Mohammed kept Sybille l’atelier mobile safe overnight in his shop in Haren. In return I asked him: “What makes you feel at home?”
“Sympathy. You can be happy wherever, as long as you decide to be happy. You don’t need money — rich people buy big cars, big villas, but you cannot buy happiness.”
When I left I was standing outside fumbling with my route planner, trying to figure out how to get past the big knot of railway lines. He called me back in. “With sugar?” “Yes — sure, sure, not too much.”
Mohammed is from Tétouan. Tétouan was my favourite place in Morocco on my long walk. I had an exhibition there, met fantastic people. That was really something.
Then: the fraying edges of the city. Old factory halls and new ones. Storage. Tram tracks — but I don’t think the trams run here anymore. Pavements completely shattered. Lorries, containers, waste. A glove on the ground. I pick it up, wrap it around the push bar so it hurts my hands less.
Along the canal. A beautiful bridge. Lunch sitting down. Rain. Umbrella out, keep going. Cold.
A bicycle shop — he wanted to help, but his boss said no. Then a furniture shop, a covered corner, a kind shrug. Sybille l’atelier mobile is there for the night.
Some days are harder than others. But six days walking in a row — it’s making things clearer. How to plan the stretch ahead. How to read the city at this pace.
