Last night we found an almost perfect anchoring spot on the inside of a sand island. Because of its beauty, this morning started slow – with swimming, breakfast, and lots of reflection.
I keep returning to the question: what does the Danube mean to us? Is it an object, a subject, a language?
Or maybe it’s something else entirely – a carrier of memory and knowledge, a liquid archive.
The river holds traces of all it has carried – people, boats, pollutants, stories.
It transmits, stores, transforms – not just water, but histories, emotions, and encounters.
I guess this still needs time to unfold – like the river itself: quiet, layered, never still.
