8.monday april 30 2007

So I am having a holiday. When its holiday in China and especially at the Chinese New Year millions and millions of Chinese men and women leave the cities to go back to the village they came from. When free for a couple of days I normally go to our house in Spain, together with Anne or enjoy the beautiful garden behind our house in Zaltbommel. And go sailing or to the pub with the friends or playing some tennis. But what is a holiday? Personally I regard this as working in different and mostly somewhat more agreeable circumstances. I always work. I love it. I will continue to do so.
But this year I made the choice of a different kind of work during these socalled free days, so kindly granted to me by my co- workers: the trip to Argentine. In the same way like the Chinese citydwellers reroot in their villages I rerooted in the House on the Lake. Diving into the pit of my soul, so easily concealed below my work as a leader of a company.
Some friends tell me it is dangerous to write my experiences down. They care for me. But there is nothing to worry about. Being a topdog in action always involves the collateral damage of neglecting your self. Only those with some imagination or with executive management experience can understand.
So.
Happiness never is the most relevant objective. I reenergized my powercentre tháts important, so I smilingly can say in mine and your face: happiness is not the issue, its a desirable but always temporarily state. In the same way I refocussed the fair balance between the interests of myself and those of my friends.
How did I do that the last weeks? If you look at the name of our Chinese Company and if you are able to read Chinese, you easily will detect the meaning of the characters. You pronounce them somewhat like Sjoe- tán and if you read the characters you will detect that Sjoe stands for "thinking" and tán for "jumping". It took a lot of research to find the characters and more than 10 hours of demaning ánd interesting ánd funny meetings.
Ok: first you think and analyse and then you bring thougths into life: by action.
Happiness, as I re-discovered earlier is not in the brain and slowly at first and after the first succeful gradually faster, I experience those sensation-in-the-here- and-now that like pearls on a string represent the real true meaning of happiness.
Some examples. Last saturday it happened for the third time that I left a shop without paying.
Not intentionnaly. But I did. I bought a small scissors, a packet of Nicotinell(anti-smoking), some anti-rash-ointment. I felt good. First of all: I did buy them myself, moreover: I decided myself to buy them! And after I gathered those valuable articles I proudly left the shop. Good job, Jan!
Within seconds however someone started to shout from the opening of the door.
"Sir, Sir!"
I turned around. The owner. A smoothly shaved man in a white coat, who lowered his voice at once when we stood eye to eye.
I smiled. He also smiled.
"Sir,' he said,' please: pay. You forgot to pay!"
I did and thats also interesting: before Argentine I usually never had any money or plastic on me. Now I have/ Loosely crammed in the right( or was it left?) trouser pocket.
I explained to him: "thanks for your kindness. A mistake. Sorry. But in normal life there is always somebody else who carries my money and who pays for me."
The man kept smiling but I saw from the expression of his face he regarded me as a oversized man from Mars. And there was a highly botoxed lady behind me in the queu who kindly nodded at me. Invitingly. But I went out.
I realise that by telling this story for some of my readers I maybe place myself in a dangerous position because my reputation might be at stake. But I tell you, I could only laugh at myself.
But the chemist was not the only shop I visited. In a-two-day-schedule I also started to gather my food, an action(tan) always planned well (shoe) .
So I visit the very local supermarket near my House on the Lake. Staggering around along the shelves, getting lost like a blind man, asking those nice pretty shopkeepers "where are the vegetables" and do that again and everytime again until last saturday one of them greeting me as an old friend took the initiative of showing the vegetables to me before I could even ask her.
So I bought the israeli and dutch tomatoes, the garlic I since China learned to eat raw, the mushrooms, sweet and red peppers, the different kinds of salad. Thats my diet. Along with warm water, and the notoirous little foodsacks from Tilly the Highpriest of Weightcontrol.
But whats more new and interesting: I prepared and prepare the food myself. I tell you thats historical! Thats fun. And I perform nicely, with Skyradio in the background, the long avoided rital of washing up. A clean kitchen, for heavens sake: thats a beautiful sight. Especially when you clean up yourself.
While I say this I must admit I just said "yes"to Anne who smilingly offered to prepare some spinach for me.

And I sailed a lot.
And today I finished the last draft of my novel. Also work.

7 Broken eggs 26 april 2007-2

"How would the aceobat herself react to the story? Did she read it?"
This afternoon I inserted that 2800 word story of Li Xiao in my Blog. Checked e-mail. Interesting messages. The formal registration of SchoutenChina has been confirmed. Within 4 months. The Chinese authorities are not slower than the Dutch ones. Furthermore the first two Chinese persons accepted our offer for a job. The Beijingoffice now formally is staffed now.
I asked Dong Yan, one of the freshly hired managers: How would the Acrobat appreciate the tale of Li Xiao? But she did not reply. probably wanting to protect her friend.
The question stayed stuck in my mind for a while- until the traffic congestion I hit upon on my way to the House, required my attention. In the slow traffic I managed to turn down the bonnet of my cabrio. 28 degrees, sun is blowing. Put on the radio and on high volume I sang along with the first part of Brahms Violin Converto, Radio 4 surprised me with.
So I sang. tried at least and that as loud as possible, clamping my fists and jumping on my seat. Must have been a funny sight. I enjoyed it. felt relief.
On the road near the lake, I remembered sailing with Tonio, in regattas, on our racingboat called Pampus and instantly the nice talk got in my mind we earlier today had together while drinking tea on the terrace of the Tolerance (Verdraagzaamheid).
We nicely relaxed in the shadow of Bavariaparasols and when the time was there, i said to him:
"Tonio, I made a discovery some days ago: Nobody is more important than me, myself."
Tonio looked at me disbevelievingly. Started a story, once told to him by Cathy Li, the proud manager of E-soon/ Vanad in Shanghai. An elegant and competent lady. One of the pearls of modern China.
"You remarked, Tonio, that Chinese people are so gentle, so considerate. And yes they can be. And of course you can find here also bad people. very bad people. On the other hand. there are men and women at the other side of the scale. Take that old villagewoman going every day to the market. There she buys the eggs for her family. While buying egges you have to be careful because if you are not, at home you may find the eggs the vendor sold, are broken. It easily happens. This poor gentle lady knew this of course. And so the pure soul searched every day in the heaps of eggs and selected the already broken ones.
She would say: "I do that because it is so hard on the other people. when they arrive at home and see their eggs are broken. Of course the eggs I buy sometimes already are bad. No problem. I just throw them away."
Tonio looked away. reached behind his chair and produced a packet of flower tea , nicely wrapped. A present from Han, professor at Remnin University, the gentleman who performed for Schouten China the reasearch on training needs of Chinese men and women.
"Thank you, Tonio," I said,"give Han my best wishes. But was there any hidden message in that story you told me a couple of minutes ago?"
He laughed. The terrace was full of people, enjoying the shadow, admiring the lazily flowing river. I laughed too. We both together laughed our head of, not caring( bad bad) for the sleepy eyed people around who suddenly seemed fully awake.
Of course I knew Tonio's anwer far before he needed to give it to me. "Jan, silly billy, you overplayed your hand. You bougth too many broken eggs. Will you continue?"
"No,"i said to myself.

And now , at home in my House on the Lake, watching the gray and bumpy water- and the yellowy-red billiance of the sun drowning in the haze at the horizon I realized I had an other topic that I easily could have fed into my converstation with Tonio- a statement crystallized after many Argentine days.
That every creature needs to be its own powercentre, its own fountain of energy that gives birth to projects that in theirselves give the sufficient satisfaction- the necessary oath the litlle horse called Dayang easily can trot on. And that how much you long for caresses, skin, care and tenderness- this explosive ensemble called love must be nothing more and less than a desirable but additional asset.
Rewording this statement on the couch of my small living room I felt extremely well. Like a couple of days ago when I for the first time and so clarly could formulate my point of view, so clumsily hidden below the mud of tough work and bad "eggbuying habits".
Some questions came up. What did I do the last 20 years, the last years especially? What do I learn from it? Ans what has all this to do with a Blog?
Jennifer mailed me the last question.
"Is it a blog? It reads like a novel? But when I read one, I easily can turn on the last page. Does this have an end?"
This is the story of a journey. I jumped in at media res. It has a beginning of course- a backstory I will fill in later. Probably I make an other Chinese story out of it, dont know yet. But does it have an end? Sure it will have an end. If stories ever end.
But first I will describe my report on the very dangerous invasion that floods Holland. Because I promised. Because my research brought me closer to Argentinia.

6. Li Xiao the flute player- april 26 2007

Hunting for Argentine, I started to find it close to My House on the Lake. I will tell about that later, about the important discovery I made : a secret invasion that threatens to devastate Holland- or at least the core of this country: the domination of 500 years of Calvinistic doctrine. It is a very serious subject. And I need some more time for it.

I finished my first first Chinese story: Li Xiao the fluteplayer. Finished? Not really. It is a draft.
And is it really a short short story? 2800 words seems too long for this genre.
But I tried to keep the Chinese storytelling tradition high. First of all: the Chinese shortshort stories are not really stories in a technical sense. They are more histories. Often moralistic, chronological.
They describe heroes of old time and the life of people in the ever changing Chinese society. They can be funny. Full of love stories: about the bursting hearts full of longing, about the dreadeness of married life. In rereading my story, it reminded me of the sober style of de Maupassant and Somerset Maugham.

But let me end this technical discours. The main reason I wrote about Li Xiao is to give a farewell to the Acrobat. Didnt see or hear anything of importance last weeks. Dong Yan, the manager of SchoutenChina and a close friend of the Acrobat, mailed me that the Acrobat left town.

5 Words...Images..a long one; april 19 2007

Thursday. Had a couple of cold days, always sunny though. The wind changed from the north to the west, driving white caps on the crest of the waves.
1830 hours.
While writing I occupy one of the cornerseats of "Veenhoeve". "Brown café, "gezellig", good kitchen too.
Behind the bar a huge picture of the American Moviestar I most like, Kathleen Hepburn. Died a couple of years ago. Fierce, independent, weird. Tender too- if she wanted to be. The picture of the happy recipient of her affection, that of anonther star, Bogart(?) is hanging on the other side. From the corner of her eyes she just can see him. She nurtured him the last 28 years of his life. Til his death. It took almost 30 years before she did.
Kathleen had a husband, called Duffy. Kept seeing him afterwards on a regular basis. All her life. But she loved another person.
In one of her books she wrote: "Poor Duffy, he had every reason to be angry with me. But what could I do. I had to follow the music of my soul."
"The music of my soul"is one theme in the novel I am working on. Spent a lot of hours on it the last several days. Fine tuning. After I finish I go to a publisher. Working longer on it will make the story stale like an old piece of bread.
"And how you yourself, Jan. How is the music of your soul?'
"Fine."My usual answer the last days. Rightly so. But looking in the fine green eyes of Anne
I gave her the words of which""fine"is a bleak, though correct, summary.

If this visit to Argentine is a holiday, its the holiday I like. Not cut off, but temporarily living alone in a world I- apart from Bobbian and his wife- don't know anybody. A lot of strangers talking to me, when I wander around my House on the Lake. And even if I think I understand them, I know I actually don't, because words stay friendly and multiinterpretable superficialities, unless you get at the source. And I dont want it. I have already plenty sources that fill my brain.
But words are necessary.
Take the word "blossom".
Everywehere I live, the world is full of blosom. But I miss the words to specify. What blosoms of what trees and please how do you describe the colours? Beautiful? Rose? Or green? But what kind of green? How to describe the 100 different shades of green of spring that surround me.
So I gave myself the assignment to refresh my vocabulary I need to observe better and enjoy more.
The soup the owner offered me as an appetizer was very tasty. Not spicy, so I stick to the taste of the clear bouillon. Beef. Clear. Not stickey. A tiny bit salty. But predominantly soft and sweet. The main course consisted of a small heap of fieldsalad, heaped in the middle of a rectangular plate. Around this little green haystack five little cups were placed, small like the ones in a Chinese teaceremony, each filled with a different ingredient: salt, oil, piece of onion, soja, palmpits. The taste of this delicatesse lingers on not deafened by the cigar i just between my lips.
The owner picked up the empty plate and cutlery. She is an atletic not yet middleaged woman, compact, slightly rounded shoulders. Clerar brown eyes, a lot of friendliness around her lips. Practical, not businesslike.
She smiled.
"You are not writing about me, arent you?"
I pointed at the picture.
"Just about Kathleen," I said.
She smiled again. Nice teeth.
I smiled back. Liar me.

After my inspection tour of the geography of her house I took some time to spend some time on my face. The light from the plafonniers was not cruel, so I only had one option and that is to admit that I looked well. Eyes clear. Skin browning. By taking this all in I had the sudden rembrance of the Acrobat using Nivea Bleaching Cream, as manay young Chinese Women do. Bad. But trhese toughts stayed only an couple of seconds. Because looking at the top of my head
I had to congratulate myself with the fresh haircut, I bought yesterday. Men are not vain, they say.

4 Argentinia! 17 april 2007

Last week and step by step I crossed the borders of Argentinia. And I enjoy the usual speed by which I always regain my natural powers, my calmness and my broad vision on life, work and the ever changing world. The energyreservoirs are filling day by day. And my common meditative mood spreads its wings.
I am on holiday of course, my type of holiday, full of mental action, though not too heavily workrelated yet. It belongs to me that when the rocks are rolling and the teams I am engaged with are on their own move, I retract for a while to replenish my vitality. So thats why I am in the House on the Lake. And just like other times I need and needed the first days to deal with the residue pains that linger under my tiredness.
Normally, like everybody else, in my everyday life I easily deal with the moments of pain and grief and frustration. I am a positive man. But at the way I live- at full speed, happily and heavily engaged- every day some poisonous drups of pain secretely stay behind and start to fill the bucket, freeze and cristallize to lumps of ice.
I know myself and I know the two main lumps of ice that gradually more every day unconsciously- but not always that- start piercing my heart and distract me from my usual strength, my calmness, my visionnary outlook on myself and the world: Coldness and the Syrenes, meaning the attractions, the ideas, the encounters- highly valuable, but at the price of losing My Self- If am not careful- and I am.
Princess and Acrobat are not real living persons. They are just projections of my need for warmth and my longing to be touched by new experiences. I gave Princess and Acrobat a voice, to keep the more easily in sight.
And I won them for me, not by fighting them, but looking them in the face, so long that the sadness and the anger exchanged for just the stabs of pain. It took some time, it always does, but in that peaceful confrontation the feelings connected backed off slowly, definitely till I could get on the landing stage for my House, feeling how the sun took possession of me, warmed me and how I felt one with the silvery ripples on the Lake. And as for the Acrobat: I sublimized this glorious experience by writing a short short story, that I will soon make public on this log. Its called Li Xiao the fluteplayer.
And of course I slept, good and long. And did the small things: buying those tomatoes(first class from israel), three pies of chocory, icebergsalads. Started to cook my own simple meals supplement by the healtsome sackets delivered by The Highpriest of Weightcontrol.
Thinking about the things Camus told me the first night in the House, I must happily conclude: I am losing my head.
I phoned Tonio. For the four jobs in Beijijng Office he got 2000 apllicants. Management Team. a leading dutch Management magazine just published a very very good intervieuw with Anne on the work of the Schouten&Nelissen Group. Beautiful picture too.
Slowly enter into my brain the first ideas related to the further improvement of Schouten&Nelissen Group and the next steps in China. But I put an halt to it for the moment.

3. April 11 2007

Wesnesday 1830 I arrived at my House On the Lake. While I crawled out of the Saab, fully loaded with suitcases, sacks of food, sporting gear, Bobbian the ownerI rent the cabin from opened the door. He was not looking that good. His sweaty T shirt hardly could contain his belly. Unshaven. He is a blocked guy, outdoor man, working as an engineer in the Offshore Industry. 14 days off and on and now in the last days before he is choptered again to his platform in the North Sea he worked like hell to fix the House.
He said :"Hallo." I said: "Hi Bob, here is me." Silly and childish remark. And so I felt.
Joyce his friend for ever, fullblooded, blond, direct, joined him.
"Hallo, Jan. " And in the sitting room after lighting her third sigaret in 30 minutes: "While I saw your car and you stepping out. I felt the tears burning in my eyes." And also: "I know what
it means, I already lived through it. " Her divorce took 5 years and though happy with Bobbian it is still haunting her.
The House is named Cockpit ( Kajuit). One big room, overlooking the lake. 4 rooms upstairs. A
kitchen. Full view from the kitchen table.
Today I left the Princess too live here on my own.
I felt strange, all my feelings at a distance. I left. Anne resembles the Princess, her old and not always comfortable friend. But she is not she. Anne is my lifelong wife, the mother of my three children. She tried to protect the Princess. "Dont leave her, even if you think you must."
But I went. I had to.
The first day in the house: the silence. I openend one of the three books I brought with me. Started reading in Camus, "the wedding." How he extately described a long day at the ruines of an old abby near the sea. Completely inbedded in nature: not the word, but the real thing: the perfume of thousand flowers, the salt on his skin, the warmt of the sun baking his body, back to the womb when he felt himself engulfed by the lukewarm water of the sea.
Happiness. And happiness is not in the brain.
I tried to start the television, but Bobbian had not yet fixed everything. So I sat in the kitchen.
Took a cola light- a zjenzi colá. I am able to order it myself in China.
The sky rose-fingered. The sun in the West a glowing fruit, setting in the haze. On the lake a sailer drifted lazely to the South. Everything quiet. I easily found the words. They didnt reach my heart though.

Before I went to my single bed upstairs, I took the print of a message of Tonio. He was sitting in the new office in Soho-south- Beijijng. Don Yan the projectmanager did a good job. She is a life long friend of the Acrobat. Resembling her. Tender hands, fierce eyes, 159 cm and a very capable projectmanager. She is not she. "Dont leave The Acrobat" she pleaded. But I did.

A print of a mail from Jennifer Zang: "Are you really moving to Argentina?" I tried my Compaq for her telephonenumber. No contact. Yes Jennifer I thougth I am really on my way to
Argentina. That is the reason why I live now in the house on the lake.
Would she understand?
I met her twice. An elegant and professional Chinese Woman, living in Rotterdam. A girl with the smallest hands I ever touched. Businesspartner to Ad Nederloff, who helped us a lot Building Schouten China.
"Why Argentina?' I remembered my question and how many years ago, in a forlorn sundayafternoon, we, Anne en me, were watching a documentary of Gardell, the famous Argentinian/Italian chainsmoking singer. Died a long time ago.
And he sang his most famous song: Volver. How he as an Italian emigrant on the deck of the tramper below the starspeckled sky dreamed of the Promised Land, Argentina. And wheeped about the past he had to leave in order to arrive at his Shangri La.
Shangri La not the Kerry hotel in Beijing, though it carries the same name. It is a region in China. Nor far from Tibet. China.

I phoned Lonneke V to put the program of SchoutenChina on this weblog. Lonneke V, not the sweet wife of Jan Hein, also called Lonneke. From oktober 17 2006 up to now apart of my other business I spent every hour to make "China" a succes. And a succes it will be. In those 160 days I and my friends likeTonio went 6 times to Beijing and back. To investigate, to build. And there of course I met the Acrobat.
Lonneke V said:"yes I will do that for you, Jan, you digibete."
Lonneke V is general manager of Loopbaan.nl, the site I builded together with her the last 18 months. Together with Onno, the leading writer. Starting from scratch, loopbaan.nl now is the leading careerbuilding site in Holland, with everyday increasing traffic.
She is the fastest learning person I recently met. Upwards striving, but staying fresh and never taking a comment, tip, suggestion as a personal affront. So different from the Princess. Anne agrees: Lonneke is different from so many careerwomen, like The Princess, so vulnerable in their selfesteem. Why do so many upward mobile women in Holland regard help as a humiliation- especially when it comes from men?

nr 2. Tuesday april 10 2007

15 degrees C. Its 17.53 hours. While writing these first letters I remember last night and more specifically my fight with the gentlemen and women of Blogger. Not with them in person but with there virtualized excrements: the procedures and instructions by which Blogger tried to help me find my usename and password. It took one hour and a half. I did not loose or forget those keys to my Blog, they did. Of course! But I survived, like a overactive mouse in a trial and error experiment. They say this is bad tactic but I can assure you: in technical matters trial and error suits me well. So I am in.
My first letter(yesterday) was a short one and needs some explananation. What kind of place is Zaltbommel? What am I doing or used to do in Beijing? Good questions but there is bigger one. Why am I moving to Argentina?
See me sitting yesterday on that terrace in the marketplace of this small city. Tonio is with me.
6 ft. Healthy, running 3 miles a day, always walking to and fro his work. One of the rare psychologist-entrepreneurs I know. More than 24 years a colleague. Now with me in the Board of SNRSchoutenGlobal, the holding of the Schouten&NelissenGroup. also responsible for SchoutenChina. A friend. Nipping his mineral water.
"I wonder,"I said, "why I chose Argentina."
His answer: "I wondered too. Imagine the globe. Do you realise that Argentina is the perfect antipode of China?"
"No."
He laughed. I also did. Stupefied though. With my initial question I wanted to make room for my own explanation. During our visits to Beijijng, we frequented KTV and other karoakeparlors
and the only song I really fullheartedly could cover was the tearjerker: "dont cry for me Argentina." For the rest I sat or stayed laid in the leather feauteuils that borded the walls of the dark cubicle, hand in hand with the Acrobat, also called Shandong Rock, absorbing her angelique face, especially when she took the microphone and sang that slowmoving lilting and lush and lovely Chinese song.
Ton hit me right in the heart. Right. It was the Acrobat and her crazy circus act I left China for. Leaving the field. Tomorrow I am off to Argentina. Also a long distance from Holland.

Of course Acrobat is not her real name. This Blog is devoted to my life as a person, entrepreneur, writer and my text is intertwined with experiences from China, as I also am deeply involved in the creation of SchoutenChina. I write in my best English, also for my foreign friends. Also because one day the blog will be distributed in China (on our site from may 1: SchoutenChina.com).
But why "Acrobat" and not the real name? This blog features all of my
encounters and some of them deserve a pseudonym. She didnt ask for it. Though I am in the process of destroying nearly all consideration for people, in her and some other cases I stick to the old habit, I in my heart really detest more and more.

A couple of minutes ago I said goodby to My Highpriestress of Weightcontrol, Tilly, my personal coach. An attractive woman, natural rouge her cheeks, past her prime, but one of those women who will always stay lively and radiant. Cant say that of every woman (or man).
As I lost more than 7 kilogrammes of peanutbutter Tilly lef5 in a very good mood. And I am in the same "stemming", though a litle bit blocked, due to the permanent feeling of stiffness in my muscles, due to the gym first and the golf parcourse there after.
As to the gym: I went to "the people fitness centre" in 's Hertogenbosch. It is called Sportiom, a name that seems to be loaned from the former Communist Republics in Eastern Europe, silly name, doesnt fit to Den Bosch, the city that in my mind I always call "the most northern French City in Europe." Sportiom is a multifunctional sports accomodation- swimming, icehockey, fitness. In the room today, as always, the variegated ggregration of people: young, old, rich, poor
also some injured soccerplayers from my Footballclub Fc den Bosch, lazily practicing. The same ensemble in the sauna. Mixed. The sauna was good for me today, also the cold bath that heavily flooded after I jumped in. Beautiful women today. Everthing very serene though.
The three sauna's I visted in China all were seperated, there must be some wisdom in this apartheidspolicy.
After that I phoned Apple and I bougth an I ipod. The last time I had my own (casette)music was in 1993 when I crossed and recrossed the ocean. And I bougth another one. For the Acrobat. But when will i see her again? The question makes my stomach heavy. Never more I think now. Its better for me.
My house is in de Bommelerwaard, a lemon shaped polder, 40 km long, bordered by the rivers Maas en Waal. At the west point at the end of the van Heemstrabaan, you will find Almkerk, the village housing the golfcourse I prefer: simple, good food, and I dont practically know nobody: a bonus. I choose the small 3 par course.
I like all sports, and not specifically golf. But golf, just like the matchsailing I fullheartedly practice, requires constant and intense focus. This obligation to cut off all disturbing thougts makes it a good sport for me. And I liked it this afternoon.
On the ground the broken clay surface gives way to fresh grass. Old reed with their fuzzy hair is still swaying but the branches of the willow trees are full of buds, fresh and inviting like nipples.
That last one is not the way I described the abundance of spring around me when I was there, I have to remind you, but at hole nr 5, I have to tell, trying to make a swing from under one of those branches, my eye fell on one of those buds, slightly broken by the tips of softgreen leaves.
And I decided to take it into my mouth. I did. It tasted good. Like parsley. Could easily be a standard ingredient for any cook in the world.
I chewed quitly. Taking the tast with me to the next tee.
Hanging above the ball I tried to swallow. Succesfully. But the sudden bitter taste in my throat distracted me and the ball, well hit, nearly went to China. Not to the hole.
I couldn"t care less.

nr 1. April 9 2007

april 9 2007 Spring is abundantly filling my eyes- slowing entering a tired brain, hardly open to the fresh smell and tendergreen after my three day visit of Beijing. I am on the move. Leaving the field, retiring to the hills of Argentina. Departing the day after tomorrow. Staying at the house near the lake. What will my future be? Is it heaven that decides? Improbable. Its me and only me that will change my world. So my temporary leaving the field of all love: réculer pour mieux sauter. I hope.
The terrace on the marketsquare of Zaltbommel. Sunlit. Good espresso. With Tonio who is leading SchoutenChina. Things are moving in the right direction. No unsolvable problems. A lot of support for our Chinese Endeaviour.