|
…WILSOOOOOOON! Bennie’s log. Stardate: 23 October 2026. These are the updates about the Human known to millions (coughs a bit) as Benjamin Wuyts. I did it. I finally managed to get back into writing! Chapter 53 is, unfortunately, still not finished. My fellow crew members within my mind are utterly confused as to why it’s taking so effing long. Could it be because, at this very moment, it’s longer than the whole of Book One, and because several things are happening right now that are stressing me out, one of which is the Comic Con at the end of the month, where I’ll be selling my books? Or could it be because of the many attempts at sabotage made by the four-legged spawn of Satan named Luna, who is currently sitting at the other end of the table, attempting to stare me to death? Perhaps. Worry not, I keep telling my crew. The prophecy demands patience. All will eventually work out the way it was written all those millennia ago. The serious stuff! ↓ Useful links: Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/cw/BenjaminWuyts Website: https://benjaminwuyts.com/ The age that shapes me (and us) The Welcome & Goodbye, Earth universe The main story: As mentioned above, I’m still working on Chapter 53, and I can tell you that I’m slowly nearing the end. This is the first time that Sam Jacobs has ventured out into the galaxy, and he currently finds himself on an Inner-Station called Mortstat IV. Basically, every single book, movie and video game has been turned into some sort of virtual reality that people can enter and in which they can play out entire scenes or stories from start to finish. And it is in that program that Sam currently finds himself. He’s flashing from scene to scene: from the Sarlacc scene in Star Wars VI to the Fratelli chase in the intro to The Goonies to a scene from Starship Troopers, etc. It’s quite amusing to do because the players playing out the scenes don’t always know what to do or say. In the Sarlacc scene, for instance, Luke Skywalker finds himself on the plank, R2-D2 fires Luke’s lightsaber towards him, and Luke is unable to grab it and instead attempts to use his fists to beat the living shit out of all those near him. Anyway. It’s a fun scene. The side stories: Stormtrooper to F4. The prequel story is, I think, currently at about 14k words, and I’m hoping to make it as long as Under the Skin. It’s a story full of fun nostalgia, where some characters find themselves at a party where the dress code is fictional characters from Earth’s 1990s and 2000s. The first short story: Meredith Anjou. Meredith Anjou is the character who briefly appeared at the inauguration of Earth, where she basically had to deal with a lot of paperwork. This story basically tells us a lot more about first and second contact in the city of Ghent. The fun stuff ↓ Frenemies of the Ben Previously, within the Frienemies of the Ben series, From the Far East came a dog with a certain intelligence not once before observed among pets. Of this dog, named Luna, the elderly folk would share the most exquisite tales with the newest generation of kids as they sat huddled around the campfire. Songs would be sung of the black-haired fluff. Books would be written about the time when one of her owners accused her of allegedly sabotaging him, causing him to end up with a speeding fine. As the legend goes, Luna, the dog, was simply trying to find a way home. A journey that would eventually take her ten whole years. Welcome, stranger, to the origin story of the Dogyssey in which she made her first appearance on this unsuspecting blue dot called Earth. And now, the continuation… Okay. First of all. I would like to have it known that the tales of Lundysseus are most likely the result of some spaced-out pothead, working for the Kong homeworld. They, very much like the Purrrians, really do have followers all over the globe. I mean. Why else would someone deliberately dress up as a cat or a dog, telling people that they are a cat or a dog. I mean. Imagine if Stephanie from work suddenly comes to the office in some weird-looking cat uniform, tail included and demands that everyone address her as Princess Donut only to then poop in the litter box next to your desk. Not at all suspicious. And before you say anything. Yes, there are people who actually do this. Sane people, probably in Japan or even the US, with an absolute zero amount of shame. What is true, however, or, rather, somewhat true, was the way in which she, or the creature inhabiting her came to our world. And it is that very event that I will now share with you. The Dogyssey Chapter 1: Arrival Location: The heart of ITER, Saint-Paul-lès-Durance, Southern France Source: The Dogyssey, and security footage given to me by Gagi and Azi They called it the Tokamak. The literal heart of a fusion energy project called ITER, meaning journey, route, or path in Latin. Yes. The little Latin that I remember comes from when I was learning to become a baker. We regularly had to sum up the ingredients for different products during which our teacher, just like in Indiana Jones 3, the one with the Holy Grail, would suddenly say, “In Latin”, and the more mistakes we made, the more floggings we received in the middle of the playground with what were ten-day-old baguettes, for all to see. We received them, not from the flat bottom crust of the breads, but from the pointy upper crusts. Anyway. Security footage, and that damn book, showed several scientists working in the heart of the machine in which, once activated, fusion energy will be created. They were discussing certain things when, all of a sudden, there was a sudden wind, knocking the hats off their heads. There were even sparks of electricity all over the place. What happened then absolutely shocked me. A ball of pure light appeared, one so powerful that it actually took with it a small part of the majestic machine. And once gone. Once the smoke had cleared. The shape that had appeared before them was that of a dog. A young dog, by the looks of it. My dog. And when she slowly got up from whatever pose she had assumed, she walked, very stiffly, I should add, to the two guys standing there in awe. What she said thereafter, or barked rather, was translated for me by both of my Purrrian amigos. “Your clothes, give them to me.” “Erm, control,” one of the men said into his walkie-talkie. “We seem to be having an unexpected visitor in here.” “It’s a dog!” the other one said, stating the obvious. To which the dog, Luna, or the being that was inside her, having just realised that it was no longer in its normal form but inside that of a four-legged fluff, stepped uncomfortably closer to the guy, sat down, and barked the following. “I need your clothes, your boots and the keys you have on you.” “Oh, my,” the guy on his left said, whilst picking up the puppy in front of him, clearly forgetting, like in all cliché movies, really, that the creature it held in its arms had just teleported right in front of them. “Aren’t you the cutest-looking puppy!” What happened thereafter, well, let’s just say that having been swung to all four corners of the room by Luna the dog, was conveniently not described within the Dogyssey. In fact, it was a lot worse. As Luna the dog made her way towards the facility, leaving behind broken and bloodied bodies until the cameras themselves could no longer see her and recorded only the screams, I couldn’t help but slowly turn and stare towards the cats on my right, who, in turn, stared right back at me. What was also unbelievable was the fact that Luna had been looking at the same footage, but from the far side of the room, resulting in both Purrrians and Kongers rushing towards each other in what I could only describe as full combat mode. No doubt. Having just read all of that, the only question on your mind is surely this. What in the world did I just read? Also. What is it with this guy and cliffhangers? The age that shaped me (and us)
Mallorca! Known for its, uhm, beautiful nature, Germans, awesome food, sea turtles capable of snapping off anyone’s finger, German construction sites, beaches, German food, the third-busiest airport in Spain, German bakeries and, once in a while, a Spanish-speaking individual who doesn’t speak German. I mean, seriously. Oh, and then there are the Brits who, under the influence of no doubt water, jump from balcony to balcony in towering hotels or attempt to jump several storeys high into a pool or bushes that are sometimes not even there. The Other Guys? Anyone? The ‘aim for the bushes’ scene? The one scene that no doubt got its inspiration from folks in Mallorca. One piece of advice about all islands, I think, in general. Whatever you do. Don’t go in summer. Instead, go off-season. Go in winter. It’s extremely calm. Cheap. The beaches are empty. Still 20-ish degrees Celsius. And almost all tourist things are closed, which was perfect! I’ve heard so many people who went in summer saying how terrible it was due to the heat and the people. Moving on from this message of interest. How did a Belgian, a Slovenian, and a Romanian end up on the island of Mallorca, not once, but twice? Simple. The Slovenian said, ‘Let’s go to Mallorca!’ The Belgian said, ‘Let’s do it!’ And the Romanian said nothing because she doesn’t really have a vote in all of this. Interested but don’t know any Spanish? Not to worry.
Which was why, in an attempt to flee the tourist life, we hopped into our car and ended up driving inland, to a place known as Observatorio Astronómico de Mallorca, a place where Wife actually worked for a few days as part of her astronaut training, or was it for when she was doing one of her astronomy courses? Anyway. I wrote astronaut because she reads these newsletters, and, upon reading astronaut training, she’ll no doubt stop reading, thinking, or telling me if I’m near, that she did not study to become an astronaut. Let’s see how it goes. Unfortunately, the observatory itself is no longer open to the public, and the two times we were there it was closed. But. Not to worry, because it’s what’s next to it that is no doubt equally interesting. Look up the following: Poblat de navetes des Turassot. Or not. In a nutshell (and this is just what I remembered, he lied), it’s basically a Balearic Bronze Age settlement with the monumental and best-preserved triple naveta (stone structure unique to the area) in Mallorca. The first settlers of the Pla de Mallorca actually settled there. Stories that didn’t make the board: a friend named Wilson! How about I answer with an image to verify the question whether or not I had in fact my very own Wilson…
…And no, we never engaged in conversation! This is going to be another one of those long stories, so apologies in advance. Writing about it all was actually very therapeutic.
So, many years ago, sometime before the summer of 2018, whilst unable to sleep, I had an epiphany. You know which one. The one where, like a vampire waking from its coffin, I used the power of my hips to slowly sit up without moving my legs. Once that part was done, I said the following: “I want to go on a long-distance cycling trip, and I won’t be doing it on my own!” Which I eventually ended up doing, but knowing what I know now, it actually sucked, or at least the second part of it all. Would you like to know more? Well, you know by now how it works. Read on! It all began with the forging of the Great Rings, of which the forger, after a rough night out, misread the memo and instead used all of the metals for a total of twenty rings to forge not one but two master rings. One was given to an Elf named Elrond, the other to the son of Gondor’s High King, Isildur. Both were naturally beyond confused as they read the note that came with them. You see, these were not rings merely for the fingers, but for the waist, although overly big in size. And thus it was that the first Hula Hoops were invented, and with them the first Hula Hoop competitions between an Elf and a mere Man, and, as the hype grew bigger and bigger, even between Gondor and Mordor. Until eventually the Jojos were introduced and the Hula Hoops themselves, including both master rings, ended up being tossed into some river. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years the rings passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared another bearer. It came to the creature Surly who, as the rings themselves resembled the rim of a bike, had an epiphany of his own and, with the use of some spokes, a hub, and his wits, ended up creating two wheels. By adding a frame, a bike was born. That bike! Yes, there were many like it, but that one was, and still is, mine.
Or that, at least, was the story that was explained to me when I ended up buying it as a second-hand bike. The story itself felt a bit overexaggerated, and I remember thinking that I had heard those, or at least some of those words, before. The bike itself at the time was too small for me (512 cm, remember?), but with the help of an expert I managed to fix that somewhat. So that is a little history of how the bike came to be and how it ended up in my possession. Onwards now to the trip itself! It turns out that in Europe there are currently up to seventeen long-distance cycling routes that you can follow, and if you go to Eurovelo.com you can see all of them on a map. The one that I did, and just for the record I did only a fraction of it, is the EV12, also known as the North Sea Cycle Route, which is a whopping 7250 km long, passes 18 UNESCO sites, and goes through six countries. The idea itself was to cycle from Ghent all the way to Oslo in Norway, which I did, but not using only my bike. And to do exactly that, since I planned on cycling on my own, I needed a friend.
This guy over here! Yes, I even bought him a basket! And yes, I once had hair long enough to put in a bun, which went the evening before I began cycling, since it was not comfortable when combined with a helmet. Now, just to clarify, I bought my very own Wilson simply because it was funny for a solo cyclist to carry him along, but also to have something to talk about and to see the faces of people I passed who knew the reference. Many did, and many clearly did not. Fun fact. I did in fact lose him several times. It was as if old Wilson here had a mind of his own.
And then it began! Naturally, I departed from Ghent, Belgium, in what ended up being the hottest summer ever recorded in the Netherlands. On exactly that day, which I think was only the second or third day of cycling, I did over 100 km. Eventually, I also ran into someone in The Hague who was cycling in the opposite direction and explained that he actually started cycling at about four in the morning, when it was slowly getting light, until about eleven or twelve. I probably should have done that too, but I ended up doing my own thing, which was why I was always so baked. Anyway, the fact that it was so warm made it possible for me to send home two or three boxes with things I thought I would not need, which in the end I would really come to regret. So that is already two times that I have been negative about this trip, and there is a lot more negativity coming, so allow me to quickly explain a few things to get it all out of the way.
One. Finding my bearings. In Belgium (Flanders) and the Netherlands, there is something called the ‘knooppuntensysteem’. Basically, there is an extremely detailed network for cyclists that, as much as possible, takes you along routes away from cars. It is essentially a system of numbers that you follow to get from A to B. If I want to cycle from Ghent to Amsterdam, for instance, I go to the website, plan my route, and simply write down all the numbers that I have to follow. It is a very easy and comfortable system because you can quite simply not get lost. Okay. That was a lie. I actually got lost several times in the Netherlands simply because there are fewer of those signs there, whilst in Belgium (Flanders) there are a lot more. And then, boom, I entered Denmark and suddenly found myself without numbers. Meaning that I actually had to buy maps. Me, an idiot, forced to find my own way, which was very stressful. Thinking back, and I think about this quite often, I should have just turned back in the north of the Netherlands, either via the coast, through central Netherlands, or simply by following the German border. I can already hear you thinking: “But Ben, wasn’t the EV12 route marked with EV12 signs?” Yes. But I remember that there were not many of those signs to begin with. They also have an app, which I used once I entered Norway, but that was even worse and was, together with a few other things, what eventually broke my morale and made me say, “F*** it, I’m going back no matter how much it costs me.” More on that later. Two. The loneliness. OMG! That was the absolute worst part of the trip, and it always hit me when the sun began to set. I actually had a tent with me, a new one even, which I carried for the entire trip and ended up never using. I had already travelled on my own several times and had already noticed that I did not enjoy it anymore like I used to, but on that trip it really hit hard. First of all, I am not really a tent person, because if you are 512 cm tall, camping is simply not enjoyable. It is quite a heavy thing to carry and finding a place to pitch can also be very stressful, especially after a whole day of cycling. I therefore ended up staying in hostels, Airbnbs, or hotels. I think that for these kinds of trips it is simply better to be with two people, not only to have someone to talk to, but also to make decisions together. Three. The lie that is Denmark! I had always assumed, or at least that was what I had always heard, that Denmark was relatively flat. Big mistake. By the way, I took a Flixbus from the far north of the Netherlands towards Denmark, skipping Germany because I had heard that in Germany you mostly cycle in front of the dykes instead of on top of them or behind them with a view of the sea. So, once I got off that bus, I first had to look for maps, did I mention already that I do not like maps, then figure out where I had to go and simply start cycling. Which, to my surprise, turned out to be quite hilly. In Denmark, by the way, the weather was still fantastic. And then Norway came along. Ta ta taaaaa! Four. The weather in Norway! Remember when I said that I had sent stuff home that I would not need? Big mistake! I took a ferry from somewhere in Denmark to Oslo, and once off the boat, things were different. The idea was that I would start cycling back from Oslo via Sweden. It was cold, it was raining, and I was constantly getting lost. I had already given up on maps, trusting both the EV12 signs this time, combined with the Eurovelo.com app, which was a big mistake. First of all, it took me along cycling roads in forests that, and this is what I thought, were perhaps more suitable for mountain bikes. But apart from that, they both actually went their own ways at times. The EV12 sign was pointing right, whilst the app said left. I think that everything combined perhaps made me feel a bit sick. And it was then, at the end of my first real day of cycling in Norway, that I decided I could not handle it anymore and that I was going home. Question. Now hold on for one goddamn minute! What about Wilson? Whatever happened to the little fella? Good question! In short, he left me at a time when I simply did not notice. Wilson managed to jump out of his basket more than once, and every time I either heard or saw it happen, followed by a bunch of people acting all casual when they saw me yelling at a ball… I think that during all those times when he attempted one of his escapes, he sort of learned from those experiences, until this one time I just did not notice and he most likely ended up in some ditch. I did cycle back for a bit, looking for him, but ended up not finding my friend Wilson. But imagine for a moment the confusion of whoever found him after that! And now imagine the even greater confusion when whoever had found him stumbles upon this newsletter! Anyway, his departure surely devastated me for exactly five seconds. The way home, or towards home, as I ended up going on a very last-minute cycling trip with someone whom I would eventually marry, I remember was quite an interesting one! Having decided to leave, I ended up going to the train station in the village where I was staying, only to find out that the station itself was no longer in use. I then checked the Flixbus app, and sure enough, there was actually a very random bus stop about 16 km from the hotel I was staying in that left the very next day towards Copenhagen. The catch, however, was that it left the next day between 12 am and 1 am. I thought, okay, I could just cycle there in the late afternoon, check out exactly where it was, and then see if I could stay somewhere for as long as possible that was not a hotel, after which I would go to the bus stop and perhaps make myself a warm bowl of soup whilst waiting. This eventually brought me to a very small cinema that was at the time playing only one movie.
This movie! It was Mission: Impossible – Fallout. I parked my bike, took all my bags with me, and asked the very confused person behind the counter how long they would remain open and if I could perhaps stay on the premises after the movie until they closed and watch the film. They were actually playing the same movie again later, but that would mean I would never be able to finish it in time to catch my bus. Having seen it already, and with almost two hours of time to spend, I sat on a couch near the counter. About ten minutes later, some guy whom I assumed was the owner of the place approached me and asked what I was waiting for. I explained my situation – about myself and a bus that arrives very late – and to my surprise, since they were actually closing that area once the last movie started, he told me that I could just rewatch the movie for free and leave whenever I wanted. Another one of those very kind gestures that I will never forget. Which meant I did not have to make soup on my little stove, which was, sadly, taken from me, yes, stolen, when I eventually arrived in Hamburg. I had very stupidly not taken my bike into the station when I asked for information. My bike was, by the way, secured and could not be opened or taken away, which did not stop someone from trying, and as far as I know, they only stole my stove. And that, finally, is actually the end of that particular story and my friend Wilson. I took the train from Hamburg to Aachen to do some cycling with Wife, and, once again, regretted having sent home a lot of stuff because the weather during the cycling route, the Vennbahn, which I highly recommend, was really cold! I actually remember having sent home all of my socks and closed cycling shoes, leaving just me and my sandals. What I did not send home, however… remember my story about the socks? Yes! Warm or cold, my sleeping socks were all I had and what I was wearing on that particular trip. Or were my sleeping socks brought to me by my wife-to-be? Totally forgot! See you next time, friend! In the next issue of Benjamin’s Welcome & Goodbye, Earth newsletter
|
