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14. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. "The Heir." Part 1- Meeting The Storyteller. PANAMA. 73-year-old German Billionaire -- Willrich Otto Schneider -- is in Panama City at a Podcasting Conference. This rich man decides to give his entire fortune to "The Storyteller". He has never met her. He listens to her stories every night, and falls asleep. After 53 years of suffering from insomnia, Willrich decides to retire and to give this woman his entire fortune. This is PART 1 of our humorous story, where we meet Willrich, the Storyteller and we embark on this journey of two extraordinary people. (And of course the billions of dollars.)
"The Heir", Part 2 -- Willrich's Story, is the next episode.Support the show
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I travelled on my own to a small village in the mountains of Mexico: San Sebastian del Oeste. I wanted to stay. I had to leave. Therefore—the story of somebody who also wanted to stay, and could. "Katerina liked the name of the town, so she stayed. The road to town had washed away during the rainy season of August and September. She wrote pages and pages of piano music..."
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6. ENGLISH. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. 6. "Hadim's Secret Tulips." Constantinople. 1518 (Ottoman Empire time). Hadim is a merchant. He travels the 6000km Silk Road to bring back fine silks, new spices and exotic perfumes. He is in love with Safiya the Beautiful and promises her to bring back something special. Something never seen in the city. The Emperor of the time is Selim the Grim.
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8. ENGLISH. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. 8. "The Magician of Sarajevo.". Bosnia.They met in a thunderstorm in Sarajevo, Bosnia and fell in love. This was a love such as no other, for she was in his city on a soul-searching pilgrimage: to ask the Latin Bridge some questions about war. By the river Miljacka, she sat down and wept. Lightning struck: a thunderstorm attacked Sarajevo. She ran. To him, for safety and shelter. "You're here," he said when she fell into his magical space. "I've waited so long for you to come." He winked. She ran to the man. "I'm a deserter," she said. "I fled from my country. South Africa." In this tiny place, in the summer of 2010, they find truths and tell secrets.
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12. ENGLISH. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. 12. "Maximilian Smiles." Britain. Maximilian the Second always smiled and that was a problem.
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This version of the story "Carmen Lombardi" has a music and sound effect track added. Bedtime Stories for Adults: set in Italy. Carmen was born invisible. She was child number 5 of 9 children of the famous Lombardi family in Italy. The Lombardi family was genetically superior. Lucky children born into this bloodline, soon showed traits and talents of Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, Marco Polo, or Dante. Since the 1500's, every generation brought at least one genius.
Music clips from Pixabay Free Music. Thank you to all contributing artists:
"Frost Waltz " by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 licence. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
"Lone Harvest" by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 licence. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
"Let the mystery unfold" and "Hiding place in the forest" : Music by Geoffrey Harvey from Pixabay
"Sad piano atmosphere no pad" by Musictown from Pixabay
"Waltz for Piano and Violin" by Music For Videos from Pixabay
"Peaceful Classical Piano And Violin" and "Sad Melodic Classical Waltz" by Ashot-Danielyan-Composer from Pixabay
"For When It Rains" Music by Juan Sanchez from Pixabay
"Moonlight Sonata" Music by 23843807 from Pixabay
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ENGLISH. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS 2. Fun/serious story with a tiny important twist. Do not let the beginning frighten you. I wrote the outline to this story in Guatemala -- because I am a photographer. I took pictures of beautiful churches in small towns in Guatemala. And of the people. I try to tread lightly on the souls of humans. But do I? There was a Teresa begging in front of a yellow church. This is a true story? (Or not?)
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13. ENGLISH. BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. 13. "Kidnapped in Colombia." Cartagena. 2020. Carlos kidnapped me in Cartagena in broad daylight. I blame the Marxist guerilla group -- the ELN for this. I was not supposed to be in town on that Saturday, February 15, 2020. But this was the news report that kept me in Cartagena: "The National Liberation Army (ELN) is planning to hold a nationwide armed strike from Friday, February 14, through Monday, February 17. According to an ELN statement, the group plans to restrict the movement of vehicles and people during the 72-hour strike. Defense Minister Carlos Holmes Trujillo announced on Monday, February 10, that the military has been placed on maximum alert.
I spent Saturday in town, on my own. I took photos, stayed too long, got lost and then...Carlos!Support the show
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English Fiction 1. "Storks in Serbia". This is my first English Podcast. I speak Afrikaans as a first language and I write in Afrikaans. This story was published in South Africa in the magazine SARIE. I wrote this in Serbia, in the town of Mokrin, when I visited a family in 2010. There are really massive lamp posts in Mokrin, and there are storks on most of them. They sit in nests. I have 4 children. One day, I sat under a stork. I had a chat with this stork to clearly explain that I did not want any more children (you all know that storks bring babies, right? The people of Serbia found my chat with storks on lamp post hilarious. But -- this story "Storks in Serbia" was the "baby" the storks brought me on that day. I want to dedicate this first English story to my friend, Linda Weed, for her encouragement to speak in English. Without her, every Podcast would still be in Afrikaans.
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Immigrante storie. Hierdie storie is vir my oudste dogter. Ek moes haar alleen in Kanada in 'n klein dorpie los, toe sy 'n tieners was, omdat ek dringend SA toe moes gaan. Dit het my hart gebreek. Ek het die storie gemeng met Kanada ondervindinge, oor die coolste goed wat mens sien en beleef as jy in die kouer dele van Kanada woon. Ek was net 4 jaar in sneeu-gebied, maar dit het my lewe verryk. Margaret, die Kanadese vrou in die storie, bly regtig in 'n houthuisie. Sy het klassieke musiek gespeel en my so baie geleer. Margaret het 10 jaar in die Noordpool gebied gewoon. Storie opgedra aan my kind, en aan Margaret.
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Episaode 3. As ek so na my eie stories luister, klink dit of ek op 'n Pienk-Wolkie deur Bosnië gefladder het. Nee! Die plek is 'n konstante paradoks en het my so deurmekaar gemaak. Een oomblik kuier ek by 'n towenaar, volgende oomblik gil iemand op my. Ek was in die moelikheid in Sarajewo. Sommer op die eerste dag al toe 'n man my naby my woonstel sommer uit die pad gestamp het. In 'n winkel het 'n ander man my uitgejaag (hy't geskreeu). Dan drink ek gou baie water, huil gou effens en sit iewers plat op die grond om net asem te kry. Dan maak ek stories oor ander goed -- nie die swaar goed van reis nie. Ek het alles verkeerd gedoen in Bosnië. Reis-gidse sê niks hierioor nie.
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Ek het hierdie verhaal die nag voor my 4e kind se 18e verjaardag geskryf -- as verjaardag geskenk aan haar. (Skies my ander 3 kinders dat julle nie "18e verjaardag-stories-wat-in-tydskrifte-was" gekry het nie -- bel vir mamma, dan praat ons.) "DIE LUISTERAAR" was die eerste verhaal wat einding met 'n keuse. Ek dink ek wou my dogter leer dat mens altyd 'n keuse het en dat mens soms 'n swaar keuse moet maak. Hierdie is die 1e een van 6 ander stories wat eindig met 'n keuse.
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Ek het in oos-Europa gaan reis en in Serwië gaan kuier. Daar is 'n ooievaar op elke lamppaal in die hoofstraat. Hierdie Kortverhaal is in daardie hoofstrraat geskryf... "Karin sit in Serwië plat op die gras met haar rug teen ʼn lamppaal. Sy skryf. Die gegiggel van 'n swetterjoel klein dogtertjies aan die oorkant van die straat pla haar vandag. Hulle sit op hulle hurke en loer nou al drie dae lank na haar: so asof sy die sirkus se lawwe Afrika-apie is. Die grootmense van die dorp rus dié tyd van die dag binne: Somers in Oos-Europa is bloedig warm.
Sy lees die inleidende paragraaf aan die reisverhale redakteur in Kaapstad: "Serwië 2017. Die gehuggie Mokrin is 'n gewone boerdery gemeenskap, met baie besonderse lamppale. Hulle is ekstra hoog en daar sit ʼn Ooievaar op elkeen in haar eie nes."
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Episode 2. Daar was 'n donderstorm in Sarajewo. Ek het by 'n Towenaar beland. Per ongeluk, genadiglik, of noodwendig.By die lawwe afdak wat as effense reënskerm moes dien, is daar ʼn klein winkeltjie wat lyk soos ʼn kombinasie van Liewe Heksie en Harry Potter. Dis kinderlik laf met vrolike kleure. Ek besluit dat die besonderse plek seker aan ʼn towenaar behoort. ʼn Marionet sit bo-op die deur se poort. Ek druk my neus teen die venster om beter binnetoe te kan sien. Binne sit daar ʼn man wat verf met 'n groot blou kwas. Hy kyk op. Ek voel verspot met my neus teen sy venster en skop die helder geel emmer by sy voordeur om. Die towenaar in die winkeltjie wink. “Kom in!” Ek stap in ...
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Episode 1. Ek het op Somersonstilstand dag, 21 Junie 2010, in Sarajewo aangekom met 'n vliegtuig. Ek was alleen op reis in Oos-Europa. Na Serwië en Hongarye, is ek Bosnië toe.Ek stap agter ʼn streep dorpsmense aan wat kortpad vat deur ʼn veldjie om by die trem se opklimplek te kom. Daar is modderpoele en ʼn smal kronkelpad deur dik gras. Ek sleep ʼn tas en dra ʼn swaar rugsak en ons loop een-een agter mekaar aan. Die paadjie eindig teen ʼn wal waar ek hande-viervoet moet opklim. My tas gly. Die man voor my gryp my hand en lig my tot bo. Hy klim af tot onder, tel my tas op en sleep dit van toe af onder sy eie kleiner tassie. Hy is lank, sterk gebou en sy lang swart hare, met baie grys in, is in ʼn lae poniestert vasgebind. Sy naam is Zlatco. Hierdie is sy storie.
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Ek hou skool vir vlugtelinge uit Sirië. Ek was gister weer in Sirië -- ek ry sommer soontoe met my kar. Ek hoef nie soontoe te vlieg nie, want Sirië het Kanada toe gekom, en ek moet die tieners iets leer. Iemand vra die week hoekom ek sulke "weird" Arabiese Facebook vriende het. Hulle is tieners uit vlugtelings-kampe van oor die hele wêreld. Ek is hulle "oog" Weste toe. Om vir kinders, wat 5-7 jaar glad nie skool gegaan het nie, Engels te probeer leer in 'n klas? Haha. Drama in Drievoud. Maar wonderlik vir 'n onderwyser.
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Romatiese Kortverhaal uit Mexico. Ek het die storie geskryf in 'n klein bergdorpie: San Sebastian del Oeste. (Gepubliseer in SARIE in Suid-Afrika) "Die naam van die Mexikaanse dorpie hoog in die berge is vir haar mooi, toe gaan bly Katerina daar. Natuurlik nie so lank soos sy beplan het nie – baie, baie langer. In San Sebastian del Oeste, in die Jalisco-provinsie, moet Katerina eers bly sodat die reënmaande van Augustus en September kan verbygaan, want die pad terug stad toe verspoel en niemand maak dit reg nie. Perde of donkiekarre bring voorrade in vir die driehonderd mense in die dorp, soos in die outyd, en nou nog in die reëntyd....
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Ek leer gou groet in Burma. Dis 'n komplekse proses. Ek sê "Ming Ga La Bah" - blitsvinnig. Dan sit ek my hande op my maag en buig, terwyl ek glimlag EN, gelukkig en tevrede met my omstandighede lyk. Als werk redelik, tot ek 'n Longyi rompie koop en in hom probeer loop. Ek val die hele tyd oor my voete. Almal in Burma dra hierdie rompies, mans en vrouens en kinders. Net ekke sukkel want ek moet mooi klein treetjies gee -- met grasie, en ek wil net rondhol omdat ek ALLES gou-gou wil sien. So val ek die hele tyd oor my voete en ook oor my woorde "Ming Ga La Bah". Toe ek in 'n tempel instap, kyk die vrou by die deur na my aaklige vuil Reebok plakkies. Ek trek hulle uit. My voete is vol modder. Ek stotter toe maar ..."Ming Ga La Bah" ... en smile.
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Ek sit en staar na die troeteldier op my bord. In Peru eet mense al vir altyd "guinea-pigs". Marmotte. Toe kom die Spanjaarde, vat van die oulike diertjies terug Spanje toe, en toe eers word hulle troeteldiere. Ek was hoog in die Andes gebergtes by 'n Inca dorpie, en die mense het vir ons kos gemaak. Marmotte is 'n lekkerny. Ek wou dit nie eet nie -- soos ek destyds nie dood-gekookte-bone wou eet nie. Nee, minders as dit. Ek het hamsters en marmotte gehad as kind. Ek eet dit nie... Maar ek het. En ek het 'n baie baie goeie verskoning.
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Ek het nie geweet iemand kan my sien nie. Vir 2 weke lank! O wee. Ek giggel nou oor hierdie verskriklike storie, maar ek kry soooo skaam. Daar was by die skool so dun riviertjie in die toilet en ai? Woordloos. Hierdie was beslis een van my AAKLIGSTE oomblikke van rondreis in vreemde lande.
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