The day started with a big disappointment. I just found a tremendous hole in my alpaca jacket which has served me so well since February. I must have been careless while packing it in my bag. Be more careful while packing.)
Since Saturday I am in the state of Thüringen, near Berga, at Toril's Rocky Mountain horse farm. Quite interesting place. Many things to say.
Thüringen is in the former east Germany, quite in the middle of the country, surrounded by five states, including Bavaria and Saxony. The capital is Erfurt, which had been an important stop on the trade route with Asia in the middle ages. It also homes Weimar, where Goethe and Schiller had lived. In size and population density, the state is one of the smallest of the country. Because of its big forests, it is called the "Germany's green heart". When I traveled across Germany's cities a few years ago, Erfurt and Weimar had been my favorites. Small, town-like, nice atmosphere.
Toril is from the Netherlands. There she taught animal behavior for several years to students learning to train animals for people care. She also bred dogs and horses, and dreamed of having a more extensive horse farm one day. She never thought that she would fulfill her dream before she retired, but then some day a friend told her about this incredible offer: 20 000 euros for a huge farm house and barn, in the middle of the countryside, in beautiful (and apparently, sunny) Thüringen. In the Netherlands, she says, "you have to be a millionaire" to afford a farm. For this reason the Dutch who want to have a farm usually migrate to more welcoming lands: France, East Germany, Canada ("in Canada, you can buy hundreds of hectares of land for the price of a house in the Netherlands..."). So Toril didn't think much more than twice, and bought the farm, thinking that she would renovate it and perhaps move in later on. But within the first year she loved it so much that she quit her job and moved in, together with her three year old son and horses.
Her horse breed is the Rocky Mountain. Originally from Kentucky, it is a gaited horse (i.e., I learned, which can do a fourth speed, between trot and gallop, smooth and more comfortable over long distances). She came across this breed because of this peculiarity, which she first encountered in another breed, and fell in love with. So she searched for other gaited horses, but it turns out that gaited breeds in Europe have a fussy temper, and she also wanted a peaceful, easy-going horse. Her search for the good combination brought her to Kentucky in the States, and to the Rocky Mountain breed.
I must say that indeed these horses are incredibly beautiful and loving. Here are sixteen of them: two stallions, and I think six foals and the rest of them are mares. The coat color varies between sand and dark, almost black, usually with blond to white mane and tail. The nose is straight. The horse is rather small, pony-like, and extremely elegant. Most of them are incredibly sweet and quiet, and have nothing of the nervousness that I usually know from horses. They come to you, smell you, enjoy being pet, look at you with their inquisitive, sometimes sad looking eyes. It is hard not to fall in love with them.
But gosh, how much shit can a horse shit. For the first few days they were all in the pasture, and Toril said this was a holiday for her, because she didn't have to take care of cleaning the stable. Now I understand what she meant. Yesterday we brought a few mares and their foals back to the stables, because we shall train the foals a little, and because it was raining for the last few days and Toril didn't want the foals to stay wet and cold for so long. (In the wild, says Toril, they would have more shelter than they do in the pasture. Also, in the wild, a good part of them would not survive through the Winter. It was quite a journey to take these few mares out of the pasture, without having the others follow, under the wet and cold rain, but it was so beautiful to walk with these horses, on the road between the pasture and the house, that I thought it made it all worth being so wet and cold.) And, since yesterday afternoon, I have shoveled five carts of horse manure out of the stables. I keep thinking how great this manure would be for a gardener. But Toril said that there aren't many gardeners in the area. Someone came once to pick some up, but it didn't suffice. The manure keeps on piling up behind the barn. I wonder how she will deal with it eventually. The issue is perhaps not so pressing for her, as in fact she aims at keeping the horses on pastures as much as possible.
***
How Toril got the pasture that she now uses is an amazing story in itself.
It turns out that back in the communist times, the region used to be intensively mined for uranium by the Russians, and thereby quite destroyed. Now the German government tries to rehabilitate the area. The soil was not greatly contaminated but anyway they covered it everywhere with plastic sheets, and ten to twenty meters high of sand. Now they try to regrow vegetation on top of this soil. Because the water doesn't drain they have big erosion problems, and drainage canals and lakes have to be built. Water quality must be monitored. All day long one can hear the tractors coming and going on the road, transporting sand everywhere. It's taking decades to do all this. But eventually they want to turn the area into a nature reserve park.
So at first Toril was here with her horses, but no land, and was looking for land. Eventually the city council learned that, and offered her a few hectares on the rehabilitated area, a few hundred meters away from her house, on the verge of the future reserve park. The grass on that piece is too poor for the cows, but perfect for the horses, which requite a poor fodder. The hope is that the horses will manure the soil and till it, making it more fertile for plants to grow back on it. How many horses and for how long one needs, this is still to be found. By now the grass is pretty much all eaten on their pasture, but Toril got lucky again a few weeks ago and was offered another "poor" land, not so far away, about 4 hectares. It needs to be fenced, and I shall be of some use for that.
Now Toril is gone to a meeting with the city council and the hunters. The hunters have been keeping on coming to hunt on her land, and they chase the birds away. Apparently the hunters must have some rights, as they are meeting to discuss the issue with Toril and the city. Toril says she is lucky, because the village people and city council prefers the horses to the hunters. People have been telling Toril that now that the horses are in the pasture, they go walk over there, which they didn't before.
So why did Toril get this house for so cheap, she got to learn after she bought it, from a man who had long gray hair attached in a pony tail, and one single tooth in his mouth. The house is very old. It is built of wood and clay/straw, some brick, and composed of three buildings enclosing a courtyard, which seems to be the standard over here. One house, one barn, and one building where the workers used to live (apparently, which used to include a dance floor!). It was quite nice although in need of work, but came along with truckloads of garbage, and the stables floor with a meter high of dung, which is probably why Toril got of for so cheap - nobody wanted to deal with all this junk, or move in such a dreadful looking place.
So the first few months, Toril spent just getting rid of the garbage, and as she cleaned, the neighbors would come by and relentlessly tell the story of the people who had been here. The man and his wife used to have goats, and he had some talents in renovation and did some nice work on the house, but things went a little sour, the wife had drug problems, and the man became alcoholic, and started to pile up garbage in the house. I forget how they eventually got into needing to sale. The neighbors could not stop telling that story. And those who didn't at first, did after just being asked.
***
In front of the house, between the house and the pasture, is another building farm. It is very big, with two upstairs floors I think. It is for sale. (Toril dreams of somehow getting it and making it into a hotel, although, she is not so sure about the hotel idea. She says, "from far it sounds great, but then, you have to clean all the time, I didn't do six years of study to clean people's shit". As long as it's horse shit, it's fine :-)). Now lives in it only an old couple in their nineties, but it used to home seven families composed of several generations, with a total of forty children.
This state of occupation used to be common for such old big farmhouses, because when the Russians came to mine the region, they sometimes destroyed entire villages, and the homeless people found a new home in these big farmhouses. This is also why one finds in the area such oddities as a green pasture where a village used to stand before, with a panel reminding it as the only remaining memory of the village. Or a church, in the middle of nowhere, with not a single house surrounding it (the story tells that the church has been saved from destruction, because when the Russian man who was in charge of demolishing the village came, he found a lady in tears over a tomb in the cemetery, and for that reason he did not have the heart to put the church down as well).
Besides the destruction from mining, the Russians left here another relict of the communist times in the form of an amazing kindergarten system - in contrast to most of the rest of Germany (the west?), where I am repeatedly told that it is very hard to find a kindergarten place, because anyway the mothers are expected to take care of their children - for the communists, both men and women were expected to work. Toril takes her son to kindergarten from 8:30 to 3:00, five days a week, including a very nice warm meal at midday. The kindergarten is very nice, with a great atmosphere and lots of very friendly teachers, the kids are taught good manners, and both Toril and her son are quite happy with it. Toril had no trouble finding a place, and in fact, they were quite happy to have her son, she said. And for it, she pays about a hundred euros per month, and if she went through the hassle of filling up the pile of paperwork that it requires, she would actually pay nothing for it, as her status of single mom allows her.
***
The people in the area are quite amazed by Toril's sense of initiative, her desire to do things and her ever-flowing ideas. Toril says this is yet another remnant of communism; because people were not allowed to take initiatives, those who had any have left, so that now the region is mostly populated by people who have not much desire to change anything or to do something special...
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Friday, 12 November 2010
Antonia
For some reason, these days I wake up before dawn. In the middle of a dream all of a sudden, I am wide awake, and I still have plenty of time before I shall start the day. I usually spend this time listening to the silence, contemplating the warmth and softness of the blankets, watching the dark slowly turning into light. But today I decided to brave the darkness and to do some writing instead. Perhaps this moment of the day will give me more inspiration. As I write, a cock crows (did you know that each language interprets the singing of the cock differently? French: cocorico; English: cockadoodledo; German: kikerikie ), the horizon turns to orange, and the sound of a tractor passes by in the distance.
The other night, with Ben and Antonia we watched “Unser Täglich Brot”, a german movie about industrial food production. It is a series of short shots, with no words, taken across the whole realm of conventional factory production of the various things that we might eat: cereals, vegetables, meat, eggs, dairy. It shows how incredibly mechanized and disheartened this “farming” has become. I usually avoid such movies because I am tired of complaints and prefer to deal and think about solutions, but on the other hand I have recently decided that I shall keep my “eyes wide open”; and I did not regret having watched it. The image is very artistic, the approach neutral, and the result is intriguing, interesting, beautiful. Also, the film made me more aware of the amount of technology that goes into each production step. It seems that a machine has been invented to deal with every possible step of the pig and chicken production industry; and that, behind each machine, sits a totally bored and numb looking worker. I had not quite imagined before that behind each factory chicken there is worker sitting on the production line, whose job has been solely to “cut the flap of neck skin remaining after the head has been chopped off”. I mean, we are concerned about the ethics of producing factory animals, but did we ever consider the ethics of having the factory workers doing such jobs? (According to Ben, the suicide rate in those jobs is among the highest.) As of vegetables: one can after all really wonder about the prowess of plants; it is incredible that the methods used to grow them are able to produce something alive!
Anyhow. At the end of the movie, Ben said, “I got a lot from it, but not about food, rather about humans. We are so amazingly creative and intelligent; it's just incredible, these machines that we are able to invent. But, what do we put this creativity into!!! Also, it's really interesting to see the workers in these factories; how do they feel, how do they think? Perhaps I should work in one such place for one month, to get to know them.”
These days I am thinking, that perhaps I could say the same about my travel. I have not learned all that much about food, but a great deal about humans, or rather, at least, about specific people.
**
Antonia arrived about one week ago, as I was here already. As I showed her the way to our rooms, she carried her backpack on one shoulder, and her bass guitar in the hand. She was very thin, looked quite young, and giggled at most things she said or did. As she was going to be my roommate and coworker for a few days, I was particularly eager to see if we would get along. But right away I thought “Oh, I love her”. My feeling hasn't changed since. She is one of the most considerate, humble, thoughtful, alive, enthusiastic, calm and thorough thinking, hard working, person I have been given to meet.
Antonia is 19, of Irish origin, now lives in Wales. She finished her A-levels this year and took a year off to think about what to study in University. She came to do helpx on farms in Germany because in school she did a course on sustainability, which was “really great”, and which gave her the desire to come and see what goes on on farms aiming at being sustainable. This farm is the third one she is on, and she needs to go back home after this because she has (“actually that's really boring”) "an appointment with the orthodontist for her braces". Antonia has light curly blond hair at ear-length, which falls down on the sides of her face in a gracious style which reminds me of the 1920's, big blue-gray eyes, pale skin. She wears beautiful wool sweaters that she gets from second-hand shops (apparently Britain is the kingdom of second-hand shops). Antonia loves to cook and to experiment with cooking; things to eat and to cook are one of our favorite conversation topics, and we had a grand time baking cakes together. Antonia loves to rake leaves, to weed, to build and to do anything with her hands actually. In her free time she has been fighting with Ben for a book about meat that they have been both passionately reading (Eating Animals), teaching Ben to play the bass, dancing in the garden in the dark with her ipod. We also regularly and intensely discuss about “what can be done”, or rather "how", and she ponders at length about what she should choose to eat (“I think I should stop eating pig, and eat more sheep, isn't sheep good, it just feeds on grass, and that's what we have in Britain. And what about pulses? Hm, they are great, but they don't grow in Britain...”). At the top of her nineteen years, Antonia has a level of awareness that I myself, in my thirties, only recently reached. Both she and Ben (21) seem both quite aware that the problem is also one of lifestyle, and that the solutions are not at all clear for anyone yet; and both of them are eager to think and to come up with new ideas, to change their own lifestyle, to search for compromises.
I am struck by how pessimistic about the future most of my hosts have been until now. Most of those who actually seem to think about the issue, cannot see how things could get better, because they cannot see how people could change the behaviors which are sources of the problems. They don't see that change is happening. I think that the only exception is Joan back in the Ariege, who was the most open and imaginative and positive mind I ever met. He said there was no limit to what we could invent and create, and he was sure that we could find ways to turn each problem into a solution. Interestingly, although I guess not surprisingly, even though he has no training nor does he think of himself as an “ecologist”, he was also the host who made the most extensive use of the various techniques for a low-impact lifestyle. He had solar electric and water heating panels, heated his water only with wood or sun, only had compost toilets, used rain and well water, recycled his waste water, built as much as possible with natural materials. He was the one who really wanted to have the best of both worlds: sustainable life-style, modern comfort (and for that, he did not want to give up concrete :-)). But other than him, the views of all the others hosts I have had, I must say, are rather disheartening. I was quite surprised to hear that even Angelika, here, although she is incredibly cheerful and positive in her every day life, thinks that the chances for the future are rather low. She thinks that being pessimistic is being realistic.
It's hard to see change. Even harder when you are inside of it. The mind likes to focus on fixed punctual memories. But I look at Antonia, at Ben, and I see the change in them. The pessimists will reply “yes, but they are a minority”. It does not matter. This minority, twenty years ago, didn't even exist.
The other night, with Ben and Antonia we watched “Unser Täglich Brot”, a german movie about industrial food production. It is a series of short shots, with no words, taken across the whole realm of conventional factory production of the various things that we might eat: cereals, vegetables, meat, eggs, dairy. It shows how incredibly mechanized and disheartened this “farming” has become. I usually avoid such movies because I am tired of complaints and prefer to deal and think about solutions, but on the other hand I have recently decided that I shall keep my “eyes wide open”; and I did not regret having watched it. The image is very artistic, the approach neutral, and the result is intriguing, interesting, beautiful. Also, the film made me more aware of the amount of technology that goes into each production step. It seems that a machine has been invented to deal with every possible step of the pig and chicken production industry; and that, behind each machine, sits a totally bored and numb looking worker. I had not quite imagined before that behind each factory chicken there is worker sitting on the production line, whose job has been solely to “cut the flap of neck skin remaining after the head has been chopped off”. I mean, we are concerned about the ethics of producing factory animals, but did we ever consider the ethics of having the factory workers doing such jobs? (According to Ben, the suicide rate in those jobs is among the highest.) As of vegetables: one can after all really wonder about the prowess of plants; it is incredible that the methods used to grow them are able to produce something alive!
Anyhow. At the end of the movie, Ben said, “I got a lot from it, but not about food, rather about humans. We are so amazingly creative and intelligent; it's just incredible, these machines that we are able to invent. But, what do we put this creativity into!!! Also, it's really interesting to see the workers in these factories; how do they feel, how do they think? Perhaps I should work in one such place for one month, to get to know them.”
These days I am thinking, that perhaps I could say the same about my travel. I have not learned all that much about food, but a great deal about humans, or rather, at least, about specific people.
**
Antonia arrived about one week ago, as I was here already. As I showed her the way to our rooms, she carried her backpack on one shoulder, and her bass guitar in the hand. She was very thin, looked quite young, and giggled at most things she said or did. As she was going to be my roommate and coworker for a few days, I was particularly eager to see if we would get along. But right away I thought “Oh, I love her”. My feeling hasn't changed since. She is one of the most considerate, humble, thoughtful, alive, enthusiastic, calm and thorough thinking, hard working, person I have been given to meet.
Antonia is 19, of Irish origin, now lives in Wales. She finished her A-levels this year and took a year off to think about what to study in University. She came to do helpx on farms in Germany because in school she did a course on sustainability, which was “really great”, and which gave her the desire to come and see what goes on on farms aiming at being sustainable. This farm is the third one she is on, and she needs to go back home after this because she has (“actually that's really boring”) "an appointment with the orthodontist for her braces". Antonia has light curly blond hair at ear-length, which falls down on the sides of her face in a gracious style which reminds me of the 1920's, big blue-gray eyes, pale skin. She wears beautiful wool sweaters that she gets from second-hand shops (apparently Britain is the kingdom of second-hand shops). Antonia loves to cook and to experiment with cooking; things to eat and to cook are one of our favorite conversation topics, and we had a grand time baking cakes together. Antonia loves to rake leaves, to weed, to build and to do anything with her hands actually. In her free time she has been fighting with Ben for a book about meat that they have been both passionately reading (Eating Animals), teaching Ben to play the bass, dancing in the garden in the dark with her ipod. We also regularly and intensely discuss about “what can be done”, or rather "how", and she ponders at length about what she should choose to eat (“I think I should stop eating pig, and eat more sheep, isn't sheep good, it just feeds on grass, and that's what we have in Britain. And what about pulses? Hm, they are great, but they don't grow in Britain...”). At the top of her nineteen years, Antonia has a level of awareness that I myself, in my thirties, only recently reached. Both she and Ben (21) seem both quite aware that the problem is also one of lifestyle, and that the solutions are not at all clear for anyone yet; and both of them are eager to think and to come up with new ideas, to change their own lifestyle, to search for compromises.
I am struck by how pessimistic about the future most of my hosts have been until now. Most of those who actually seem to think about the issue, cannot see how things could get better, because they cannot see how people could change the behaviors which are sources of the problems. They don't see that change is happening. I think that the only exception is Joan back in the Ariege, who was the most open and imaginative and positive mind I ever met. He said there was no limit to what we could invent and create, and he was sure that we could find ways to turn each problem into a solution. Interestingly, although I guess not surprisingly, even though he has no training nor does he think of himself as an “ecologist”, he was also the host who made the most extensive use of the various techniques for a low-impact lifestyle. He had solar electric and water heating panels, heated his water only with wood or sun, only had compost toilets, used rain and well water, recycled his waste water, built as much as possible with natural materials. He was the one who really wanted to have the best of both worlds: sustainable life-style, modern comfort (and for that, he did not want to give up concrete :-)). But other than him, the views of all the others hosts I have had, I must say, are rather disheartening. I was quite surprised to hear that even Angelika, here, although she is incredibly cheerful and positive in her every day life, thinks that the chances for the future are rather low. She thinks that being pessimistic is being realistic.
It's hard to see change. Even harder when you are inside of it. The mind likes to focus on fixed punctual memories. But I look at Antonia, at Ben, and I see the change in them. The pessimists will reply “yes, but they are a minority”. It does not matter. This minority, twenty years ago, didn't even exist.
Monday, 1 November 2010
Grossenhain
I left David and Viola's farm with some regret a few days ago. Since Monday I find myself a few dozens of kilometers more north, nearby Grossenhain.
I am not sure why, but sometimes I think that until now this entire german section of my trip has a very surreal quality. The people, the places, the conversations. Everything feels too strange to be true. Could it be because, as apparently similar to mine as the german culture can be, it is in fact, deeper inside, totally different?
My two days in Bremen, before my arrival at David and Viola's farm... where I stay at someone's place from couch surfing, I was interested to meet this indonesian doctotal student in “political ecology”, he lives in a one-room flat on top of a building, for a long time, standing in the kitchen against the afternoon sun, he tells me with passion about his interests and his life, and he has also two indonesian friends staying with him, as they just arrived in Germany for a few months of study and are looking for an appartment, and my host tells me that we can just all sleep in this small room, and I prefer to sleep in the staircase, which is large like a room and where I can keep the window open, and the same evening another couch surfer also comes, he has a dutch name and is totally blond and he comes from South Africa and he studied architecture and he works on sailing boats of rich people, now he travels around on a vespa from 1950, together with an incredible leather bag that he made himself, as well as other useful leather items, in the evening the indonesian host takes us for a tour in old Bremen, the South African comments on amazing architectural features of the city, the city is incredibly lively and sweet, I have a terrible headache although I never have one, later on we go into a pub which our host says is his favorite, lots of young people are watching a football game on a big screen and cheering, we meet his friends from the university and it seems like they just stepped out of a book, or that they lived in a glass cage their whole life, the South African and I are from another planet, anyway I most of the time feel like I am from another planet, and then I wonder perhaps lots of other people also do, but perhaps they don't dare to express or to acknowledge it...
And now, here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by industrial farms of all sorts, this little house, little farm, out of a fairy tale, with sheep of incredible hair of all sorts of colors, which gabble apples like would a beast in a video game, and which noone eats or kill anymore, and the incredibly beautiful house where everything is so simply nice, either very old or new, with an old man sweet like candy and who back in the days has transformed this traditional barn/stable/house into a full house, and his wife, always cheerful, talkative, who plays irish music in a band, she loves english and seems more american than german actually, anyway is there really a difference between germany and america, that's the question, we spend morning collecting apples and making apple juice, before having for lunch the most delicious food I ever had, the afternoons spent taking tea and talking about education and religion, the old man says in his quiet, slow voice, that for a real democracy people must be educated and informed enough to think by themselves, so the school must teach people to think, and religion and school were meant to prevent people from thinking and expressing themselves, as societies grew and became industrialized, the other helpx guy from England, breathtakingly meditative and quiet and silent, he writes a four-page letter by hand to a man with whom he has worked on an ice-cream parlor, because the man had asked him to keep in touch, and my room, or rather should I say, my appartment, which perhaps would be the appartment of my dreams had I ever had such a dream, sort of loft under the v-shaped roof, both ends are full glass between the wooden beams, on one end is my bedroom where the glass is covered with vine, and on the other is the entrance door and a balcony on which hangs actual wine grapes, which I can pick and eat each time I pass by and they are just the most delicious grapes I ever had...
I am not sure why, but sometimes I think that until now this entire german section of my trip has a very surreal quality. The people, the places, the conversations. Everything feels too strange to be true. Could it be because, as apparently similar to mine as the german culture can be, it is in fact, deeper inside, totally different?
My two days in Bremen, before my arrival at David and Viola's farm... where I stay at someone's place from couch surfing, I was interested to meet this indonesian doctotal student in “political ecology”, he lives in a one-room flat on top of a building, for a long time, standing in the kitchen against the afternoon sun, he tells me with passion about his interests and his life, and he has also two indonesian friends staying with him, as they just arrived in Germany for a few months of study and are looking for an appartment, and my host tells me that we can just all sleep in this small room, and I prefer to sleep in the staircase, which is large like a room and where I can keep the window open, and the same evening another couch surfer also comes, he has a dutch name and is totally blond and he comes from South Africa and he studied architecture and he works on sailing boats of rich people, now he travels around on a vespa from 1950, together with an incredible leather bag that he made himself, as well as other useful leather items, in the evening the indonesian host takes us for a tour in old Bremen, the South African comments on amazing architectural features of the city, the city is incredibly lively and sweet, I have a terrible headache although I never have one, later on we go into a pub which our host says is his favorite, lots of young people are watching a football game on a big screen and cheering, we meet his friends from the university and it seems like they just stepped out of a book, or that they lived in a glass cage their whole life, the South African and I are from another planet, anyway I most of the time feel like I am from another planet, and then I wonder perhaps lots of other people also do, but perhaps they don't dare to express or to acknowledge it...
And now, here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by industrial farms of all sorts, this little house, little farm, out of a fairy tale, with sheep of incredible hair of all sorts of colors, which gabble apples like would a beast in a video game, and which noone eats or kill anymore, and the incredibly beautiful house where everything is so simply nice, either very old or new, with an old man sweet like candy and who back in the days has transformed this traditional barn/stable/house into a full house, and his wife, always cheerful, talkative, who plays irish music in a band, she loves english and seems more american than german actually, anyway is there really a difference between germany and america, that's the question, we spend morning collecting apples and making apple juice, before having for lunch the most delicious food I ever had, the afternoons spent taking tea and talking about education and religion, the old man says in his quiet, slow voice, that for a real democracy people must be educated and informed enough to think by themselves, so the school must teach people to think, and religion and school were meant to prevent people from thinking and expressing themselves, as societies grew and became industrialized, the other helpx guy from England, breathtakingly meditative and quiet and silent, he writes a four-page letter by hand to a man with whom he has worked on an ice-cream parlor, because the man had asked him to keep in touch, and my room, or rather should I say, my appartment, which perhaps would be the appartment of my dreams had I ever had such a dream, sort of loft under the v-shaped roof, both ends are full glass between the wooden beams, on one end is my bedroom where the glass is covered with vine, and on the other is the entrance door and a balcony on which hangs actual wine grapes, which I can pick and eat each time I pass by and they are just the most delicious grapes I ever had...
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