here, and all the money gets paid into my account for the return to the mainland. If you ask to see the accounts, the payroll staff open up a large glass casserole dish, a haddock floating inside, and say that those who wait around long enough can find out anything they want. I’ve no idea if this is a joke or not.