This town is underwater. The wind howls down the streets and clouds hang on the hills. Sitting alone in a cozy restaurant, suddenly missing home (wherever it may be).

A day off: walk in the hills feeling the sunshine and smelling the dust. Eat ice cream, lie in the shade and listen to your voice.

“The Speckled Hen is the wrong temperature,” my new friend the accomplished sourdough baker would say.

A bit drunk again, oh well, on vacation, plus, I now understand cricket.

Not a very romantic Valentines day, but drinking with new biking friend Pete in New Zealand. Hunting around for obscure bar ensues. We are successful and then we are drunk.

It’s the fast/slow, the hard/soft. It’s like love. But maybe that’s my mistake, maybe I don’t push hard enough.

Climbed hills, saw glaciers, feeling tired.

Finally, ice cream in the afternoon, after all these days!

It was an evil afternoon: hot sun and a cold headwind blowing off the sea. Troubled thoughts from ten thousand kilometers away and all around me desolate scrubland. But at the end of the road an unexpected oasis: a waitress so friendly and a burger so large that all was forgotten.

One for today. One for every day. A mouthful of honey, that first taste. Riding my bike and thinking of you.