7th week in Jablonec nad Nisou (Czech Republic).
Autumn is coming in quick steps. It is cold in the apartment, even during the day, although it is warm outside and the sun is shining. The heating is not working yet and we have to help ourselves out with blankets, hot drinks and a hot water bottle.
We have crossed the mountain, we have five weeks left before the journey continues. But this one seems to be stuck. The fact that time is running out for us here may contain something good. It should make me more awake, open me to life outside in the world. But somehow I don't succeed.
I still give this a chance. What other chance do I have? Since it is a certainty that we will not come back again, so I can make the best out of it. But what is the best? This question has been driving me for a long time.
I have a superficial interest in architecture. This is reflected in the fact that I like to look at beautiful buildings, perhaps been interested in the architect and the history of the building, but not further than that. I take up this interest again, because this place should have exactly some of that, architecture and history.
During a walk, I pass a house. It is dressed in an ivy-like garb. Very elegant. A high hedge, neatly trimmed, behind which privacy remains protected. The garden manicured and the leaves blowing evenly with the wind. Such beautiful sights are a rarity, which is a shame.
Just a few steps further and I pass buildings whose facade is crumbling and decaying. And a little further on, an abandoned site that used to be a school or other public building. The windows smashed and broken, the fence infested with rust. Decay everywhere.
There are so many houses here that would make the town a beautiful place, but few are cared for and maintained. A lot of them are empty, nobody lives there. It does something to people, even though they probably don't want to admit it. It does something to me seeing this, it depresses me.
A little further down the road I discover, somewhat hidden in a garden, a pool. It arouses my interest, because I did not expect a pool in this area. It is completely made of concrete, empty, left to the passage of time. An ugly hole where dust and leaves collect, I assume, since I am denied a view into it.
Later that evening, I go through the only book in the accommodation. A book about architecture in Jablonec. Most of it was built around 1900. It was the heyday of this town. Looking at the pictures and sketches I get stuck on a villa. Gray facade, red windows and doors, a spiral staircase, a pool. I immediately recognize that this is exactly the house with the pool.
At this moment I realize something more, pictures have their own effect on me. They open spaces in my imagination that let me dream and awaken a longing in me. In contrast to this is reality, which is sometimes contrary to the images. This villa is a good example. When I stood in front of it I had no positive feelings. It seemed ordinary, even ugly and repulsive. I wouldn't want to live in here.
I'm more outdoors this week. I'm out in the city, sometimes just shopping, but often walking. I walk through streets and areas that I have not walked before. But I don't measure distance or time I put behind me. I try to enjoy the walk and listen to podcasts.
Now that it gets dark earlier and very quickly, I try to go out in the morning, even before work. On one of these walks, a young man catches my eye. His gait is quick and his face is hidden under a hood. He stops at trash cans in front of a house and opens each of them. He tears the plastic bags and rummages around in them. He is very aggressive about it and doesn't seem to care if he is seen.
I see more and more people digging in trash cans. In Berlin, in Stuttgart, everywhere I am. So in Kutina last week or here in Jablonec. Most of them are looking for bottles and they are careful. Never have I seen anyone so aggressive. That disturbs me.
So many things here disturb me. This place stirs it all up. The decline of a once thriving city does not pass people by. Or maybe there was never this great era when it was beautiful. Maybe that's just another image I have of a time I never lived in, but think it was a better one than today.
Autumn is coming in quick steps. It is cold in the apartment, even during the day, although it is warm outside and the sun is shining. The heating is not working yet and we have to help ourselves out with blankets, hot drinks and a hot water bottle.
We have crossed the mountain, we have five weeks left before the journey continues. But this one seems to be stuck. The fact that time is running out for us here may contain something good. It should make me more awake, open me to life outside in the world. But somehow I don't succeed.
I still give this a chance. What other chance do I have? Since it is a certainty that we will not come back again, so I can make the best out of it. But what is the best? This question has been driving me for a long time.
I have a superficial interest in architecture. This is reflected in the fact that I like to look at beautiful buildings, perhaps been interested in the architect and the history of the building, but not further than that. I take up this interest again, because this place should have exactly some of that, architecture and history.
During a walk, I pass a house. It is dressed in an ivy-like garb. Very elegant. A high hedge, neatly trimmed, behind which privacy remains protected. The garden manicured and the leaves blowing evenly with the wind. Such beautiful sights are a rarity, which is a shame.
Just a few steps further and I pass buildings whose facade is crumbling and decaying. And a little further on, an abandoned site that used to be a school or other public building. The windows smashed and broken, the fence infested with rust. Decay everywhere.
There are so many houses here that would make the town a beautiful place, but few are cared for and maintained. A lot of them are empty, nobody lives there. It does something to people, even though they probably don't want to admit it. It does something to me seeing this, it depresses me.
A little further down the road I discover, somewhat hidden in a garden, a pool. It arouses my interest, because I did not expect a pool in this area. It is completely made of concrete, empty, left to the passage of time. An ugly hole where dust and leaves collect, I assume, since I am denied a view into it.
Later that evening, I go through the only book in the accommodation. A book about architecture in Jablonec. Most of it was built around 1900. It was the heyday of this town. Looking at the pictures and sketches I get stuck on a villa. Gray facade, red windows and doors, a spiral staircase, a pool. I immediately recognize that this is exactly the house with the pool.
At this moment I realize something more, pictures have their own effect on me. They open spaces in my imagination that let me dream and awaken a longing in me. In contrast to this is reality, which is sometimes contrary to the images. This villa is a good example. When I stood in front of it I had no positive feelings. It seemed ordinary, even ugly and repulsive. I wouldn't want to live in here.
I'm more outdoors this week. I'm out in the city, sometimes just shopping, but often walking. I walk through streets and areas that I have not walked before. But I don't measure distance or time I put behind me. I try to enjoy the walk and listen to podcasts.
Now that it gets dark earlier and very quickly, I try to go out in the morning, even before work. On one of these walks, a young man catches my eye. His gait is quick and his face is hidden under a hood. He stops at trash cans in front of a house and opens each of them. He tears the plastic bags and rummages around in them. He is very aggressive about it and doesn't seem to care if he is seen.
I see more and more people digging in trash cans. In Berlin, in Stuttgart, everywhere I am. So in Kutina last week or here in Jablonec. Most of them are looking for bottles and they are careful. Never have I seen anyone so aggressive. That disturbs me.
So many things here disturb me. This place stirs it all up. The decline of a once thriving city does not pass people by. Or maybe there was never this great era when it was beautiful. Maybe that's just another image I have of a time I never lived in, but think it was a better one than today.