Coming Home

Dear Blog, it's been a while. I've been moving around a lot, between Amsterdam and Germany. I'm writing this in a small café in Berlin. Café Südwind is a sweet cosy place in Berlin Charlottenburg, around the corner from Max, Sabine's brother. It's owned by friends of Max and Konstanze. Kristi and Fabian are kind easygoing people. Kristi is putzing around behind the bar - she is a beautiful woman and a wonderful cook, who bakes her own pies & cakes, they are spectacular! - while husband Fabian is patiently helping their nine year old daughter with her homework. The only other guest is just leaving. The patrons of Südwind live in the same neighborhood, most are regulars who are welcomed by name. This a friendly relaxed spot. It could be home. But it is not home.

Finding A Good Place To Die may really be about finding Home. A new home, because the old home, the home of the parents, is long gone. Home was where I was born, where I lived the first years of my life. Everywhere since, with perhaps one exception during my early twenties, have been temporary shelters. Never home.

Until now. Since I'm away so often, since I'm going to be a granddad, since I've been working with my daughter, since my own father moved to within driving distance, since I have been thinking of moving to another country, I am becoming more aware of Home. Both the home within and of the home outside. I'm more and more aware of a new and unfamiliar sense of family, connectedness, base. Is this the effect of these chaotic times, or is something stirring inside me?

Strange development: I've booked a trip to Vietnam in January, but now the date is approaching I'm reluctant to move. Don't wanna travel. The tropics are not calling me. What's happening, am I getting old, are my bones getting tired? No need for suspicion, yet. I'm watching this movement inside me, with wonder. Quietly. Still.

Wortels

Het is alweer een tijdje geleden dat er een blogje verscheen in deze serie. De reden daarvoor is simpel: ik heb de laatste weken geen nieuwe plaatsen bezocht in de categorie 'Good Place to Die'. Wel heb ik veel nagedacht over mogelijke bestemmingen. En ik heb besloten om dit blog voort te zetten in het Nederlands. Dat is weliswaar wat lastig voor mijn vrienden die geen Nederlands begrijpen, maar het komt de 'literaire' kwaliteit ten goede. Althans, dat hoop ik. Nederlands blijft mijn moerstaal; daarin kan ik me nu eenmaal sappiger uitdrukken dan in welke andere taal ook.

Intussen heb ik enkele plekken waarover ik eerder schreef opnieuw bezocht. Berlijn, La Gomera en Emmering. Het gekke is dat als ik naar deze plekken kijk, ik me goed kan voorstellen dat ik daar oud word. En hoe meer ik daarover mijmer, deze te meer voel ik ook hoezeer ik geworteld ben in Amsterdam. Daar woon ik inmiddels alweer zo'n zeven jaar, en dat begint merkbaar te worden. Ik voel me thuis in mijn buurtje in Amsterdam Zuid. Ik ken steeds meer mensen rond het Roelof Hartplein. De bakker om de hoek, de luxe bakkerswinkel op de andere hoek, de man van de taartenwinkel, Niels de fysio, Theo de bloemenman, Carole en Susanti van de Chinees. In mijn eigen huis, ben ik bij vijf van mijn zeven buren over de vloer geweest, ik mag deze mensen graag en heb meer dan oppervlakkige gesprekken met Dolf, Ad, Mimi en Dylan. Geert en Nathalie en Georgia en Marianne wonen in een straal van 200 meter. Terwijl ik dit zit te schrijven in de trein van München naar Amsterdam, verheug ik me erop ze gauw weer te ontmoeten. In Amsterdam kan ik een zinvolle bijdrage leveren, in de vorm van schrijfwerk en interculturele

Maar wat praat ik: Fleur en Kamiel wonen praktisch om de hoek. Hen zie ik dagelijks of wekelijks. Ze vullen mijn hart, wortelen mijn bestaan en geven mijn leven zin. Wat een rijkdom! Die echter ook vergankelijk is, zo besef ik. Want elk moment kan hun pad hen wegvoeren naar vreemde horizonten; zij hebben hun eigen weg te gaan. Toch valt het me zwaar om mijn plek in Amsterdam op te geven of in te ruilen voor bijvoorbeeld het zuiden van Duitsland, waar de geliefde woont. Hoe zonnig, schoon en vriendelijk ook. En hoe inspirerend ook de relatie.

Kortom, deze zoektocht naar een goede plek om oud te worden, levert steeds interessant materiaal op. Hij brengt me dichter bij mijn wortels en hij opent nieuwe mogelijkheden. Intussen voel ik me ook vaak verscheurd. Ik zou graag overal tegelijk willen zijn, en al mijn vrienden en geliefden om me heen draperen. Of meenemen in de trein, de auto, de motor, het vliegtuig. Beetje egoïstisch? Tja.

La Gomera Revisited

Last month, I was here with Louk, and we hiked the Northern half of La Gomera. This time, I’m here with Sabine and we have a car. It’s a little warmer, more sun. We are staying in La Playa de Santiago, on the South coast. From here, we’ve made trips to touristy Valle Gran Rey and sleepy Valle Hermoso. Yesterday, we also tried to reach a hammock called Tazo, to which only dirt roads lead. We didn’t quite make it to Tazo. Our little rental car got stranded at a river bedding in the middle of deserted fields. Not a soul in sight, farmhouses abandoned, terraces crumbling. We know people who have a holiday home there, but couldn’t find their location. The other day, we hiked and ran up a steep hill from Santiago. Exhilarating exercise, stunning scenery, and we were totally on our own.
I really like this island. A lot. La Gomera has beautiful nature, friendly people, good roads with little traffic. Not too many tourists – although this is not high season, but when will that be: July, August, Xmas? Of the places we have visited so far, Playa de Santiago appeals to me the most. While sitting under the ficus tree on the village square by the waterfront, I had a this A Good Place To Die experience. Overlooking the ocean, so vast one can see the arc of the globe, there was this realization of Spirit watching Creation. Awareness looking at manifestation of Awareness. Eternally resting, No Time. So sweet & beautiful & peaceful. Happy.

So, would I want to live here? When pondering this question, I suddenly notice that the notion of not working does not at all appeal to me. I like writing, I like earning money, I like contributing. Just wandering, walking around, sitting & chatting? Not so appealing. It seems that finding A Good Place To Die includes finding something useful to do for the next 30 years. I also want to share my life with others. So my vision includes these three elements: an inspiring location, doing something useful and sharing my life with loved ones. Rereading these last lines,I feel somewhat silly. Isn't that what we all want? This quest is becoming quite an enterprise.

Finding a Place within

Writing about the state of affairs in the world has kept my mind busy. One thought keeps coming back: “Why worry?” Somehow, worry seems to be such a part of my habitual self. I have always enjoyed watching the news, reading newspapers, discussing the state of affairs with friends. Yet, an integral part of this ongoing debate is worry. Why is that? Why worry?

I have lived through the cold war, wars in Africa, Asia, the Middle East and Latin America, and even in Europe. During almost 60 years of living, I have been a witness of numerous acts of terrorism, revolutions, famines, genocides and natural catastrophes of every kind. In my lifetime, the world population has tripled and two thirds of the rainforest have disappeared.

In my lifetime, the Berlin wall has come and gone – both events were a shock. So was the end of communism in Russia, China and Vietnam. I have witnessed the end of fascism in Greece, Spain and Portugal, and two political murders in Holland – to mention a few surprising developments of these past decades. Enough to think about, but why should I worry about such events? In my own personal life, there has been some measure of disaster. Sickness, death, divorce, unemployment. Are such events a reason to worry? Not really. Things break down, people leave, clients shift. Not pleasant, sometimes annoying, but also no big deal. And if things are a big deal, we deal with them. No problem, and if there is a problem, we fix it.

So why worry? Why not welcome the news with curiosity, marveling at the wondrous ways of existence manifesting itself? It almost seems ungrateful not to accept whatever life has to offer. Also, strange how it may seem, things have a way of working themselves out. Sometimes, it may take a while before I recognize it, but always works. After Bush, there is Obama. After Franco, along comes Juan Carlos. After Thatcher, there was Blair. The pendulum swings back and forth, but only always.

And in the meantime, we are progressing. Awareness is unfolding, forever more. From stone to plant, from plant to animal, from monkey to man. There may be temporary setbacks in this evolution, but there is no way back. To demonstrate this, I only have to look at my own children. Clearly, they are the new model. Smarter, more aware, better adapted to the quicker pace of consciousness. To make room for their children in a few years, is no punishment. It’s progress.

So I’m looking for a place within, without worry but with gratitude instead. About this wonderful gift of life, about the marvel of creation, and about the extremely good fortune of being me, living this rich life at this remarkable point in history. Counting my blessings, not worrying if they would ever be taken away… Because they will be, one day, no doubt…

Interested in a sharp outlook on the 2012 nonsense? Read this and GOYA…

http://www.erowid.org/columns/teafaerie/2009/12/

Home in our World

During our weekend in Berlin, we dwelled on the situation in the world. We agreed these are difficult times. Or “interesting times” as the Chinese curse calls times like these. We did not always agree on how to interpret this point in history.

Some of my friends think that the year 2012 will be a significant turning point. They believe the Mayan prediction about 2012 bringing the end of time as we know it. The Mayan calendar ends at 12:12 on December 12, 2012 – or so they say. Also, the bible book Apocalypse predicts the end of the world. This moment will be preceded by many of the phenomena we now witness. The prophet predicts mayor floods and earthquakes, conflict, confusion and false prophets. We seem to be getting a fair share of all of those, lately.

I have my doubts. First, there seems to be some confusion about the exact date of the end of the world. Scholars do not agree on the year, or even the decade. Secondly, what does that mean, “the end of time”? Will the earth explode, will the human race be extinguished? Hard to believe, I find. Unless the planet would collide with a comet, it seems difficult to kill all 7 billion people on this globe. Somehow, millions of people would survive even a giant tsunami after a super earthquake, or a sudden ice age. Will 2012 bring the end, then, of Western civilization, as we know it? That could be plausible, perhaps.

Someday soon, China could decide that it no longer needs expensive western products in exchange for its massive production of cheap consumer products. If we were to plunge into an even deeper economic abyss, western capitalism could finally catch up with itself and go under in a total system collapse. Devoured by our own greed, megalomania and power hunger.

Economic collapse would throw our society into violence, hunger and despair, comparable to the present situation of two thirds of the world population, but it would not mean the end of all civilization. Just the end of our glorious version of it. That would be bad enough, of course, and quite regrettable, for our civilization is truly magnificent.

But it would not necessarily be a catastrophe to the human race. And it would even out the gross injustice and imparity of the present state of world affairs. Still, I would certainly regret such a development, personally and idealistically.

Why is this discussion relevant to the quest for A Good Place To Die? Because imminent system collapse is one reason, at least for some people near and dear to me, to seek refuge to a place where we could better survive than in a big city. If this is a valid consideration, and if money would lose its value, then it would be wise to invest now in property, in land and a safe place to live. In this vision, A Good Place To Die should be a place with a pleasant climate and a natural supply of clean water, where we could grow our own food. Such a place could be La Gomera. In May, Sabine and I will visit La Gomera again. If not to seek refuge, then for a nice short holiday..!

Home in Berlin?

We visit this city three of four times each year. Sabine’s brother Max lives here, with his fiancée Constanze and his son Paul. Wonderful people, we love to visit. Max and I share a motorbike, a red BMW 650. Whenever I am in Berlin, I get to ride it.

“Berlin ist so eine kaputte Stadt,” Sabine commented when we talked about settling down here, “Berlin is such a broken city.” It is a big city, noisy, busy, intense. No green hills, no porches, no mountain view. But plenty of apple pie. And lots of sweet, interesting people. There are the people we know, like brother Max, Constanze, Paul and Carola. Carola is a dear friend of Sabine and of mine. She and I were involved some years ago. Somehow, Carola is a part of my/our quest to find this Place to Die. It is easy to meet interesting people in Berlin. There is a large student community, lots of Berliners living in communities, many artists. You meet them in coffee shops, workshops, galleries and cinemas. Berlin has wide avenues and huge monuments, but there are also many cosy streets with small shops, restaurants, cafés and boutiques. It is easy to start a conversation, in German or in English.

This weekend, Sabine led a seminar in Neuköln, a multicultural neighborhood. In this part of town, Turkish people mix with Eastern Europeans, poor Berliner, artists and students. The busy streets feature Lidl supermarkets, Zeeman textile supers and kebab snackbars. The streets are full, bustling with vitality and energy. Many broken people, lonely people, crazy people and junkies, too. The workshop takes place in a large building, situated behind an inner court. There is no shower, so we ask if we can use the shower across the hallway. It is situated in a living community, a Wohngemeinschaft or WG, where 11 young people live together. They let us use their shower, do not want any money for it, and they are sooo sweet. We have little chats with them, about what they do and about our workshop – they are genuinely interested in what we do across their hall. As we leave after the weekend, we let them have our surplus food, which they gracefully accept.

Berlin could well be a Good Place To Die. It has atmosphere, a good climate – snow in winter, sun in summer – cheap lodging and great food at relatively low prices. German food is a well kept secret. It offers a wide variety, of superb quality, at reasonable prices. In Berlin, it is easy to find wonderful breads, tasty cheeses, all kinds of sausage, butter and ham and great pastry. Germans love to eat – a lot - and to talk about food – a lot. In Berlin, it’s not difficult to find good delicatessen, coffee or cheap restaurants. France and Italy have the reputation, but Germany also delivers.

But I like Berlin mainly because of its people. The Berliner (who smile at Kennedy's "Ich bin ein Berliner" because a Berliner is a sweet roll with yellow pudding) are a resilient race. This broken city has gone through so much: the grandeur of the emperors, the wars of the 19th and 20th centuries, the outrageous 1920's, the devastating 30's, the megalomania of the nazi's, the destruction and the resurrection after WWII, the status aparte from 1945 till 1990. The Berliner have lived and died through it all. To me personally, Berliner are people like Max, Constanze, Carola and the WG people. And 23 year old Tabea, who waits at our table Sunday night, and who offers us free Schnapps and a large piece of her mind. Open, free and frech… That's Berlin.

So yes, this may be a broken town with broken people, but it has lots of life, heart and compassion. And I have a motorbike in Berlin.

Between Amsterdam, Berlin & La Gomera

My beloved Sabine has landed in Amsterdam, after traveling the globe for seven weeks. Among other things, we get to talk about A Good Place To Die. She's interested in my take on La Gomera, and somewhat surprised I talk about the island with enthusiasm. I like the island, its nature, the people, their food and the climate. From this blog however, she had concluded that I didn't like it too much as a possible place to live & semi-retire.

Sabine's conclusion is only partly correct. Sure, I don't think the island offers enough inspiration if I would live there by myself, as a recluse. Sharing a house with friends and/or lovers would be another matter. Together, we look at ads for houses for sale. Some of them look very nice. But the nice ones also tend to be expensive - maybe too expensive.

So it might be a good idea to combine the two: share the costs and the joys of living with more people. Interesting proposition.

In other words, La Gomera may merit a second visit, with more focus on looking for property. And maybe get around on a motorbike. So La Gomera is to be revisited...

But first, we're off to Berlin now. Keep you posted.

Not Home in Amsterdam

The sun is shining, spring is here, Amsterdam is a fine place to be. That's what I wrote last week. I still feel that way, but there are also aspects to this city (and this country) that I find harder to appreciate. That's today's topic.

Until recently, I used to be proud of my country. We enjoyed one of the most humane social security systems in the world. Our government between 1995 and 2002 was almost enlightened. Because of his integrity, his vision and his wisdom, the dutch prime minister of those days, Wim Kok, was a hero of mine. So was the mayor of Amsterdam, Job Cohen.

Since 2001, something has shifted. In 2001, there was the shock of September 11. That gruesome attack brought an end to optimism about the future of our world. In 2002 and 2004, we had two political murders in this country - a first since more than 100 years. Both victims of these homicides were right wing populists. One was a clown, the other one a pig. These murders had a severe impact on our society. Conservative right wing politicians took over the center of the political spectrum. Before 2001, fascist politicians found no solid base in this country. Now, racism and bigotry have become fashionable.

These days, racism and minority bashing have become acceptable. This development is manifesting in many different ways. The political debate has become harsher, more aggressive and more vulgar. There are pleas to change our judicial system, supplement it with trial by jury, elected judges and minimum sentencing. Minorities are insulted and accused, Islam as a religion is criminalized. Jews are molested for wearing a keppel, moslim women for wearing scarfs. A sharp political debate is conducted with a blatant disregard for facts, without compassion or respect. Criminals, partygoers and their lawyers are made into heroes. Judges, opposing politicians and the royal family are the new villains. Care for the weak, the environment or less fortunate people in developing countries is no longer 'our' priority. We come first. And the fascists are almost a leading political party.

On a certain level, I can see that this development is not a problem. It's simply the pendulum swinging back. When things get too complicated, if more steps are taken than the simpleminded are capable of understanding, they hit the brakes. In the movement towards true democracy, everyone is getting involved, not just the talented, the smart and the educated. This is a positive movement, not a negative one. And it's all a manifestation of Light, or Love at Work - like everything else in this miraculous Universe.

On the other level, the daily life level, it bothers me. It bothers me a lot. It makes me feel ill at ease in this country, even in Amsterdam, this beloved magical city of ours. Perhaps this unease has something to do with my age. I'm 59 this year. May be I'm falling out of synch with the times. Maybe I'm making too much of this perceived rule of the stupid and the ignorant. But yes, this is one of the reasons for detaching myself a little. And yes, I see the same signs in other countries, too. And yes: this is still a wonderfully free and light and wonderful country. With more civil rights than any other place on the planet.

More on this topic I will write in the Book. I have more, and more compelling, reasons to travel and search elsewhere for A Good Place To Die. I will write about these in the next episodes... Maybe from Berlin, my next destination.


Thank you followers, you honor me...!

Home in Amsterdam

Amsterdam is happy. Spring is in town. Everybody is outside, smiling. Flowers everywhere, daffodils, crocuses. The air is warming up, but it is still crisp, no sweat. The Vondelpark has filled its lawns with people, music, soccer, dogs. No bbq's yet, they'll come later.

On days like this, Amsterdam is my town, my home, my ground. As far as towns go, it's a great place. To live, to love, to die.

I'm thinking about my next trip. Where to & when shall I travel. Beginning of April, I'll go to Berlin for a few days. No hills there, no mountains either. Berlin is good place to visit, not sure about living & dying there, though. If the weather will hold, I might go by bike - take the 1200 GS, sail there in a few hours. Or drive by car & ride the bright red 650 GS, the bike I co-own with my brother Max.

On the agenda remain Nepal and Dharamsala. No lack of hills or mountains there. Plenty of inspiration, too. Olympia, Washington, is another option. My friend David is turning 60 in May, I would love to visit him and his wife Alley. Does anybody have suggestions? I hear the US is inviting copywriters to apply for a greencard. Also, there is a public and government drive for the financial sector to become more transparent. Guess what: that's our area of expertise..!

But today, it's Spring in Amsterdam. And who wants to move out of Amsterdam on a Spring day?!

An Inspiring Day With The Guys

Today is men's group. A big word for five guys who meet maybe three times a year. We meditate, we share what's happening in our lives, we have dinner together. We have been meeting for seven years now. Our common denominator: the vision we share, Zijnsoriëntatie - 'To Be inspired'. A school founded in Holland by Hans Knibbe around 1989. Each of us attended schooling in meditation, djokchen (Tibetan buddhism) and the art of living an inspired life.

This time, we meet at my place in Amsterdam. Douwe has made a program for the day, I take care of catering - pumpkin soup and Bejing Duck. I usually look forward to these meetings with some reluctance. But when the guys are there, I really like our exchange. Our talks are not meek; they have sharpness and sparks fly. After Douwe, Stef, Harry and Walter are gone, I miss them. They are fine men and there is a lot of space in our meetings. To have friends like this... what a treasure!

Of course, we talk about A Good Place To Live & Die. The modified title - to include the Living - does not meet with approval. They think 'A Good Place To Die' has more bite. None of the guys shares my desire to grow old in a new place. Hmmm, interesting. They all want to read the blog - and they promise to become followers. Or did I just insist that they do so? Will see...

The Journey, Home?

On the plane back to Amsterdam, I am thinking about Louk's comment. As I told him of my quest, he said: "But you know that there is nothing out there; the only home you'll ever find is inside. Home is in your heart, man." My first reaction was: "He's right, what the hell am I doing? Home is where all great quests end - including the ones that inspire me the most. Like Siddharta's and the Alchemist's... They travel the world, only to find peace at home." So yes, I know that any quest is futile...

Or is it, really? Would the heroes of all great stories have attained enlightenment without ever leaving home? Was their yearning to seek & discover a mistake, a fluke? Or was the journey an integral part of their path into the Light? The path is the goal, right? Follow your heart, right? And the heart is full of desire - is it not? 

Yes it is. So for now, this reluctant hero continues his quest. During my journey, I will elaborate a little on what moves me, what makes me move. I'm writing for my own entertainment and education, if for nothing else... And not only while I'll be traveling, but also in this temporary homestead, Amsterdam ;-))

And another thing. I changed the title of this story from 'A Good Place to Die' to 'A Good Place To Live & Die'. The reference to Little Big Man's Indian saying escapes most readers. They think my original title was too gloomy: "You are not about to kick the bucket, are you?" No, I'm not. I intend to live for many more years - as long as I manage to stay healthy and lucid. That is why I think it's important to find a place that fits this day and my age.

This blog now has three followers: Fleur, Kamiel and Maaike. Maaike, you inspire me to continue writing, as you blogged for years about a horticultural project in Johannesburg.

Hiking & Scouting on La Gomera

I asked our hiking guide Melanie about La Gomera. It turns out to be an interesting island. It’s the only Canary Island with no seismic activity since 20 Million years. After WWII, La Gomera had 30,000 inhabitants. Around 2000, only 17,000 souls remained. Almost half the population had emigrated, mostly to the America’s or to mainland Spain. Most of the terraced agricultural fields have been abandoned, to be overgrown by brushes. Since then, some 5,000 new inhabitants have arrived. Mostly North-West Europeans who are retiring to nature and quietude. In addition, there is a community of mostly older German hippies who like chilling out at Valle Gran Rey – the place to avoid if at all possible.

More interesting, because more authentic, are the capital San Sebastián, remote Hermiguas – with a deserted beach – and rural & cozy Valle Hermoso. We visited these places on our three day trekking tour over the mountain ridges of La Gomera. Each day we have covered about 15 kms in often steep, rugged and stunning terrain. On this trip, did we pass places or locations that could qualify as A Good Place To Die (AGPTD)? Well, some villages are really pretty, the infrastructure is good – San Sebastián has a hospital, the roads are ideal for motorbikes – and the climate is great. To rent a simple apartment cost about EUR 400 a month. Meals and drinks at restaurants and bars are relatively cheap  (EUR 0.80 for an espresso, 6.00 for a pizza). And there are some interesting people living (part-time) on the island. Like Hans Knibbe, my teacher.

Still, I feel the island does not have enough inspiration to offer to live there by myself. Things could be different if I lived there with a group of people, or if I shared a household with a loved one. Flights to and from Tenerife are relatively abundant and cheap, especially if booked well in advance. Tenerife has about 800,000 inhabitants and interesting landscapes (like the 3,700 m high volcano). It also has a good hospital and lots of big outlets, garages, dealerships and such. Tenerife is touristy as hell, though.

A Place To Die – Why

This is my first day on La Gomera. Yesterday, I arrived here with Louk, after a journey by plane and trimaran speedferry. While waiting for the ferry in Tenerife harbor, we had supper in Maria’s place. Maria is a runner for one of the waterfront restaurants. She’s from Montevideo, in her thirties and quite charming. When I comment that she obviously likes her job, she laughs and says: “See that small restaurant over there? That’s my dream. The present owners are not doing a good job; their focus is on the bigger restaurant next door, which they also own. Me, I would give that small place all my attention, and make it a success. It’s on a great spot. It’s the ideal place for me.” Another person with a dream about a place, but she’s has her goal in sight…

Today we hiked. At first I was afraid that I couldn’t keep up with two experienced hikers, but that turned out fine. We hiked for about four hours, with short breaks. Ate our bread and cheese and sausage, drank our water. And we chatted. About my quest for A Place to Die - among other things. Melanie’s first reaction to my work title was typical of many first reactions: “Are you planning to die soon, why not calling it a place to grow old?” Good question. I like to reference to A good Day To Die – something a wise old Indian says in ‘Little Big Man’. No, I don’t want to die soon, maybe not for another 30 years if I have my father’s genes. Yes, I’m looking for a place to grow old in, or be old in. A place that I can love, where I will really feel at home – and I do not know that place yet. The dying aspect is interesting, I feel about death a certain way, have some ideas about it I would like to share. Things like that make this blog and this book interesting.

What else? I see this project as an enterprise.  I am inviting my readers – three so far, I believe – to share their ideas and their dreams. What does your dream place look like? Have you ever seen a place that looks like my description of A Good Place to Die? Would you like to join me and travel together to go find my dream house - or yours? Do you have any idea where to look, or where to go and start looking?

Taking Off on My Journey

I know exactly what the house looks like where I want to grow old and die. This is how I imagine it. I am meditating or reading in a comfortable chair on a porch. When I look up, I see green hills flowing. At a distance, mountains. My woman is busy in the house, there may be other people living with us. That I don't know yet.

What I have known for years is what my house looks like. Occasionally, I tell people, adding that I have not found it yet. I haven't really searched for it yet. I kinda hoped that I would stumble upon it by accident. This idea of mine has changed during this past month. I start to feel some urgency; it is time to start an active search. It is time to start my Journey.

Tomorrow, I am taking off. I'll be leaving for the Canary Island of La Gomera for a hike with my friend Louk. We will visit the island where my teacher Hans Knibbe is building his house to grow old. Hans is only two years my senior. I'm 58, he's 60 years old. 

Ik weet precies hoe het huis eruit ziet waarin ik oud wil worden. Ik stel het me zo voor: ik zit te lezen of te mediteren. Als ik opkijk, zie ik een heuvellandschap. In de verte zijn de bergen. Ik zit in een makkelijke stoel, op een soort veranda, een porch. In het huis achter mij rommelt mijn vrouw met pannen. Het kan zijn dat er meer mensen wonen in ons huis. Dat weet ik nog niet.

Wel weet ik al jaren hoe mijn huis eruit ziet. Af en toe vertel ik dit aan mensen. En ik zeg erbij dat ik het nog niet heb gevonden. Ik heb er ook nog nooit naar gezocht. Ik hoopte dat ik er min of meer toevallig tegen aan zou lopen. De laatste maanden is in die houding iets veranderd. Iets in mij wordt urgent. Het wordt tijd om actief te gaan zoeken. Het wordt tijd om op reis te gaan.

Deze reis begint morgen. Dan vertrek ik naar La Gomera voor een wandeltocht. Samen met mijn vriend Louk bezoek ik het eiland waar mijn leraar een huis bouwt om oud in te worden. Hans Knibbe heet hij, en hij is maar een paar jaar ouder dan ik. Hij is 60, ik ben 58.