Today is Saturday, May 24, 2025

If you're happy - let your face know!

My opinions may have changed, but not the fact that I'm right.

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Today's quote:

Saturday, May 24, 2025

One month to go!

 

 

On this day next month Padma is off to Indonesia - again! Although, I must admit, it's been a few years since her last trip to Bali on JETSTAR, and I simply haven't had the heart yet to tell her of JETSTAR's latest economy-class upgrade.

Anyway, after her arrival late at night in Denpasar, she'll be whisked away by the airport shuttle bus to the luxury of the nearby HARRIS Hotel at Tuban. And all this for Rp 573,750 which is just a touch over AUS$50.

 

 

Next day she'll be off to the "Land below the Wind" Borneo - or, as the Indonesians call it, Kalimantan - to Samarinda where she was born; then to her older brother in Jakarta; then she's booked into some sort of Buddhist meditation class at Borobudur, the largest Buddhist temple in the world which, with Pagan in Burma and Angkor Wat in Cambodia, ranks as one of the great archeological sites of Southeast Asia.

 

 

Sometime before or after or in between, she'll also visit her sister and the old family home in Surabaya, while I am left sitting close to the fireplace in Nelligen, just watching the charges pile up on the VISA-card. She gets her trip; I get my peace and quiet. It's a fair trade-off!

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Closer to the Sun

 

 

With all things Hydra on my mind on this coolish autumn day, I found an online copy of George Johnston's "Closer to the Sun" at archive.org (create a free account, then log in and "borrow" the book) - a rare find indeed!

These semi-autobiographical stories of George Johnston and Charmian Clift's life on the island of Hydra (called Silenos in the book) make for interesting reading to those who've been to Hydra or want to know more about the Johnston's six years spent in the Greek islands.

 

 

Pollution, then as now, has been a problem. This is how "Closer to the Sun" begins: "The most important man on the island of Silenos was Dionysios, the public garbage collector."

 

Hydra in George Johnston's days

 

And it continues, "The garbage man ... was important every day of the year to one section of the town or another. For without his high-wheeled cart and his string of basket-burdened donkeys, and, most important of all, his goodwill, how was the rubbish of the town to be carted away in conformity with the proclaimed and printed order of Lieutenant Fotis, the police commandant, that streets, walls, and courtyards should be kept clean and all houses in a state of reputable whitewash?"

At the end of the novel, we discover where all the garbage went ... into the sea: "The Twelve Apostles made the last turn around the buoy, and its bow was lifting and falling now in a slow, graceful dance to the run of the clear gulf seas ... the wake of the boat had come in and slapped quick waves around the base of the rock chute, where Dionysios had been emptying the garbage down from the high houses in the pannier-baskets of his donkeys."

The one redeeming feature? Not so much plastic back then in the 1960s.


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Friday, May 23, 2025

Winter at "Riverbend"

 

 

The origin of tea began, it is said, when Daruma, a Buddhist saint, irresponsibly fell asleep over his devotions, and, upon awakening, was so distraught that he cut off his eyelids and threw them to the ground where they took root and grew up as a bush, the leaves of which, when dried and infused in hot water, produced a beverage that would banish sleep.

It would take a lot more than the thought of cut-off eyelids to put me off my first hot cup of tea of the day taken by the window overlooking the river when it is shrouded in early-morning mist. A Chinese ink painting in slow motion!

Winternights spent in front of the fireplace are the nicest possible thing to do. I can't image that somebody could go through life without ever having roasted chestnuts or prodded glowing coal or made dream pictures in flames or listened to the fire sounds - the crackling and the hissing and the sighing and strange whimpering of a knotted log - or just dozed off in front of a fire.

Winter at "Riverbend" is a time of hibernation, of introspection, of listening to Mozart, watching old movies, re-reading long-forgotten books, playing chess, even LUDO (if I could find three more players!) -   a time for every purpose under heaven, according to Ecclesiastes.


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Thursday, May 22, 2025

Erich Kästner fand die richtigen Worte dafür

 

 

Dreimal kam ich nach Braunschweig zurück: Ende 1967 als ich noch Deutscher war und die Möglichkeit hatte mich vielleicht noch einmal einzubürgern; und als Australier in kurzer Folge Mitte 1983 und Januar 1984 von meinen Arbeitsplätzen in Saudi-Arabien und Griechenland um Abschied zu sagen vom Vater, erst am Krankenbett und dann am Sarg. Mir fehlten damals die Worte. Heute fand ich sie beim Erich Kästner:

 

Kleine Führung durch die Jugend

Und plötzlich steht man wieder in der Stadt,
in der die Eltern wohnen und die Lehrer
und andre, die man ganz vergessen hat.
Mit jedem Schritte fällt das Gehen schwerer.

Man sieht die Kirche, wo man sonntags sang.
(Man hat seitdem fast gar nicht mehr gesungen.)
Dort sind die Stufen, über die man sprang.
Man blickt hinüber. Es sind andre Jungen.

Der Fleischer Kurzhals lehnt an seinem Haus.
Nun ist er alt. Man winkt ihm wie vor Jahren.
Er blickt zurück. Und sieht verwundert aus.
Man kennt ihn noch. Er ist sich nicht im klaren.

Dann fährt man Straßenbahn und hat viel Zeit.
Der Schaffner ruft die kommenden Stationen.
Es sind Stationen der Vergangenheit!
Man dachte, sie sei tot. Sie blieb hier wohnen.

Dann steigt man aus. Und zögert. Und erschrickt.
Der Wind steht still, und alle Wolken warten.
Man biegt um eine Ecke. Und erblickt
ein schwarzes Haus in einem kahlen Garten.

Das ist die Schule. Hier hat man gewohnt.
Im Schlafsaal brennen immer noch die Lichter.
Im Amselpark schwimmt immer noch der Mond.
Und an die Fenster pressen sich Gesichter.

Das Gitter blieb. Und nun steht man davor.
Und sieht dahinter neue Kinderherden.
Man fürchtet sich. Und legt den Kopf ans Tor.
(Es ist, als ob die Hosen kürzer werden.)

Hier floh man einst. Und wird jetzt wieder fliehn.
Was nützt der Mut? Hier wagt man nicht zu retten.
Man geht, denkt an die kleinen Eisenbetten
und fährt am besten wieder nach Berlin.

 

 

 

Wednesday, May 21, 2025

Have "Kaufmannsgehilfenbrief", will travel!

 

My German "Kaufmannsgehilfenbrief" (Commercial Assistant's Certificate)

 

The longest word composed in German - at 80 letters - is "Donaudampfschifffahrtselektrizitätenhauptbetriebswerkbauunterbeamtengesellschaft", meaning, the "Association for Subordinate Officials of the Head Office Management of the Danube Steamboat Electrical Services" (as Mark Twain once remarked, "These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions").

At a mere 22 letters, "Kaufmannsgehilfenbrief" doesn't come close to "Donaudampfschifffahrtselektrizitätenhauptbetriebswerkbauunterbeamtengesellschaft", but it allowed me to leave Germany and see the world.

For those whose German vocabulary doesn't go beyond "Hofbräuhaus", "Oktoberfest", "Kuchen", "Kindergarten", "Bildungsroman", "Gestapo", "Bratwurst", "Sauerkraut", "Bretzel", "Kaputt", "Dachshund", "Edelweiss", "Angst", "Blitzkrieg", "Schnauzer", "Lebensraum", "Zeitschmerz", "Autobahn", "Weltanschauung", "Schadenfreude", "Gemütlichkeit", "Dummkopf", Kaffeeklatsch", "Schweinehund", "Abseilen", "Realpolitik", "Panzer", "Lederhosen", "Achtung", "Wanderlust", "Poltergeist", "Kohlrabi", "Pumpernickel", "Wirtschaftswunder", "Götterdämmerung", "Goggomobil", "Ersatz", "Wunderkind", "Doppelgänger", "Übermensch", "Zeppelin", "Gesundheit", "Schnapps", "Rucksack", "Volkswagen", "Kitsch", and "Apfelstrudel", let me fill your "Bildungslücke" by explaining that those 22 letters stand for what can be (very) loosely described as a "Commercial Assistant's Certificate". It is given to those who have successfully complete three years of articles to a business during which they are force-fed on subjects such as accounting, commercial law, economics, ethics (no, I don't mean the country east of Wessex), and many other, none of which seem to matter much once they are let loose in the real world.

 

"Die ganze Welt mein Arbeitsfeld!"


 

Have "Kaufmannsgehilfenbrief", will travel - and I did! (... and fifty jobs in fifteen countries and sixty-two years later, it's become just another piece of parchment, slowly yellowing away while I am mellowing away!)

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

A sick Roman joke

 

 

Apart from telling sick jokes, Roman numerals really don't have much going for them. Adding CLXXVII to XXIII may be relatively straightforward, but try multiplying CLXXVII by XXIII or dividing CLXXVII by XXIII.

These days you see Roman numerals only in descriptions and references, such as sequels to films (e.g. Rocky III), dates on statues and public buildings, names of monarchs and popes (e.g. Elizabeth II), and also on coinage, general suffixes, sporting events (e.g. Superbowl XLIX), and copyright dates on movie credits and TV shows. And the odd sick joke!

So that you can work out for yourself the copyright date of that old movie you thought was rather corny, here are the very simple rules: (which I was taught before I left German primary school in MCMLX)

There are just seven Roman numerals:

I (1), V (5), X (10), L (50), C (100), D (500), and M (1000).

And there are just three simple rules:

  • If a smaller numeral comes after a larger numeral, add the smaller number to the larger number
  • If a smaller numeral comes before a larger numeral, subtract the smaller number from the larger number
  • Do not use the same symbol more than three times in a row

The rule of not using the same symbol more than three times in a row means that the highest number in pure Roman numeral form is 3,999 - which is written as MMMCMXCIX - because the number 4,000 would have to be written as MMMM which would make for an even sicker joke.

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Tuesday, May 20, 2025

Listening in the darkness to "Heart of Darkness"

 

 

A reflection on corruptive European colonialism and a journey into the nightmare psyche of one of the corrupted, "Heart of Darkness", the famous novel by Joseph Conrad, is considered one of the most influential works ever written.

Originally published as a three-part series in Blackwood's Magazine in 1899, it is a story within a story, following a character named Charlie Marlow, who recounts his adventure to a group of men onboard an anchored ship. The story told is of his early life as a ferry boat captain. Although his job was to transport ivory downriver, Charlie develops an interest in the station manager, Kurtz, who is employed by the company. Preceded by his reputation as a brilliant emissary of progress, Kurtz has now established himself as a god among the natives in “one of the darkest places on earth.” Marlow suspects something else of Kurtz: that he has gone mad. Kurtz's dying words "The horror! The horror!" became a symbol of the darkness that lurks beneath the veneer of civilisation.

 

 

Reading, or listening to the audiobook if available, is what keeps me from going mad as the days draw shorter and the nights get longer. Can there be anything nicer than sitting by the blazing fire with a cup of 'serenitea' and wrapped in a blanket and one of Joseph Conrad's stories?

Want to join me? Grab a cup of tea, turn off the lights, and click below:

 

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Why I don't need a drone

 

Click on image to enlarge

 

A neigbour used to have a drone which got me interested in them. I lost interest after he lost it by flying it into a tree. (A months later, he "lost" himself in a motorcycle accident in Laos and was flown back home in an urn. I'm not saying drones bring you back luck; I'm just saying.)

But, really, I don't need a drone to show you where I live, not while real estate agents pepper their advertisements with drone shots like the one above. It's from an advertisement for a vacant block of land on Clyde Boulevard, but it also shows the location of "Riverbend" which I have marked with the label - you guessed it - "Riverbend". Nice shot, eh?

 

 

The time it was taken is at a quarter to two because that's the time when the tourist boat, the "Escapade", makes her return trip to the Bay. You can see her almost in the centre of the photo travelling along the far side of the river. By the time she passes "Riverbend", the skipper gives me a blast on the ship's horn if he sees me stretched out in my hammock on the jetty. That is what life is like by and on the river.

I could tell you more but it's close to a quarter to two and I'm about to lie down in my hammock to be greeted by a blast from the ship's horn.


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Don't come home for Christmas!

 

 

Or the Tax Office may tax you on your world-wide income! There had been a similar scare back in 1978 when I worked for PriceWaterhouse in Malaysia, and Australian companies with Australian staff working overseas made representation to the Australian government not to impose such a tax on the world-wide income of non-residents.

I don't know the bona fides of the information conveyed in this video clip which was sent to me by an old friend from my days in the tropics who, smarter than me, has stayed in the tropics, and probably has few worries over tax, unlike me who squirrelled away money all his life so as not to become a burden on society in his old age. More fool I am!

Of course, Labor has to think of more and more ways of funding its never-ending and ever-increasing vote-catching largesses to the great unwashed. And not just them but also dear old ladies who in the old days thought nothing of doing their own washing-up and, albeit slowly, cleaned their own houses, but now, thanks to the NDIS and under the disguise of some impairment - aren't we all somehow impaired? - have it all done for them. We have two very good friends who, merely slowed down by the natural advances of old age, can now draw on every facility the NDIS seems to offer them while they play bingo at the RSL Club.

And who could argue with them? "My friend gets her kitchen cleaned; why shouldn't I?" To paraphrase Karl Marx, "From each according to their ability, to each according to their disability." If only that were true! I still remember a chap I knew some years ago who applied and received grants year after year for one thing or another without ever turning them into anything that would make him a productive member of society. When I question the morality of this, his justification was that "If I didn't use those grants, they would shut the whole system down!" What else can you expect in a country where even the prime minister wears his housing-commission-flat upbringing like a badge of honour?

 

 

The placement of an apostrophe in "FINAL THOUGHTS" makes me feel hopeful that this is not the most professional advice and possibly just another scare campaign, but that is just me, living a constant battle between wanting to correct grammar and wanting to believe people.

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

P.S. We always have the 183-day test but this would change everything!

 

 

Death of an honest Salesman

 

Click here

 

His name is not Willy Loman, and he was not about to commit professional suicide by continuing with his full disclosure that "there is past termite damage in the house (from approx. 11 years ago)". Everything else still reads the same: the "Spacious Layout", the "Generous Living Areas", and the "Stylish Finishes". As for the past termite damage, let the buyer beware!

"Riverbend" may never sell and I may never return to Far North Queensland, but a more recent dream was a possible relocation to Bomaderry just north of Nowra. This very ordinary little town (with an equally ordinary but much bigger town just across the Shoalhaven River) suits me as, after a somewhat less than ordinary life, I like to lose myself amongst ordinary people. What makes it attractive to me is its railway station which would allow me to just jump on a train and get away for a day and be back home for dinner - and all for a senior's fare of $2.50 which is the only government concession they give me in my old age.

 

Bomaderry railway station

 

35 Tarawara Street is just 700 metres from the train station, making it the perfect launch pad for an old train lover like me. Every other place that close to the station sells within weeks but this property has been looking for a buyer since it was listed in September, first at $699,000, then with a big price reduction to $625,000 and the added termite damage warning.

Honesty is not a real estate salesman's greatest strength, and so the warning disappeared within days of being listed. I was just in time to see it appear and then disappear again. Not that it makes any difference to me, as I'm still stuck here at "Riverbend", although "stuck" is perhaps the wrong word as I'm being told by some people that I would be foolish to sell up and leave such a perfect place, to which I reply, "I just love trains".

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

P.S. The removal of the termite warning worked: it sold in November 2024 for $580,000.

 

Monday, May 19, 2025

Der Winter ist früh gekommen!

 

 

Der Winter ist früh gekommen und heute machte ich zum ersten Mal in diesem Jahr das Feuer an. Padma ist noch in der Stadt und kauft ein, und das Haus ist leer aber ruhig. Eine gute Zeit zum Lesen und um am Feuer zu kockeln.

(I think I tricked GOOGLE this time with its translation, as it didn't know what to make of the colloquialism "kockeln" which is "playing with fire".)

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

NOTABENE 45

 

"Kästner never wrote the novel about the Third Reich"

 

Those who watched the movie "Kästner und der kleine Dienstag" will remember this screenshot towards the end which read, "Den Roman über das Dritte Reich hat Kästner nie geschrieben". And he didn't, but he left behind a diary published in 1961 under the title "NOTABENE 45" (Nota bene (it.) = take good note).

The book is set in the last years of the Second World War and the first few years of the occupation of Germany by the Allies. When the Nazis rose to power in Germany, Kästner’s books, alongside many others, were burned and he was not allowed to publish anymore. This did not keep him from writing. He kept a blue diary where he wrote down his thoughts and memories of the Third Reich. Unfortunately, the Nazis burned down his apartment and, thus, effectively burned most of his diaries. The only one that survived the fire was NOTABENE 45.

 

You can read the book online at www.archive.org

 

In this diary, Kästner himself is the main character. He writes about his escape from the Nazis in March of 1945 from Berlin to Mayrhofen, a small town in Austria. His friends had put him on a list of filmmakers that were supposed to film "Das verlorene Gesicht" (The Lost Face), as propaganda for the "Endsieg". In truth, all these people on that list wanted to escape from the Nazi regime. He described his encounters with different people, his fear of being captured and the guilt of leaving his parents behind in Dresden. Erich Kästner died in 1974 in Munich.

 

Erich Kästner

 

Elsewhere on the internet I found the following interview [Source]:

Thank you, Mr Kästner, for taking the time to answer a few questions about your diary "Notabene 45". It covers the months between February and August 1945. Can you tell us briefly how life was for you during that time?

Erich Kästner – In that tangled half year I moved from Berlin to Tyrol to Bavaria. The country resembled a destroyed anthill, and I was one ant among millions of others that were zigzagging around. I was an ant that kept a diary. I recorded what I saw and heard while running. I ignored what I hoped and feared, while I played dead. I didn’t note everything I experienced at that time. That much is understood. But everything I wrote at that time, I have experienced. These are observations from the perspective of a thinking ant.

So this is the original diary and the entries in this book are genuine?

E.K. – When I was about to publish it, fifteen years later, I had to think about readers other than myself. I had to supplement the text. My task was to unfold the notes very carefully. I had to make the text legible, not only the shorthand, but also the invisible writing. I had to decipher. I had to attack the original, without touching its authenticity. It has remained the journal that it was. The mistakes I have carefully preserved, also the false rumours and the misdiagnosis. I am not a field marshal who makes diaries into a plea, and no statesman who turns pages from a diary into bay leaves. A diary with no errors and falsities would not be a diary, but a fake.

Have you ever considered writing a novel about the years 1933 to 1945?

E.K. – I wanted my diary notes to become the "dynamite for my own memory", material for a Bengal firework that I would one day burn, an infernal firework, visible far and wide for a long time, with thunder and bloody signs in the sky and people braided on a wheel, a circling wheel of fire. In other words, I thought of a great novel. But I did not write it.

Why not?

E.K. – The 1000-year Reich does not have the makings of a great novel. It is not for the great form, neither for a "comédie humaine" nor a "comédie inhumaine". You can not divide a list of millions of victims and executioners architecturally. You can not compose statistics. Those who try, bring into existence no great novel, but a deformed and blood soaked address book, artistically arranged, but full of fictional addresses and false names.

There are, however, great history books about the time. What about those?

E.K. – Historians were not idle. Documents are collected and evaluated. The overall picture is exposed for the looking back. Soon, the past can be visited. Also by school classes. One will be able to show and see how it came and had been. But reading in the large, in the Great Chronicle, can not be everything. It tells the numbers and draws the balance, that’s its job. The numbers are vouched for but the people are hidden, that's its limit. It reports what happened, the big picture. But the whole thing is only half of it.

Do diaries like yours fill the missing space?

E.K. – Diaries represent a present that is now past. Not as an inventory, but in snapshots. Not an overview, but an insight. Diaries contain illustrative material, amateur photos in memo format, scenes arranged by chance, snapshots from the past, when it still was present. This past, the unresolved, is like a restless ghost that wanders through our days and dreams and, by ancient ghost custom, waits for us to look at it, address it and listen. That we, scared to death, are pulling the nightcap over eyes and ears, does not help. It is the wrong method. It doesn’t help neither the ghosts nor us. We are not spared to look it in the face and say "Speak!" The past must talk, and we must listen! Before that we won't find rest.

One final question. While you were in Berlin in 1945 your parents were still in Dresden. That must have been very hard for you.

E.K. – Considering that every day ten to fifteen thousand planes drop bombs on Germany and that we, already without any resistance, must hold still and, like cattle in the slaughterhouses, actually do, made one's mind stop. On February 26 a courier brought terrible news. Dresden was wiped out. The undertow of fire of the burning New Town Hall had torn people from the Waisenhausstraße, flying through the air into the flames, as if they were moths. Others jumped into the fire-fighting pond to save themselves, but the water was boiling and so they were boiled like crabs. Tens of thousands of corpses lied between and under the rubble. So it goes!. And the parents lived! Grief, anger, and gratitude collided in my heart like fast trains in the fog.

Thank you, Mr Kästner. I just like to add that not everything in your diary is as devastating as this last example. There is a lot of humour and irony, and biting satire too. Now I don't want to use any more of your precious time. Thanks again, see you in your next book!

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

'Mal was zum Nachdenken!

 

 

Elke Heidenreich writes in a personal way about a topic that affects everyone: everyone wants to grow old, but nobody wants to be old. In her new book, she deals with growing old and creates a work that only she can write - personal, honest, and wise. As she writes, "In old age, you bear the consequences for everything you have done. But with it comes serenity, and you understand: Most is completely unimportant. You should just breathe and be grateful."

 

 

Here are the first few pages - in German, of course: click here.

 


Googlemap Riverbend

 

Sunday, May 18, 2025

Erich Kästner und der kleine Dienstag

 

 

All die Kinder meiner Generation verehrten Erich Kästner und sein Buch "Emil und die Detektive". Zu seinen Fans gehörte auch der acht Jahre alte Hans-Albrecht Löhr. Von dessen glühendem Fanbrief war Kästner so begeistert, dass er den persönlichen Kontakt suchte.

Als zwei Jahre später "Emil und die Detektive" verfilmt wurde, verschaffte er Hans-Albrecht sogar die Rolle des "kleinen Dienstag". Die Freundschaft zwischen dem Schriftsteller und dem Jungen wurde über die Jahre immer intensiver. Doch dann kamen die Nazis an die Macht. Kästners Bücher wurden verboten und öffentlich verbrannt und aus dem schwärmerischen Kind Hans wurde ein Rekrut des neuen Systems.

 

 

Dadurch erschienen die Unterschiede zwischen den ungleichen Freunden unüberbrückbar. Um den Jungen nicht zu gefährden, beendete Kästner den Kontakt mit einer Lüge. Während der "kleine Dienstag" dachte, sein Idol sei wie andere ins Exil gegangen, war dieser in Berlin geblieben. Wie sein Freund Erich Ohser arbeitete Kästner unter Pseudonym und hielt sich aus allem Politischen raus. Hans dagegen trat der Hitlerjugend bei, um nicht aufzufallen. Als die beiden sich nach Jahren wieder begegneten, wurde ihre Freundschaft auf eine schwere Probe gestellt.

 

 

"Kästner und der kleine Dienstag" ist auf die wahren Begebenheiten basiert, die Erich Kästner erst mit seinem Fan Hans-Albrecht Löhr zusammenführten und die zwei dann wieder voneinander entfremdeten. Die Entwicklung des Jungen und auch der anderer Kinder, die 1931 am Dreh von "Emil und due Detektive" mitgewirkt hatten, war für den Schriftsteller nur schwer erträglich, nicht zuletzt weil von den Dutzenden von Kinderdarstellern von "Emil und die Detektive" nur zwei den Krieg überlebten.

 

 

Aber Erich Kästner überlebte den Krieg mit Hilfe von sechzig Ufa-Mitarbeitern die nur wenige Wochen vor Kriegsende die Nazis vernarrten: sie reisten ins sichere Südtirol, angeblich, um dort den Durchhaltefilm "Das verlorene Gesicht" zu drehen. Auch der verfemte Autor Erich Kästner durfte mit falschem Paß mit ihnen nach Italien reisen und schrieb über dieses Schelmenstück.

Vierzig Jahre später war der Regisseur Breloer auf den Spuren von diesem nie gedrehten Film und produzierte zum hundertsten Geburtstag von Erich Kästners ein TV-Doku über dieses seltsame Ufa-Filmprojekt bei dem man zum ersten Mal über die Nazis lachen durfte. Ich kann dieses TV-Doku nirgendwo finden. Falls ihr wißt wo ich eine Kopie finden kann, schreibt mir bitte.

 


Googlemap Riverbend