Rumor had it, there were seven empty wagons just sitting around at a wagenplatz in the next town over, just waiting to be bought up and hauled off.
We bicycled over, and, of course, it wasn’t true. There were a few empty wagons, but claims had already been made, by other wägler in some cases and by the rot that was slowly eating the walls in another.
Instead of taking home a wagon (or any hope of finding one—these were the days when I was still searching for my future home-ship), we spent the afternoon drinking coffee with friends, and I took a few snapshots to share with you.
Below you will find a short peek into what life looks like at another wagenplatz. At that point in time I had not yet figured out how to turn off the time/date stamp on my camera. Whoops.
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The community wagon/pub there is made of eight wagons all soldered and hammered together into one enormous room. Eight! Fucking amazing, is what it is. This picture doesn’t even begin to capture the magnitude/insanity/glory of it:
The outdoor stage for summer festivals and concerts:
Someone’s pretty wagon-home. I am such a sucker for pretty stacks of wood: