We’re currently preping for the next leg to Turkey while we wait for our visa extensions ot come through. Today we built up the bikes, I fitted my new rear de-railler and replacable hanger (thanks Chrisitan from KTM) and I now have gears again… woo hoo.
Along with the technical essentials, like new tights and waterproofs to replace the ones I mysteriously mislaid somewhere between Lima and Bogota, Si also brought some goodies on his return from the green island- Mum sent some lovely Valrhona Chocolate and some great books cheers mum : )
Problem is, I’ve now got way to many books and I can’t decide which ones to ditch. Normally I’m a horder, I’ve still got a whole wall of obscure cook books from my days at the stoves, the other wall of my room is covered with books on wine, I’m not sure if I’ll ever read that book on the lesser known wines of the Loire but I still hang on to it, so it hurts to let any of them go. When you’re towing your book shelf the titles take on an extra quality, in addition to considering their merits of interest, reference, and entertainment, there’s also weight as each one represents an additional 200g- hard backs are out of the question.
I’ve been ruthless with my possessions, no towel, minimal clothes, not much else, so I have to be ruthless with the books too. Some have just got to go. But which ones? The joke book? The poetry and short stories and the philosophy that are great for a quick bit of inspiration after a day of monotony? Or one of the novels, that provide entertainment when It gets dark at 7 and theres little else to keep occupied.
The problem is, each book is special. The one’s I’ve aready read remind me of the places I read them, and the fresh un-thumbed copies have so much potential to open up a new view of the world.
Still, something’s got to go…