It’s silly, thought Hungary would be more familiar than Slovenia, but it’s the oppposite. Hungary was exotic. Slovenia is more like the Europe we know, familiar even in the Ikea furniture he decorates the appartment with. There’s a computer with Internet and a television with hundreds of channels in English. It’s the quaintest village, peaceful, peaceful, peaceful. In Zalakaros I felt a bit trapped. Can’t get out of the village because there was nothing else really. How cut off from the world can one be? I mean cut off from everyone and everything. The language barrier was spectacular, absolutely hermetic. There was no way to get through that barrier except through primitive sign language, which functioned well enough most of the time. Remember the silence of a foreign land, how the non-communication with others envelops in a silence that can be so, so peaceful, if the mind is at peace. That silence of non-communication can take you into realms of reality that we rarely get a chance to explore. It can take you to where objects and people take on a separate life, an energy, a living beyond that of the label or the image that the label fixes on them. It takes you into the essence, into the wood of the table, no label, then no confining. Identity? Is an identity a label? Is an image just as a label? So is identity linked to language? Is it through language that we identify ourselves just as we identify objects? Take away language and we go beyond the object, the person, the phenomenon.