Balkan summer

To camp once again in the ruins... the old forgotten ruins predating the last war, and the one before that...


To jump aboard the shaking shackle boat led by a solitary boatman... heading for a lovely lonely island counting seven heads, and not a head more...


To find once more the opening into the rocks, leading to a dimly lit cave, and further to an underground beach...


To enter the old white house that has curtains for doors, at the place where storytelling is more commom than books... and ohhhh, to welcome the evening breeze while playing an ancient card game with the hosts...


At 7 a.m. to head for the island tavern where you can listen to the news told on the radio...


To return to the day when the seventh donkey of the seventh man died... To the moment when the seventh man interrupted our breakfast to summon help for the burial at sea...

News travel over the seas in bottles, and so they tell me that now, since a year or so ago, also the seventh man is dead... and buried at sea...

All photographs are taken from the website of Cocomat's furniture and accessories.