Wanderer's word works with wine

France-Italy autumn 2003

My soul - or what part of mine ever - can't simply connect in cyberspace on a holiday voyage to the fantasy world of Ramarshi or other divine ambassadors of truth. 2000 Kilometres and more the immense beauty and little adventures pass by at daytime. How can my poor English, my little fingers on a tiny palmtop describe God's gigantic creation at night?

Some words start to flow in the middle of the night, memories from places and names soon fading away in the waste of forget ness.

Our journey from Munich, two weeks ago started at the lake Constance, where we visited Ramarshi's guest friendly home. This region is one of the most beautiful parts of our German country. But wherever I have been, I started to love Germany and Germans and understood people and history deeper and better.

To share facts of my live: four women, my company longer than the last 20 years came from beautiful parts of Germany: - the fantastic town Aachen, - the little village at northern sea - Jever, one of the best beer brewery towns - Idar Oberstein, the jewel near river Rhine, and now - Mimamai from Bamberg, a world cultural heritage.

At Lake Constance somehow a birth of a modern European civilisation can be felt: Island of Mainau, trees full of apples and nuts, soft hills with wine fruits, vegetables, honey and fish in the lake. The Country around the Lake of Constance reminds on paradise. Paradise gives freedom to fantasize, like the words right now fantasize at the seaside, east from Marseille, near the beach on a camping place in a little tourist town ''Le Lavandou''.

From Freiburg to Avignon

Towns and impressions flow by like precious sips of old red Wine: At the border to French the last German town Freiburg after the last summer bath in the Black Forest cold Lake ''Titisee''.

How humans can bow down to the grace of existence, the tremendous value of being alive in a sane body to use all this richness? The swim in the cold lake, the sweating walks in the heat of a town, where many bicycles move around, girls show their bodies in short summer dresses, old churches and castles impress with their hundreds, thousands years of politics to repress, what never can be repressed: love.

Love is all. Love remembered me on my Grand Father and my Grand Mother, when we visited the Zeppelin Museum in Friedrichshafen. An impressive old technology to cross the Ocean in an air ship. My Grandfather has travelled from Friedrichshaven by Zeppelin to Rio de Janeiro. And these twenty days and nights my little woman Mimamai travels with me in her 10 years old VW-T4 Transporter, her candle Christmas market car, all the long, lovely way down to France, up to the South in the Sun.

From Freiburg it has been a hard travel through the heat of one of last summer days. Always the sun on her drivers side, the temperature in the old Diesel Car went over 36 Degrees Celsius. My woman looses her nerves and she complains, to stop us for a night: ''That are no working conditions at all here to drive! Even my work in Munich is not as hard as this!''

The first Camping Place, 100 Kilometres behind Lyon, near the big river Rhone, relaxes deeply. Next day the journey changes into more happiness for her. The sun on us, the distance to the next stop Montélimar not far. A parking spot beside the castle, a visit in the relaxed Sunday town with the little streets, all that gives more and more peace and calmness.

So we enjoy the next short step to Avignon, where we soon find a Camping place, just by the river Rhone with the view on the Pope Palace and the old bridge, from where the famous song is known:

Sur le Pont d'Avignon
 on y danse tout en rond.

Thunderstorm in Avignon

Heavy rains start in the morning and our water resistance clothes are all wet. My woman cares for her car and everything inside our net. Her rules to leave the wet coat on the stirring wheel are strict, the doors have to be closed immediately: "No rain drop, no mosquito is allowed inside my car!" And the rains keep falling and falling with lightning and thunderstorms all over the day.

We explore for hours the Avignon Pope Palace, build centuries ago, when there have been Popes in Rom and in Avignon. The grand old buildings astonish my woman, she admires the splendour: ''Bhagwan had not much compared with all these richness!''

Coming home to the Camping Place near the river Rhone, the lazy flowing waters start to run quicker and quicker. A view over the fence of the place give the glimpse, that the waters of the river are above the camping place. In the reception is a book with the flood catastrophe just one year ago: All of the place was flooded one meter or higher. So we want to leave our place and stay a little bit safer on the street to the exit.

But the car does not move out of the mud anymore. The wheels loose all grip on the slippery ground. My woman is angry: ''You enjoy the Avignon Pope Palace, even one hour in the Internet Cafe, but you don't care for the car, the rain, me and shelter!'' How can a man shelter a woman against these thunder strokes, rainy times, slippery ground, mosquitoes, growing floods and traffic noise? Her angry mood makes me look for help. Four young Germans from a travelling group and the night guard of the Camping Place help, to push her car out of the mud on a save street to leave. With a lot of wet clothes in the car we leave Avignon in the morning to the South. And the sun.


Pont du Gard Nimes, Aigues Mortes

The sun shines on the Pont du Gard. The river is not to dirty to swim under the Roman ruins. A beautiful, little street with serpent to Uzes: Castle and Garden from the Middle Ages. Tired from explorations we reach in the afternoon Nimes. Nimes is much to big for my little, lovely woman. "All these cars, the noise! I want a Camping Place for the night! Now!" Even we get a parking spot, one of these rare parking spots direct opposite to the best conserved Roman Arena in the world, where still today 20.000 people celebrate mass events, my woman in stress wants to find a save place to sleep at night.

Her anger moves me to buy a map of Nimes. So I can ask for help, to show me the way to the Camping Place. And this place is only five, six Kilometres out of town in direction to the South again. So we arrive there, before the sun sets down around 6.30. She can relax. So can I. But it's better to leave an angry woman alone. So I drive with my bike back to Nimes, around the Roman Arena, the Maison Carré, an old Roman Temple, an hour Internet Connection and back through the night without light on my bike to the Camping Place. Peace again.

We have even energy left, to visit next town Aigues Mortes, surrounded by walls from the Middles Ages, full of tourists and Restaurants and a Market Place with all the treasures, Mother Earth provides for her Lovers.

Only the prices are astonishing high. Hungry for a fish salad of Octopus with tomato 300 gramms cost around 9 Euros. In the car next to Market Place in the shadows of a wall and a tree I cook noodles on our Camping Gas. Mimamai eats only vegetarian, and spaghettis are.


Le Grau du Roi

From Aigues Mortes we follow the street besides the tiny arm of River Rhone, called Little Rhone to the sea. Only a few miles more we found a huge Camping Place in the village Le Grau du Roi. We enjoy this place for three nights. The sea is about half a mile away from the camping place. But from the back door to the sea side we walk over nothing but sand.

In the morning after breakfast we run to the sea, swim, run back to the shower, dry the body in the wind and the sun. It is nothing but sheer joy and excitement. Horse farms invite people to ride.


Saintes Maries de la Mer

And the voyage to the next place at Saintes Maries de la Mer is done in around two hours. By boat we have to cross the Little Rhone.

Again the Camping Place is next to the little River Rhone flowing in the sea. The old church has only very tiny windows. The gipsies adore a black Madonna, called Sarah. Two couples got married in the church and leave in coaches with white horses. Time to celebrate and to remember the sentence: Holidays are Holy Days.

But on the Camping Place falls again such an awful rain all night long. The bikes fall on the ground, the water is soon some centimetres high on the slippery street. We have a fitful night. Inside the window gather pearls of water and inside the car.

In the morning I fix the bikes behind the car in bath trousers, run before the car through deep water, because Mimamai is afraid, that the car can't move out of the floods, have a hot shower, and we leave Saintes Marie de la Mer without damage.

Black Sarah in the Crypta of Saintes Maries



The voyage to Arles is not long. It is our second Sunday, people celebrate La Journee de Cheval. Many horses with beautiful coaches move in a parade through the town. We watch with excitement. We wander around to explore several of the World Heritage treasures: the Roman Arena, the Thermes of an Emperor Konstantin, the big River Rhone - that is a nature treasure, decorated by some Atomic Electric Energy producing Plants.

For the first time we have food in a French Restaurant: 30 Euros for one plate for each of us: some veggies on tomato sauce, four pieces of potatoes, a bottle of water and much of white bread.

La Journée du Cheval  

    Three Beauties 


Carry le Rouet

The evening we reach the sea again, a tremendous luxurious place 20 kilometres before Marseille: Le Carry le Rouet. We enjoy beautiful walks at the sea and swim in the sea. Mimamai buys a diver mask with snorkel. She watches fishes with excitment, and I watch her back moving through the waters with elegance.

We leave this comfortable three star Camping Place after two nights. It is so comfortable, that doors open with electricity and electric switches supply water - even in toilets and showers. In Italy has been on Sunday a complete failure of electricity all over the country for 55 millions people.

Sunset Carry le Rouet


Mimamai in Marseille

We leave very early in the morning. So at nine o clock in the Morning we are in Marseille. Mimamai is tremendously courageous, so we visit the town. A video guarded tourist parking place gives the car shelter for 2.5 Euro. We walk from the Old Harbour one hour up through the town to the Cathedral of Notre Dame. In this impressive building on a hill on top of the town stands Mother Mary with her new born baby Jesus on her arm - in shimmering golden colour. The weight of the statue 9980 Kilograms, the bulk around little Jesus arms: 110 Centimetres.

Inside the Church proof a lot of paintings all the miracles, the Virgin Mother Mary has saved her lovers in all kind of dangers: in storms on the sea, in train-, cars-, horse- accidents, in sickness, in heavy birth and in fascists war. Back on the parking place our car is still the only one. So we enjoy food, coffee at the car before we continue the voyage.

Marseille: Old Harbour - with Notre Dame du Garde


Le Lavandou

This night we find next to the beach another three star camping place. It is a very warm night, more than 20 degrees Celsius, and the voyage story is quickly written in two hours with some sips of wine from Nimes.

A cricket's song companies these word works, the sound of the moving trees by the wind and of the waves from the sea nearby.

E-Mail connections fade away, far away nearly 2000 Kilometres from Munich, our home. All my and others judgements are nothing but funny entertainments in the real life on the streets. People from Greece, who came to South of France more than 2000 years ago, from Rom, Emperors like Caesar, the flowering and destructions of towns, the black plagues in Marseille not long ago, killing half of the population, only 50.000 are left, and now are Millions around. And at the sea comes a phone call, that a young friend of mine, Bernhard, has killed himself like his brother Wolfhard at his age of 41 years by alcohol. Life continues - no matter, who dies or how many.

These politic news from the radio sound strange, the war in Iraq, the Bush-Blair power connection under pressure of protesting people, all this light-years ahead from any touch of mine, or my Mimamai or do you, dear reader, have any chance, to change this world to a better place?

Le Levandou

I talk tenderly to my woman: "You are my earth." "And you are my air", she answers softly. And these two sentences we repeat several times a day. All what's left, is love.

Who cares, how and who has killed thousands over thousands of people centuries or decades ago? Peace we want and need to live. Peace and love we try to give.

This story is written in the three star camping place Le Lavandou, a beautiful, old place with maybe 50 spaces only. Wind in the night brings up waves on the sea.

In the morning I jump on my bike to bring a baguette from the village next by. Baguette are these long French white bread, fresh and crispy for several hours. In the afternoon they are already a bit like swollen paper - but always delicious, when you are hungry.

In the high waves it is funny to swim. Most people love to swim in the sea. Somehow it feels to come home, from where the human race started millions and millions years ago.


Monte Carlo

Enough fantasia! Back on the road again. Mimamai as courageous truck driver in direction to Monte Carlo. Mima's car is licensed a truck. In the front are three people allowed to sit.

The streets are heavy crowed on this luxurious part of the beach, where famous places like Cannes and Saint Tropez attract customers with Porsche, Maserati and Ferrari.

Mimamai wants to visit Monte Carlo. So we leave the little street at the coast, go on the high way for about 50 Kilometers and soon we drive down through the highly crowed area of Monte Carlo. Downtown, next to the harbour we find a free parking place. Direct next corner is the local Ferrari dealer, brand new red little sport cars in the window. The place before his showroom is from marble. Two occasions stand there - no price written on the cars.

We admire the ships in the harbour. My memory has not stored, ever seen such luxury! Even the chrome plated telescope ladders to climb on board, will cost some thousand Dollars.

Inside the ship are stored two other ships like bikes to ride over the sea. The huge armchairs are covered with white plastic planes. Several men polish the arm rails around the ship.

Harbour of Monte Carlo: Old boat, now Restaurant

In front of the harbour is a big swimming pool for the public people. They charge only 4 Euros to swim. We wander around two hours, buy food and wine in the super market. All luxury food for a voyage you can imagine you find in this shop.



Finally at the rush hour we go on the road again in direction to Menton and Italy. Mimamai proudly announces: "Now, I'm ahead of a Ferrari! The driver must be really ashamed, to be left behind, hihhi." As matter of fact it's simply impossible to pass by Mima's car. We have fun.

Getting tired we plan to take the next Camping Place we find. It is a few kilometres behind the border and 250 meters away from the shore: Latte di Ventimiglia is the name of the village. The highway with heavy trucks in the hills is not far away, maybe one kilometre. The engines of heavy trucks sound with a dark growl. Mimamai complains: "That's the way, I love it: highway direct in front of me! Next holiday I order a voyage from a travel agency without traffic noise!" "You have to go with Husky dogs before a sledge through the snow of Alaska," I try to console her. We go to the beach. The waves roll big stones on the land, roll them backwards again. Through the darkness already now at 8.00 p.m. the half full moon shines. Water and air provide warm pleasure to swim and to dry the body in the air without towel. A shower at the beach washes the salt away. The contrast with France luxury and now this little Italian village is total. The Camping place shows up with two stars, but all things are very simple, a bit rotten. Graffiti decorates many walls.


Giardini Botanici Hanbury

Next morning, one and a half kilometre above the place is a famous botanical garden. Sir Thomas, coming home from Far East with tremendous treasures has founded this place in 1853. At 1907 there have been a collection of 6000 different plants, in World War 1 and 2 a lot has been destroyed. Now since years scientist of the University Genoa care for the place. Mimami is a gardener. She has learned her job in the Tropical House of botanical garden in Heidelberg. So she shows me the plants, familiar to her. Strange to me.

My intelligence, the old red wine soaked bio computer is not capable to store all these informations: plants from all over the world, popes and politicians from all time and centuries, building up castles or destroying towns with hundred of thousands or millions of people. Even all the names of the towns, we pass by, my poor bio-computer can hardly store.


Rough road to San Remo

The road at the coast is jammed in a loud traffic line. The sun is still hot. 30 Degrees in the car, and the shimmering waters of the sea make me longing to stop for a swim. Even free parking place at the beach invite us to stop, but Mimamai first wants to find a place for the night.

So we pass by the most famous and beautiful cities on the Italian sea side, called Ligurian Coast: San Remo, Imperial, ... and finally we reach a little town from the Middle Ages: Corvo.



The camping place is direct at the sea, sheltered behind huge metal fences, guarded with video, and doors closed from 11.00 p.m. till 7.00 a.m.

Without long exploring all places, I decide for the most expensive one - direct beside the sea and the fence. Opposite an old VW motor home with a family, two kids and the Grandparents, a brand new 100.000 Dollar Motor Home from the German Northern Sea, Plate WST and on our side a German Police Man with a Daimler 230E Caravan and an expensive Tabbert Camping Car.

Mimamas 10 years old blue VW truck looks strange in this constellation - Ramarshi you don't have a CopyWrong on this expression, don{t you? - and regularly at 3.00 a.m. some strange energy under the growing moon light inspires by the sound of breaking waves beside the steel wall and under a big night lamp illuminates my little PSION Palmtop to produce some mind fantasies from the voyage at the board of the sea.

Corvo - from Campingplace


Fun and fantasy

Cold water cools down the body. Walking up to the old Middle Ages Castles through the tiny dark streets, we find out the difference to France: Italy with these old villages is the home of the cats. These animals always behave similar, Mimamai's instincts explore as scientific like Ramarshi finds his truth in thousands of family constellations.

I find out on top of the town in a little Restaurant with view over the sea and the fishing ships, that two red wines cost eight Euro Dollars only, but the waiter provides a lot of warm delicious pizza bread with the sparkling red Chianti wine. I don't care for money anymore. Like I don't care for arguments and concepts any longer!

Gene Poole, this guy has not only thrown me out from his marketing place, called NonDualitySalon (NDS), he has thrown out two Cyber friends of mine too: CelticMoonDance and Karta!

Never seen a picture of this courageous woman CelticMoonDance, who always defended the freedom of speech. Do I remember correctly her letter, stating that ''words are powerful''?

Mima, last days in Corvo

Who ever has this concept, I don't share his or her truth! Even my word works made me thrown out immediatly from fool-places like Jeffiji's, the enlightened one, from NDS and several times from Stalin Scissor Switches (http...) so called ''sannyas-list'', an retarded club of brainwashed believers, even my word works have been banned from German Forums like SPIEGEL or n-tv, or my word works have been deleted in German high reputation forums of FAZ (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung), my experience with my true words are: words are the most impotent expressions from my floppy fingers flowing.

My words of fantasy never made much Euro Dollars, what would be enable even a fool with poor bio-computer like mine, to express some power. Similar power like the perfume spreading beauties in Monto Carlo on her way to a Million Euro Dollar Yacht, where they will be ready - according to my fantasy - to get laid. Where else are they designed for? (Male chauvinist fantasy accompanied by a little cancer beside my chair on his hard way to the sea over the walls of this sheltered camping place... blablabla)

Fact from my truth inside: there is an inner voice. This voice talks from my woman Mimamai, she's the boss BTW, like every woman for a man, or this voice talks from my friend Living Kabir, leaving or joining the n0by-list of impotent word mind mill - straw to his mouling mule, his Master inside.

Master outside? What do you want, whom do you want, dear reader? Adolf Hitler, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, Caesar, Sokrates, Dschingis Chan, Agent 007 or Pamela Barbie's Boobs? A southern squirming Italy Cat or a barking big black Bulldog?

Whoever answers his tiny baits of bits in a cyber children garden like n0by@yahoogroups.com is very, cordially heart fully welcome to share his impotent words with mine. The ones, who dream of political priest powers like JeffiJi, the enlightened one, or Jeff, the Buddha Broker, or Judy Rhodes will never join this group, and for my feelings Ramarshi and his kind of people like Ma Anand Anupamo, the silent lurker with Physics M.D., or his woman Ma Ajusta, have to leave this group, regarding reputation.

What fun is concerned, you have to be able, to laugh about your self, an EGO demolishing exercise, like one man is able to endure for himself and to provoke others: Ka Beer, the Living Kabir.

On his poor head hammered my most ugly mind expression, what ever else do you expect from mind? like on my brother in belief Bhagwan a rap-song. Yes songs are not so impotent words like letters and lectures, pointing to the moon, who hides behind clouds tonight, this coward!

Now, nearly one hour written again, and failed the subject completly, what made me wake up deranged of rage. This subject is ''Nazi in and around us''


Nazi in and around us

It's easy, to point with the finger to the moon, this coward tonight, hiding behind clouds. Means, the Nazi outside are people with censoring mind, all of them caring for business influence like Sarlo, Gene Pool, Judy, JeffiJi, the Enlightened One or Jeff, the Buddha Broker  some of my last Cyber acquaintanceships, Ramarshi, the scientific constellation explorer, but basically people all function the same like me and Georg W. Bush: ''who is not for me, is against me.''

One slight difference is left: Bush is wrong, but me, my poor bio computer is connected directly with Dog Ma Mimamai, sorry, God!, and all angels above: Love, Light expressions! The proof?

The proof are my cherished readers, who dive in this communication chains of funny fantasies far away from political facts and cruelties.

How can Nazi have fun? Nazi torture, repress, suppress, Nazi express themselves in a body armour of stiff musles without laughter, seldom wine, a twisted sexuality to enter into others by violence and to keep others out to enter into them - again all done by violence. You have known this sort of wives? I'm kidding - otherwise my female readers all are gone in disgust - hihihi, but I'm getting drunk sweet and slowly at the border of this beach behind the closed steal bars in Corvo, Camping Place, Italy, 23 Euro-Dollars! And need to leave tomorrow, 'cos, who else but an imprisoned Nazi in his body armour can endure to sit behind the bars of a place? And even if you listen to breaking waves behind the walls, behind the bars, it is better to be killed, robbed and raped in a free fight but to be kept sheltered behind bars of beliefs and bullshit.

Marseille: Painture in Notre Dame du Garde

Word cascade are hitting my poor readers from my drunken mind tonight, not knowing anymore, what these funny fingers produce on a palmtop of 300 Grams to infiltrate your mind, receptive right now for 4662 words of our holiday voyage through southern France, return way Italy: around 800 to 1000 kilometres ahead Genua Bolzano, Brennero, Insbruck, Munich.

To endure this long voyage in an old VW truck Transporter from lovely Mimamai your body needs to be sheltered in an armour too. But do you think about this armour as Nazi muscle armour, without any exit to enjoy love, life, laughter? In deep celebration and drunkenness with existence? Red wine too?

Ramarshi, when you watch in my provocations nothing but an Old Man's Nazi mind, you look like an idiot right now! How can an Old Man's Nazi mind reveal in drunkenness all his hidden secrets in impotent words? This right now, my dear friends, the reader, is nothing but my tearful truth suffered in life on the road to death, we all share together. All still alive. Getting older and older, you look around for friends. And you don't care anymore, if your friend is an idiot, but you look for a hand to help you stand up, when you fall flat on the ground and can't move up anymore on your own, drunken legs exhausted from life travels through your years! I love you, do you love me?

Silent cries in a night, my God, what kind of idiot must a man be, to expose his inner world like this dry desert to readers in love? Only in love with yourself, people start to have fun. And fun is the enemy of Nazi muscle armour. When you start laughing, you start loving, and when you start loving, you start living, and when you start living, the death Nazi armour dies. No matter in which political, priest, power, sex, satsang disguise this armour is presented to you in illusions or concepts!

Truth is, dear reader, the only truth is: we need food, air, love, caring alive, all we are living on feelings like these and physics like food, water, air, shelter, ohh, it's all so simple to stay alive, to share fun, fun fun, nothing but fun.... and if sorrows are shared, they turn into fun... and if we start loving each other like love ourselves.... some peace and joy we enter together, no matter, how deeply we hurt with words... do you think words count? So you get a number on your account:

5048 words!

Now, did you pay your attention? Your attention is your love! Not only towards mine mind word mill of vanity, but a love and attention towards yourself! An unfiltered, not censored courage to enjoy yourself... even in dump darkness and drunkenness

like yours n0by tonight

with a heart with growing weight coming home from holidays soon with nothing but words, im- and expressions, 150 photographs from Mimamai and my analogue old camera, .... and do you know, what is the most important truth of the day, dear reader? The deepest secret of all? O.K. because of your diligence to read all these words showers of sharing:

the deepest truth of all human on earth: a good morning shit after enough digested food the day before.

That is the ultimate truth, these finger tonight after two hours shared with you for free - but better send one cent worth a word of every reader - no, no, no, I'm kidding - otherwise the last reader left leaves... because truth is for free like the morning shit.. but when you have to pay, for example the doctor or the satsang seller, than it is pain.

Nazi are prisoned in pain and pressure. 
Lovers share life and laughter for free!

hihihi 4:49 a.m., 4895 words, 
Friday 3. Octobre, 2003 Corvo, Mare Ligure, Italy