Sat in long dusty grass by our vans, just woke up and ate a cheese and honey sandwich.
Several days of dramatic activity have just passed, and maybe a dozen hours of staring out a bumpy bus window at passing landscapes, with thought and without thought.

There are thousands of bears in these mountains, where the rain falls through the tall pines and beeches raising strange smells into the air. On the dusty plains there are fires and gypsy encampments all around us, dogs and cows wander along the paths, and our new friends live in the village and beat us at football in the dark with mosquitoes that bite you whenever you stand still on the slippery grass.

Somehow in the subterranean ice caves shivering in shorts among the curious towering formations.

The rumble and the gnarly psy-trance filling the trees around this petrol station the van swaying under my feet as I land on the roof in the sky with the stars of our galaxy and my friends all around.