We meet the The Kandinsky at the leaving point. Our final photo is of the famous X that signifies you will soon leave the snow, and return to the surface. Not many people know it’s organic. The vessel is back to a cruise ship, one quite at home in the Pacific or Mediterranean. The crew know this is a return journey, and set the tone by pretending to get on with some work.
We returned to the snow wilderness. Tiny flakes spilt into my mouth with the consistency of freezing sand. A never ending wind whipped up in every direction. A path surrounded by palm trees was under out feet somewhere, but the snowbank hid the point where the road ended, and the landscape began. White dust frosted the tops of my shoes. Every so often an unexpected drift meant my leg vanished all the way up to the knee.The Butter Mouse padded along on the snow next to me, a pastiche of an artic hare.
The Kandinsky is peeling. Whole crops of plants have turned to dried reed, and scaly patches of rust spot the dying meta. Uderneath, like the shell of a new egg, was a fresh sheet of steel. We are back to the beginning. The ship will be a cruise ship by lunchtime tomorrow. We still have time to enjoy Hulsenbeck.
Way back at the start of this journey I told you about the wooly mammoths, and how they like to eat butterscotch. At the time it was one of the things i was most excited about seeing. But we’ve travelled so far since then, and seen so much madness. My own puppet has changed. I’ll be honest, I had forgotten about our massive furry friends. Until now.
The end of our journey is in sight. Well, that’s a bit dramatic. But there’s only Hülsenbeck left on The Kandinsky’s itinerary, and the first drops of snow have started to fall. Winter is falling over this land, turning the forests and buildings into a Christmas card. Not that the robots minds. They are busy working on a new project.
The sun burnt out a good deal of the fog, reavealing in the pink skin on the side of The Kandinsky exposed ribs the size of ceiling beams. I wondered if the cabins would start to show.
The crew hate Pansaers. They despise this plateau of normality, where the gravity fixes your feet to the floor with more security, and the air is silent.
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.
Crotti is what I needed after Duchamp.
Alongside the staff, about a hundred people remain on the Kandinsky. At the moment we spread across the island, and are almost enjoying a normal holiday. Time runs at a level that makes sense, and you can walk from street to the next without them hopping around. Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of weird stuff here. I will discuss the cats next week. But for now here’s a rundown of I spend my time in this section of Nadada.
Nearly there. Nearly up to date.
With the grinding of brick walls, the Freytag House shuffled off. A tacky fire door swung shut behind us. The ceiling is so low we have to stoop. Two woman at the bar drink pina coladas, and a man plays darts on a melted board with upside down numbers. His glass contained cocktail umbrellas, and lots of ice. Something with a lot of crooning plays from a cracked glass jukebox.