Our tiger marches through the fog. With every step her paws sink into gloopy mud up to her ankles, and with every meter she falls apart. A tooth drops into the silt, followed by two whiskers. Her fur loses the clarity of individual stripes.
Our journey through the jungle has settled into the closest you can find to a routine in Nadada. We gig every few days, setting ourself up wherever seems like a good location on board.I’m not sure any of the other crew members know or care by this point. I found our copy our contract the other day, and every line was the word custard again and again. It turns out there isn't the dead buried in the Earth. Only nonsense.
We continue to creep through the jungle. The Butter Mouse and I have spent the last few days locked in our cabin. She’s moving all the time, and, like everything else in Nadada, this once strange acts blends in my daily routine. We have even added something to our routine where she runs across my shoulders.
We surfaced in Baargeld Cave.
For those reading who are already in Nadada, check out Baargeld Cave. Although we have travelled to more spectacular places, this is the most beautiful. Carved into the side of a huge cliff, the jungle clambering down on either side, the diamond-like blue rock inside provides more than enough illumination. Water washes around the inside, a mini lagoon no bigger than a scout hut.
We are still chilling here. The Kandinsky is apparently gearing up to leave, though we are not sure when. In what time we have left I am going to do another gig, try and get some new material down, and put the memory of getting lost in Duchamp to bed. I am in a deckchair covered in inspirational quotes, and stroking one of the cats. This one had the taste of peppermint.