Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

Everything looks dusty, hot and sleepy, the only color
accents are the stop signs for the school bus and suddenly
an occasional clump of flowers with small red or blue
little leaves, folded against the sun. Or the Indian market,
unannounced on a dusty piece of land along the road.
Chevy has excellent brakes, so a little later we shuffle
along the booths stocked with jeans, sneakers, cd’s, chains
of beads and colorful Indian blankets. The booths are set
wide apart, because most visitors drive by them in their
cars, air conditioning and music at full blast, inspecting
glances through the car window. In an unlikely hot
wooden cabin we eat Navajo Taco: deep-fried taco, with
lots of beans, cheese and onion on top of it. What doesn’t
fit in our bellies, the Indian cook wraps in foil. He smiles
to Janny and me. For on the road.
The Divine Light Mission also didn’t know how to
handle things when Stefanie and I arrived married and
well in Denver amongst the celibate brothers and sisters.
The Housing department had hurriedly arranged a small
apartment for us, in a neighborhood far away from the
ashrams. We got our own living allowance and had our
own living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, everything
decorated with long pile carpets and dark furniture
in Mexican style. The basement of the building had a
washer and a dryer, in the garden was a pool for the tenants
and in our living room sat a television. So during
the weekend we were, like everybody else, doing the
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