in my hippie days, my friend and I always lived in our VW bus for at least three months.With child and very big dog.
It wasn’t developed.We slept on a wooden door that we had placed on the protrusions for the wheels. It was about a metre wide, but we were very slim, which came from the kiffen and many smoking.
the little one slept in a kind of trunk.The dog in front. He was called Tommy and was a boulder.
Inside we had old carpets.It was very cozy. I could cook and we also had a small workshop.
we lived by making belts and bags and moccasins out of leather. Since we were well known with all the artisans in Florence, we always took a lot of jewelry that was made by others.
then we were on the way, as long as the weather allowed it.
by the sea, in the mountains, wherever tourists were and it was beautiful.
We mostly earned well, especially when I sold.
18 years old, thin, wild, burnt brown, in Indian clothes with child that hung on an Indian cloth on me.
since the tourists always bought the story with them.
that’s how you could live.
you were allowed to stand everywhere by bus and sleep there.
today we must not do anything.
Don’t sleep where you want, don’t sell anything where you want.
everything is regulated and forbidden.
in Venice you can no longer picnic, otherwise there are heavy penalties.But otherwise the bars don’t earn enough.
ups, I digress.
Well.Anyway, the beautiful summer.
we were in Calabria by now.
if you imagine the Italian boot, Calabria is at the front, at the bottom, front foot. Hintem, on the spore, that is Puglia.
in the south of Italy, people have a very different mentality.
they are open, hospitable and sometimes very curious.
we stand on the beach promenade, it was already at the end of August, not many more people.
the Italians all go back together for the holidays, at the beginning of August and then all together after the 15th.The three weeks in between are the hell by the sea.
I build up our goods.On a red velvet cloth on the floor. We sit on a wall, from time to time someone comes by.
at some point a policemancomes.
he asks what we are doing here.
I say sell our stuff.
He says you have to ask.
we have to pack our things together and he accompanies us to a bar.Sitting there, at the door, a few men at a table.The policeman points at the elder.
we go and greet.He asks who we are, what we do here, how long we stay.
we respond to everything.
he looks at us briefly and then nods, in the direction of the policeman.
the rest of the time we were untroubled guests of the village.