Strolling over the beautiful ridge part 1

#wandelen #walking #bewoners #restaurant #geld

Lead: Although gloomy started on the seventeen kilometer journey, the group of nine people did not show any sign of giving up. The restaurant at the start and the sports café at the finish line served as stopovers. Story: The fact that it dripped heavily at the train station next to the village center did not really give the mood a boost. Although we all wore a good coat and luxury backpacks with provisions, a restaurant at street level could not be missing. Francisco's announcement that the restaurant was located opposite the station gave peace of mind for the time being. The rain gave way to homely conviviality with a warm apple pastry with whipped cream and a second pastry without whipped cream, which was also intended for a second person. He was Nico, and he let the pastry go quickly into his mouth. You will always hear that ask by the present waitress: “And do you want pastries without or with whipped cream?” The answer for Nico was quite variable depending on his mood. This time, Nico chose with whipped cream that was richly distributed over the hot substance from the oven. Flavors did, the whipped cream was earlier than the apple pastry that was easy to mash with the glittering pastry fork. When the rain seemed to have disappeared outside the restaurant, we walked up the street and thus out of the village. Outside the village there was plenty of forest on the southern ridge that had stretched down its right tail of the ridge in the landscape. When descending at the foot of it you could look far over the meadows, where slopes in the landscape could not be missing.

I had seen this before, but outside the belated village the view was different than you would suggest. “Lunch was on a hilltop overlooking the single-built residential flats and high office colossi that might be close to the highway.” In advance, I had already suggested a splendid view in the homely restaurant and now everyone agreed with me. I looked in the distance again, and saw above the green of trees an object protruding which could be a mast. In the restaurant I didn't know anything about this, but you have masts in all shapes and sizes. At this view it looked very much like a high-voltage mast which would only become clear with binoculars that unfortunately no one had with him. And I didn't know anyone who could sharpen his eyes without performing a miracle. The meadows were occasionally very muddy with here and there glimpses, in the form of white and brown houses of the village with the restaurant that we left behind us via the north. The white villa with a spacious looking carport and a separate garage that looked like a barn for cows. What was behind the doors were possibly very fast race samples, which was not visible through the small hill. The residents were clearly at home, because the yellow light of bright lamps on the ceiling shone at our eyes through the immense windows.

The inhabitants of course did not count on our arrival, because that we were already provided with drinks and a food package they could not know, but they could suspect. The residents were not in for unexpected visits, because the dogs were barking loudly in the fenced garden with expensive tiles. Their black coat was clearly able to withstand the cold and their barking was no less. We paid enough attention to it but when we reached the street in built-up part of the village, the white villa was visible without dogs and with a Porsche parked with the front to the front porch of the entrance. When going out, the residents needed four steps to get from the front door to the car. And even then they had to drive across the yard and through the electronic gate, probably with PIN code and all kinds of beeps. An expensive joke for the rich, but Nico wasn't born rich, so it wasn't common. After having seen the expensive Porsche, our attention went to the end of this built-up street with bright green beech on both sides.

On the other side of the busy national road that went further down the ridge we saw people doing another sport: running. The starting line was set a bit further with red-white ribbons stretched to the wet logs that we slowly approached on the advice of Ferdinand. The waiting crowd stood there untidy with their sports shoes and rainprotective shirts and trousers, clearly that whole body parts were not visible. Only the half-cast faces betrayed the runners. Another way of moving with the legs we walked along. The bell that had sounded next to the starting point was no longer heard when we walked past it and the participants were already far ahead. The forest looked wet and neglected from the rain and its green and brown colors. The red and white ribbons that we had seen hanging earlier at the start were also delimited here to indicate that the runners had to go a different direction. The boundary of the course became clear in this way, which you can also see in deposits of murder sites. We had enough of the border and walked antisocially underneath it with the arm pushing the ribbon upwards.