The 40-something man opens the door of the fancy car he drives to make an impression on his clients.
I’m in. comfortably sitting in the rear, with my shoulders finally relying on something smoother than a rock.

It was fun to sleep for few days in a tent under zero degrees and winking stars fighting to be brighter than the orange moon. Listening to the birds talking to each other the whole night.

Fun and humid. the surface of the tent was frozen every morning we woke up. Sometimes I dreamed I would lose my legs since they were so cold. But as far as my body is warm, legs and arms are not a big issue. I’m fine with it.

I don’t look like a hippie, you can say so. I shaved in the morning, before hitting the road. And worn the jacked my mother hand-made for me. Maybe my hair are a bit ruffled by the wind. It’s not my fault if they are curly. If they would be straight, I guess they’d look dirtier. who cares, anyway? the only important thing now, is hosting these random travel-mates in my life. and understanding theirs.

Is he happy about having to give up his plans to lead the family company? Is he ok with being in the petrol business? why does he keep saying “we live close to the Continent. you know, in one hour we are there…”?. why not to describe the beauty of the countryside and the place were he sleeps every night, next to the woman sitting at his side, who didn’t speak a word for the whole journey?

Malmo. here is where they live. Malmo. such a mysterious sound… open vocals spaced out by sweet consonants. Producing the first “M” is like getting ready for a kiss. “A” of surprise for its wonder. “LMO” slowly blow the kiss in the space.
Such a sensual shape my mouth takes to speak the word. MALMO. the mystery of a place that tells me about water, forests and Nordic city-lines. And people who want to escape to the Continent.

Malmo: Italian sound that makes me think about the little gypsy sitting next to me. she is the one looking like a hippie and i don’t undestand how we managed to find a ride. Maybe is because of the way she smiled at them.

Here she is: looking outside the window to catch glimpses of the lakes next the highway. It seems there is always a lake you can go to wash your thoughts, in Sweden. You can sit at its borders and look at the clouds mirrored in the water. And forget about anything else but your breath.

When she is not immersed in contemplation, her body moves forward, as to absorb the meaning of our driver’s stories. or she lies back on the sitting, to look at him from the rear mirror.

I know she will go back home, after this new adventure, playing with stories and memory in my behalf. taking the license of writing in my name. giving freedom to the inspiration that she collected through life and pictures. and I don’t care if I will end up being another of her characters in the not-written yet novel of her life. or at least she hopes I don’t care.

-sustainable in terms of environment (and here we do great but I agree with Laura and Sara that things should be bought locally and that money saved skipping the waste should be invested in better products)

-sustainable in term of personal relations and in the concept of space.
Here for space I mean several things
* space in physical terms (quality rather than quantity, not too many people so that the space is enough for everybody and is pleasant to live in)
*space in personal relations (no expectations, honesty with others and with yourself, promote space for discussions, give the space to others to comment and say what they think, space for self-expression on artistic, philosophical, emotional level, space for our neighbors to live their own space without be bothered by us…)
* space for personal individual development ( space as an intimate location: introspection, meditation etc.)

In general terms, I agree that a balance between short stay and long stay is necessary and healthy.  It is nomadic right? It is temporary. It needs to move to be able to breath and change its colors.

In relation to what people can do with the Casa, what it means, what can be used for, I do believe it should be a place for sharing and mutual growth.
This includes sharing of skills, experiences, workshops etc. Cooking, cleaning and sharing meals is great but it should not be an obstacle in terms of time and effort to experiment other models and to invest energy in other activities.

Also, I think it would be good to have short events (2-3 days) where people interested in a specific topic or in sharing specific skills could use the Casa as a base to do so : selecting hosts according to what people want to share/learn/exchange. I think that having some kind of focus and knowing what we want to learn and having a direction is also important and that intense experience sharing days are needed (thing about : learning&teaching how to repair bikes, guerrilla gardening, composting, art of recycling, photography, creating a blog etc…).

Casa is never for us: always for the others. It is the place that you want to find everywhere. It is about mutual care and help.

It would be great to see frequent visitors more involved in dumpster diving, washing dishes, bringing wine/beers/food goods that could limit expenses.
Make a list of things you need to buy and you would like them to bring:
soya milk, honey, far trade coffee, toilet paper, eco-washing soap, cheese, eggs, bread etc. everything you cannot dumpster dive and it is common use should be listed somewhere visible and if short- mid term hosts, friends or visitors offer to bring something you can ask for one of these things.

Plus, a transparent donation system should be implemented on the website, or at least, a list of these common/frequent use goods should be always visible here. maybe we can get rid of BIKE STATUS (rarely updated) and WEATHER CONDITIONS…

We need more Casa bases around to grow.

You are here, and Casa teaches.
I remember to myself what I ware when I was there.
Like a cloud, like a cloud I get my shape.

I take you around my nest,
like birds we laugh and move,
with control of the not-control,
the magic awareness of thoughtless minds guides us.

The madness of the crazy streets
blasts us and make us sick
and again we survive
walking together,
feeling the road
feeling the road.

like a cloud
like a cloud
we will move and fly away.

naked inside, I get lost to find my way.

The randomness of the event has its reasons.

Sooner that I could realize, the road caught us, flexible and free like a cat.

Its yellow eyes blinking and silently smiling followed us, meanwhile we where following the flow of the events.

Again and
again the magic of things revealed itself in any rides and in the simple beauty of our encounters. Angels and savers, monks and royals arrived to us. Speaking without language, skipping the barriers of words and indifference. The
embarrassment of the hugs at the end of each ride and the laughs of the non-understood are an exercise of mimic: training for gesture and instinct.

Un-pre-dic-ta-ble.
The road is life and it is a teacher.

When Shaun and I left Amsterdam on the 1^st of August, we did know nothing. Nor
where, nor how. We had a destination, the dark of the Black sea waiting for us
at on the 7^th: the 789 and the mystery behind this number.

5 days

4 countries (The Netherlands, Germany, Poland and Ukrain),

2500 kilometers

18 angels

1 postcard left and one sent to say thank you and to invite our drivers to the Casa.

Here our journey:

* Saturday,
1rst of August: Amsterdam to Potsdam

14.45-15.45:Waiting at the Amstel station of Amsterdam after hugging Stove

1-

15.45-19:00: Amsterdam- Gronegau

Our first ride with the orange Buddist Maarten, hisfriends, a goose and a cock-roll. His green van was our first bless, his generosity drove us 100 kms after the German border, way out of his destination. His enthusiasm picked up Stove, and
made us travel together for few rides. At the petrol station we had a free meal: three untouched plates left for us by the events.

2-

19:00-20:00 From Grogenau to Hannover, chatting with Pedra of wind-turbines;

3-
20:0-21:00 From Hannover to Braunscheweig with Sacco.
Me speaking at the phone with an Italian born in Germany and missing an Italy that he doesn’t know. We leave Stove camping here.

4-
21:35-23.30 From Braunscheweig to Potsdam, with a Polish family who teaches us basic essential hitchhiking phrases. Iac toiate. Barzo genkuie. Scepraze. She mozes mie podviest. Proscem.

We skip Berlin pre-meeting to camp under a tent, under a starred sky. We are too happy with the road and too excited with the journey to leave it. Tasting Pastamadre bread and German beer, with a smile we fall asleep.

*Sunday, 2^nd
of August: Potsdam to Lublin

Waiting long long time for the perfect ride. Too many bags, too many granpa and granma on the back seats to have space for us: people seem to be sorry but this doesn’t help.

We shared out time with a other road-rider heading to Latvia. Shaun is in love. I wanna eat.

5-
13:25-02:30: from Postdam to Lublin, Sharing stories, stopping to eat, driving her car, crossing her country, looking at the fields, sleeping a bit during a 3 hours ride, 740 kms with Anna.

At the end of the day, next to the road, below the trees, under the storm, we listen to the rain: so laud and sweet and generous to Earth and to us that the drops not even touch our clothes nor our skin. Just a bless and a ninna nanna.

*Monday, 3^rd
of August: Lublin to Lviv

6-
10:30-11:00 Lublin-Piaski: Gregor wanted to pay for a bus ticket that we refused. Gregor’s eyes were enlightened by the idea of our adventure. His first hitchhiking contact, his shininess couldn’t help his innocence and the hunger of communication. Gregor is the reason why I love hitchhiking: his marveled expression, his reaction to our adventure, the trace we left behind makes me believe in the destiny of our encounters (karma?).

7,8,9,10,11-
12:00-13:15 from Piaski to Belzec, right at the border of Ukraine. Here, we discover the “track-drivers solidarity chain” and the playful participation of them to our adventure: Piot and the Zulwowshi family (Marek, Magdalena and their 2 kids traveling on a track) are amused by our mission and happy to find us another ride, another ride, and another more. Traveling on the waves of the radio transmission, we fly next to the border, light and fast like the seeds in the wind. Just one more puff, blow for me.

12-
15:40-17:30: Belzec- Rava Ruska (just across the border). walking is not allowed. We stop the first car passing by and we meet the Madras family. Broken English to communicate with father, mother and daughter coming from Poland to go to holiday in Ukraine. Sharing our dreams and our lived utopias, feeling the love between them. Telling us about our families, our past, present, and
I.don’t.wanna.know.the.future.It’s.gonna.be.perfect.anyway.I.wish.one.day.to.be.happy.and.full.of.love.as.you.

They offered us a full dinner, paying at the restaurant crazy money, while they were having a soup.I didn’t feel to leave them anymore.

13-

20:00:
Rava Ruska- Lviv.On a zebra-covered-seats car. With a crazy girl and her friends. So difficult to explain “write me your address: I sent you a postcard from Odessa”. So rewarding when they get it. We arrive at night.

*Tuesday, 4^th
of August

walking
walking

walking.

Unable to decide and to trust the road to Rainbow we wait for Robin and Tau to appear somewhere impossible to reach. And I am so disappointed with myself for having lost direction within myself, for not knowing what I wanted. The magic of the road is somewhere else today, but we still enjoy our time together. Reading, joking, attaching the big dwarf on my belt bag, sleeping on a soccer field, we realize to be the favorite meal of mosquitoes.
At least no boar shows up.

*Wednesday,
5^th of August

14-

from the nowhere of Lviv ring to Lviv direction to Kiev.

We watch a death bird for a while. We are alive, with Bob Dylan as a music track for our thumbs. The driver of the little van is embarrassed by my hug at the end of the short ride.
Everyone needs a hug, but sometime they forget it.

15-

12:43-14:13 From Lviv to Bus’k.

No words again. A guy with blue eyes and a black spot next to his mouth pick us up, speeding through the roads, stopping to a restaurant and offering us an amazing lunch. No vodka, no… iacuiu. Yes, we are a bit crazy. Toc toc on our head. But what’s normality at the end of the day? Working for survive? Killing yourself for a career? I want to be Erasmus from Rotterdam here and applaud to the craziness of my soul. Before to let us go, this angel buys us a little angel each. A little doll of clay, gifted with wings and a smile. On her back we fly away.

16-
14:30-16:30 From Bus’k to Rivne.

Saved from the rain by a former royalty member driving a white Mercedes. Stopping here and there to show us the landscape. Playing Italian song to listen my non-intoned voice singing. He crosses Rivne to show us around, calling someone able to speak English to make sure we understood he was going to drop us on the right spot.

17-

17:00-20:20 Rivne- Kiev outskirt

Mikholau nods when I explain why we hitchhike. Spreading networks of trust. The randomness of the encounters. The
destiny becoming alive. New contacts made. Different levels of communication and understanding. He finds us the next ride to Odessa yelling from the window to another track driver.

18-

20:20-5:00 am of Thursday, 6^th of August. Kiev to Odessa.

Full moon
here and there. On the road and on the mountains at Rainbow. The energy flows,the street leading and deciding for us. I sleep and I feel sad it’s already over.

Then Robin and me had a quite intriguing conversation with Rosa, a passionate Mexican woman who was cooking at Hans’ birthday on Saturday. She confessed to love boring man like Robin and, even if drunk and with strong tendencies to stripteaser, she really had nice insight into things (I actually cannot remember exactly what she was saying because of the rum and cola I was drinking, but she was great and I felt very connected).

Finally, just few minutes ago, walking near Spuistraat, I almost fell into a big bag of books (spiritual stuff and do-it-by-yourself manuals, mostly to create puppets and jewelry. There’s even a book about the art of Chinese tea and I really could not avoid of thinking to Amylin …). However, I walked to the nearest bench and few seconds later a guy sat next to me. He saw the bag before and he went home to take his bike to collect the books. I offered him to share and he confessed whispering: “i’m a garbageman” intending he collects all sort of stuff from the streets. So I whispered back “Me too. I dumpster dive “.Not sure he understood what I meant.
Eventually I chose the books I though could be taken to the Democlash of next week end (23rd of May), he took the ones he though he could sell and we had a nice chat about missing Uzbekistan, the origins of Dutch street’s name, and the fact that pens, computers and cataloguing organization at the public library has got a meaning that employees there cannot understand.
Well at the end I asked for his e-mail, so that he could eventually come to pick books-remains after the festival, but secretely thinking to invite him over dinner for the next thursday.

Today, I remembered my first contact with hitchhiking.
I was only 7 and my sister 1. My mother decided to took us to the amusement park in Rome (only 50 km from my hometown). She thought we needed distractions: back at that time my parents were in the processes of separation, so I think she wanted to spend some time with us.

However my mother is not that of a good driver, and we had an old “127″ that was continuously stopping for no reasons in the middle of the street. You know Italian drivers: it is not that pleasant when they start noisily complaining about your car.

In any case we made it to the fair ground. I don’t remember it too well. We went on the ferris wheel. Curiously enough, that is the only part of the story I do not have many memories about. I think we had good time.

On our way back, we got lost a couple of times and finally my mother saw a young guy standing at the border of the street with his thumb up.

My mother did not think about it twice: she stopped immediately to pick him up. We were going in the same town.

PATH 1:
He was called Davide, and was traveling around Europe in search of himself. He was just 18 and he had been waiting for a while at the petrol station. He could even speak Italian, so my mother and him had a long chat about life decisions, parent’s love, drug, sex and Reggae. He left his address to my mother, and now he is back in Europe, still 18, still searching for freedom.

PATH 2:
That event has been in my mind for all these years: even if I do not remember anything of the guy, not his voice, nor his name.

What I remember is that I was in the back of that archeological little car, always on the edge of breaking down, with my sister next to me.
What I remember is the proud feeling I had for my mother, who stopped to pick-up someone even with such a little children with her, saying “Don’t tell to your grandparents…”and still being happy to break the rules.
Someone could call it conscienceless: I call it trust. And I am so happy she did it, because it left such a great impression on my mind.

Few minutes ago, when I called to ask her about this event, she was surprised. ” How do you remember such a small occurrence…You were so little…”.

It was not the moment to tell her that sometimes are little things that shape you. I will wait to speak to her face to face to explain how important was for me to see that she was trusting people: that unconditional faith has got the power to flow inside, to pass barriers of time and space.

I have been traveling in a non-sustainable way to get to Milan, arriving at crazy night hours. The beautiful thing about beautiful friends is that they share their beautiful connection with you, so I was staying with Anna Giulia for one night: just the time to rest before going to Gorizia.

The next morning, opening the window gave me thrills: sun outside and the noise of a city I did not know yet and it was already full of positive vibes.

I had a nice handwritten letter by and for I-donno-who and I felt very excited: I was going to be the channel, I wanted to be connected.

Enjoying the sun, I decided to take the longest way to get to the other side of town: I nice tram passing through the city and showing me around seemed perfect.

People got in and out, moving around, chatting in one language that I could finally understand. A Chinese mum with a lovely baby that everybody was smiling at, got my attention too. The care she was giving to that little creature made me think about how much love we waste everyday. It made me think about free hugs, communities, inspiration. People should try not to be afraid of physical contact and proximity when they get older than 5…

But at the same time, I keep thinking about how to balance sense of community and freedom. Are they really irreconcilability? In Italy society is based on family. Without it we would be dramatically lost (especially on an economical perspective). Family supports, gives cares. But family also limits and shapes us. Sometimes it controls. How can we built nets that have the same supportive value (where you can share interests and find love), without the limiting counterpart of attachment? Without control?

Casa is where we can experiment this relations. Where we can practice new ways of sustainable friendship. Even if sometimes is difficult to be an insider/outsider/thursday-weekly-dinner-host in a microcosms of last minute decisions, I feel blessed to be there.
I wanted to share Casa approach, and some of these thoughts, with the addressee of my letter.
So, I was very happy to have someone answering the bell. A young voice, made curious by the fact that someone was bring a letter by hand from amsterdam without knowing who wrote it, told me that the person I was looking for, was not in. But she came down, to pick the letter. A young girl in pyjamas appeared on the door. So I explained. I told her about Casa, and told her about my mission. Probably too yong to trust a weird blond girl offering a coffee, probably already scared by I donno what or maybe just bored by my talk, she refused to have a longer chat. But she kept the letter. She knew who was from. I did not dare to ask.
And I walked away, with the sensation to not having done enough.
I feel I should have left her casa’s website address or the physical one… I felt I should have give more chances to react. leaving an open door for her to think about it more.