Crushed toast bread, carrots, some fennel and canned sardines. The sausage set aside for tomorrow. Eating silently; thinking. One or two shriveled plums. Spitting out the fruit stones. Once the headlamp has been mounted, a first layer of mosquito spray is applied. The Night comes; “Faserland” – land of fibers, buddhist and anarchist literature. Not much later, though, even “Jerry Cotton” becomes amazingly satisfying.
Before crawling into the sleeping bag, a second layer of mosquito spray needs to be added. One’s head gets wrapped up with a T-shirt. A burning spiral on each side. The smoke makes it hard to breathe, but this procedure is necessary to get at least some hours of sleep.
As soon as the spirals have burnt out, the second part of the night is approaching. The sleeping bag covers now the whole body – including the face. Just a small gap between the fabric to get some fresh air. Suddenly, a rustling noise coming from the outside of the overheated cave can be heard. Peering through the air passage. A dog is messing around with the food supplies. Accompanied by curses and swearwords, he eventually get’s chased away.
BROMANCE ON THE FRENCH ISLAND OF CORSICA