Taking off. Tiny Spaces Deep Connections, Day 1

Fontao - Monforte de Lemos - Leon - Valencia

A planting ritual before taking off. Or not really a ritual, just a planting of Cosmos Daydream seeds. The first flowers-to-be of a trail leading through Europe, marking my journey. In the last week before I left I made seedbombs, little balls of soil and clay and nutrients and seeds. I carry them in the pockets of my suit, so I have them at hand whenever there is a good location to drop or throw them. The suit I am wearing has accompanied me on earlier projects. A three piece business suit that has questions embroidered on it. I collected them in all kinds of encounters with people, through social media or walking around. The idea is to add peoples’ questions during the project. I love both the slow process of embroidering and the act of walking the questions around.
I am also travelling with a sourdough starter, and one of the important questions during my journey is: how do you take care of a more-than-human entity? Or maybe less specific: what is it like to take a sourdough starter on a long journey? There are all sorts of tips online about how to travel with your starter, but they are all about making it as easy as possible for the person travelling. How will it influence my journey if I will focus on the wellbeing of the community of bacteria and yeast in the jar that neatly fits in the pocket of my jacket? 
I fed the starter in the morning and filled some little jars with the discard. The jars have the name of my project on them: The Bureau of Slow Endeavours, plus a QR code that links to a page on the website explaining how to take care of a sourdough starter. 

A slow train to Leon where I have two hours to spare. I imagined working in the restauration wagon but it wasn’t in use today. I talk for a while with the woman sitting next to me and offer her some sourdough starter but she gets a bit nervous about having to look after it and declines my offer. Whenever the train stops, I walk to the area inbetween the wagons and when the doors open, I try to spot the best area for plants to thrive (which isn’t always easy) and throw some seedbombs. 

In Leon I pass the stone lions guarding the city and cross the big river. In the park I find the perfect spot for my cosmos daydream seeds. When it is time to go back to the station I leave a little jar at the bench where I ate my lunch. I am not sure if anybody will take it. Would you if you found a mysterious container with a little message and a QR code on it? 

The second train does have a little bar on board and I get into a deep conversation with a young couple who are very excited about adopting a community of bacteria and yeast. “It is like a pet!” she says. And in a way it is. An American tourist hesitates, she would love to take some starter with her but she will be travelling for another week and isn’t sure if she can take it back home with her. “You can also make it at home yourself” I tell her. “But I want this one!” she exclaims. 

I embroider a question on the back of my waistcoat, “What does remoteness mean?”. Tomorrow I am meeting Matilde who did research about the notion of remoteness. I put it on the back of my waistcoat, where I can’t see it. There is still a big empty area there, uncovered, empty space.

In Valencia, I walk from the station where I arrive to the station where I will sleep. The hostel is situated inside the station building. From my bunkbed I can see the tracks. What is the best place to put the starter overnight? There is a fridge in a communal space but it might be hard to wake it up tomorrow morning if it has cooled down too much. The bedroom with 16 beds is hot and no food is allowed inside. Is it food? I guess it counts as food but I am making my own rules. Before going to sleep I feed it with extra cold water from the bottle I put in the fridge upon arrival and the flower I brought from home. I hide it between my mattrass and the wall.