I was
captivated by the landscape through which I was traveling. Narrow fields of
golden grain alternated with pastures dotted with bushes. It was possible to
catch glimpses of the forest and fields which were dotted with colorful little
farms having several sheds to their sides which served the house and also
contained ingeniously constructed stone racks for storing the fruits of the
summer harvest. They were simple buildings one could almost say shabby, but
neat and tidy all the same. Only the flower and vegetable beds in the gardens
could be described as disturbed.
Just about
everywhere I went I was greeted like long last friend. But this was perhaps not
surprising; after all with fewer inhabitants, everybody knows practically everyone
else. And this is also why, as I found out later, a wedding celebration
traditionally continues three to five days. And everyone in the village could
be expected to turn up. Nobody can afford that sort of thing these days. People
tend to opt for just living together.
The blue
sky was dotted with white clouds and the light of the setting sun gleamed on
the windswept grass. It didn’t take much effort to get to know the people of
village.
During the
day I was able to observe them going about their usual business, quietly and
deliberately with the regularity of a pendulum mostly out of doors, in the
field’s gardens or at river. I had plenty of time to wander round and take
snaps of their lives.
They say
sing for as long as you are alive-in the fields, at home amongst friends.
It is
difficult to say how many hours I spent sitting on the bank watching the
fisherman put out into the river and return with their modest catches.
There
appeared to be a clear division of labor, for no sooner had they tied up the
boat their women would turn up. They will help unload the boats, stored the
catch and nets and then disappeared, leaving behind a pungent whiff of mud in
the air.
The bank
also served as a playground for the children. They perform breakneck somersaults
in the long grass, wrestled with one another, laughing and playing with the
same carefree innocence as the pack of dogs that play around them.
There is a
path from river to village looking like a enchanting meadow traversed by a
yellow streak of sandy path up which the people will walk some of them bare
feet. Not once did I find myself in pollution quite simply because there wasn’t
any.
Not to mention any automobile license plates,
waste water pipes or to the extent a hospital. And there was no sign of the
fashionably build houses.
There was no policeman to be seen, yet nobody
bothered to lock their door at night.
“We simply live our lives according to
our own rules”.
Said one of
them we have never been very interested in who was in power on the mainland.
Is such timeless freedom really
possible??
