ANYWHERE - a mediterranean trip

a mediterranean trip I’m somewhere on the border area between south Portugal and south Spain, slowly walking on the side of some kind of motorway going across a swamp sort of thing, now watching the wader birds hopping through the ponds around, this is, probably migratory criatures coming from the other side of the strait, from Africa, I think to myself, and then, as I think about the possible tragectories these birds do, how they manage to escape the Sahara winds, at some point, I get a ride in a van, that kind of vans transporting furniture and home stuff from old addresses to new addresses. And well, as soon as I get inside, Yan, the driver’s name, a middle aged guy with blond hair, goatee and sideburns, immediatelly says that he’s actually on the way to Gibraltar, and plus, “after a small stop in Sevilla, I should be on the way to the south again” he adds, and, “oh, that suits me perfectly! That’s exactly where I wanna go!” I say, and then, “Yes, I wanna go to Gibraltar and to Barcelona, and then… France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, and then north Africa, I mean, yes I wanna go around all the mediterranean sea, and come back to Spain through Morocco!!”, “Oh, that seems tough!” he says, and, actually, after we have actually passed Ayamonte, the first town in Spain, as we keep chatting about the mediterranean sea, at some point, for some reason, Yan ends up reveilling that “actually I was born in the Balkans, my mother was from there, just my father is English… this meaning that, well, I spent part of my childhood in different islands of the Aegean Sea… places like Lesbos, Chios, Samos, Naxos, and so on… and well, I also may say that… at some point, my best friends there, in this islands, were mainly the sons and the daughters of the A-zian refugees living on the campsites nearby…. and then, on my teens, I was sent to an auntie in Italy, and then, to another relative in France, and just then, I went to visit the old family in North Yorkshire, where I spent four or five year doing some schooling… that, before getting into a parade with a bunch of con hippies that would drive me away from Europe into Anatolian lands, I mean Turkey, and then Iran, Afghanistan, Nepal, Laos, Vietnam etc… and then, the Siam area, I mean Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore, and just then, from the Indonesian islands into Australia… I mean, we would pass through many Indonesian islands, like Java, Bali, Lombok, West Nusa Tenggara, East Nusa Tenggara, Timor and other smaller ones…'', he says. And “Uoou, whata big journey! I say, and then, “What about Australia, how was it?” I would ask, and “pretty boring” he would say, “I mean, soon I would pass myself into New Zealand, and then, yeah, I would board a big ship that would actually take me across the pacific ocean, to South America, say Chile, Argentina, Uruguai, Brazil, and then… the Caribeans…”; “Ohu, looks amazing, I myself I have been only in Mexico… but, in which islands in the Caribeans have you bee?” I would ask. And thus, while he would talk about his experiences in the caribbean isands, we would already be passing Jerez de la Frontera and then we would even take a shortcut through the Los Alcornocales Natural Park, where lays a typically mediterranean forest, rich in oak and laurel trees, and so, while going through this park we would actually make some sudden stops at the houses(cotagges) of certain expats there isolated in the midle of nowhere, and so, what happened there I can’t exactly remember now, I only can recall that on the next morning I would see myself in front of the port of Algeciras, this is, here I’m now, sitting on the terrace of some arab-style cafes run by ex-Moroccans, I mean, some of this beard guys actually have beaded necklaces in your hands, and so, while they shout, they drink, they smoke, and they count the beads from their necklaces, I can understand some kind of French-Arab languages, and also some kind of Sanish-Arb languages, and then, as I get aware of a new guy that just came to seat on the table on my side, alone, a guy actually drinking beer, not shay, as all the others, and so, as he drinks, I wonder if he’s also an Aran like the others or an European like me, and so, as I try to unveil that, looking at his attire, at some point, he’s already questioning me “Yendo a Tanger!? Necesitas boletos!?“, this is, he’s actually asking me if I’m thinking of going to Tanger, and if I need tickets. Ferry tickets I presume. And thus, quickly, I got to know his name, Amir, a name that means “prince”, or “ruler” in his native language, and then, with a quaint smile on his face and a pinch of mockery on his voice, he’s already questioning, in spanish again, “pero, veo que eres viajero, ahora, si no a Marruecos, ¿a dónde estás dispuesto a ir?” (but, I can see that you are some kind of traveller, I mean, if not to Morocco, where are you willing to go, afterall?) he says, and me, well, “I wanna go somewhere… but east, not south now…” I say. “Este, no sur” he repeats “like what, Jerusalem? Meca?” he asks, “Maybe!” I say. And then, as we speak about the differences between Jerusalem and Mecca, Amir is already pulling up a rolled-up joint from behind his ear and as it goes he’s actually inviting me to smoke it with him. And so, as we leave the tables and go for a walk in front of the port, he’s actually telling me about his mediterranean crossings and about his illegal stays in European lands all this time. And so, as a start, he jut tells me that he had crossed the Bāb al-maghrib for the first time when he was still a teenager, “with a group of friends,” he says “I mean, we did it in a really small dinghy made out of inner tubes from truck wheels… but it happened that the sea dragged us too much to the west, and instead of landing on the Spanish coast, we ended up landing in south Portugal… what they call Algarve… and so, with some luck, we weren't pulled into the Atlantic sea… but, as soon as we moored there, my friends left to Spain, leaving me alone there, and I would wonder around Tavira, Lagos, Faro, etc… and then I would go up, in the direction of the capital, Lisbon, where I would remain during some time, and I may say… I liked the Portuguese people, they are humbler than the Spanish, but there aren't great opportunities in that country, and so, after getting to know Almada, Sintra and Setubal, I left Lisbon and went to work negro in the huge orange tree farms in south Spain, mainly located around Valencia, a city that have ferries to the famous island of Ibiza, and once again… I managed to get into one of that ferries… but, got caught on the arrival and so, they sent me to some special kind of prison for illegals that turned out to be a nice house with a labour camp, and it was there that I got to know and make friendship with other people from the maghreb countries, like Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and some sub-sahariens also, people from Mali, Niger, Chad etc… and also, it was there, that I learned to properly speak and write spanish, and then, when I was already integrated, they sent me back to Morocco… my mother was happy to see me again, but my older brother… as soon as I came he put me out of the house because, as he said,  I had become an infidel, and so, I left again, wandered through the country and ended up in the Sahara, living with locals, not far from Ouarzazate, a touristic city at the doors of the desert, on the side of the Barrage el Mansour Eddahbi, where I would work for a while, before taking the caravan to Merzouga, a city on the border with Algeria…” and thus, as he says these things we are already walking, going along the sidewalk of Av. Virgen del Carmen, and then we pass Casa Pastor, a restaurante, and we pass the tapas bar El Cartuchito, Estrella supermarket, and we pass Locutorio Azizphone, WesternUnion and Moneygram offices, we pass Hispa-Maroc voyages, a travel agency, we pass Generali, an insurance office with many scooters parked in front of it, and we pass another Locutorio, another travel agency and then El Bazar Chino - Artículos de regalo, a gift shop. We pass the Kind Doner, a Pakistani fast food store, then we pass the Adecco Staffing, a job agency, then some kind of kiosk with a lot of shampoos on display, lottery cards and a big collection of peanut chocolate bars. Then another supermarket named “Alimentacion Rida”, and on the side is the “Golden Shawarma” Indian restaurant, then the “Turkish Kebab Pizza”, and the “Xavier Kadavid Peluqueros” a hairdresser, and then the “Farmacia Paseo Marítimo”, and afterwards we turn left and go up along the “Calle Trafalgar” and as we pass a shisha bar with arabesk doorways, Amir comes back to his nomadic stories… “Somehow I found myself in Tunis, the capital of Tunisia, where I heard about a place where people could cross to Europe, the so called the Djerba peninsula, and so, there I went into another dinghy due to Malta, an island I had never heard about… a european island where people speak Arab, Italian and French, all mixed up… I liked it, and I even got a girlfriend there, but, some months after, when I was already in Sicilia, I got to know that my ex girlfriend in Malta was pregnant… but then, I couldn't go back, coz, I was working for the mafia, I was a courier, so, I travelled between Sicily and another cities in south Italy a dozen times per month, cities like Napoli, Taranto, Lecce, Catanzaro, Bari, Brindisi, etc. And it happened that, at some point, I had to escape the mafia because they wanted to kill me, they said I was robbing them, and so… I went to France, my first time in France… I stayed mainly between Marseille and Montpellier, but got into a series of problems with some Algerian guys, who were the majority there, and say, these Algerians were very different from the ones I had known in Algiers and other Algerien cities. I got into pitch battles with them, the police came, I was arrested, they found out that I was illegal and I was sent back to my country… so, this is, on the arrival, my mother was happy again, but not my brothers… same old shit… in the meanwhile I got to know that one of my girlfriends in France also was pregnant, and so I found a way to cross the Mediterranean again…”. Now, here in Algeciras again, we go along “Calle Pablo Mayayo”, we pass the headquarters of the “El Faro” newspaper, we turn right, we pass the “Bar la Esquina” and arrive at the “Plaza Alta”, an open square with some high palm trees, a fountain in the middle, and a couple circular benches around, benches decorated with Seville style tiles, this is, matted patterns with strong blue and strong yellow, and on the opposite side, on other benches, there are some elders talking loud and hoarse, and looking the sky from time to time. And so, while they look the sky, Amir continues his story, “I came back to France in order to marry that woman that was pregnant, so I could get the european papers, but it happened that she didn't want to marry me, coz her family was Algerin, and no Algerian woman should marry a Moroccan man… so, I left again, I went to German and to Switzerland but I couldn't adapt to the coldness, and then, I decided to come back to Italy, and again, I ended up in Sicily, thinking about crossing to Malta and look for my other son, but the mafia guys recognized me and I passed some bad times in their hands before manage to get rid it… I managed to escape to Libya, found some serious work in Tripoli, this is, I even shook hands with one of the sons of Gaddafi...” And so, as he say this things, we are now going along “Playa de El Rinconcillo”, from where we can already see the Gibraltar peninsula, and so, with one foot on the sand and other one on the gravel we smoked some of that pot, in silence, and then, I wanted to keep my journey, so, Amir accompanied me to the city exit, we went by the motorway, reached a bridge over the “Palmones River”, and on the other side of this bridge there was a big roundabout, and it was there, on this roundabout, that we separated. Then I got a ride with some dentist guy, coming from Seville, he just went there to pick up some prostheses for his consultory in Marbella. And so, I asked him about Marbella, if there were many foreigners frequenting his consultory. “Certainly” he said, “many people don't know what to do with their money, so they want change prosthesis month 5 after month, I don't know, some of them are never satisfied, they want a prosthesis that fits their kind of smile, a prosthesis that fits with their kind of humour, a prosthesis that fits with their inner self etc, and so I have to understand their kind of humour in order to understand witch prosthesis would fit each of them, the thickness of the molars, the     sharpness of the canines, the brightness of the incisors…” Then, once we reached Marbella, I got another ride in a truck with the trailer full of marmore stones. The driver, a moustached guy in his forties, went mute all the way as we passed Malaga, Benajarafe, Almayate, El Morche, Torrox, and then I saw the signs pointing to Frigiliana, a place I have been before, then when we were getting close to Motril, despite being summer, I could see the snow on the top of “Sierra Nevada” and commented about that. Further, in Almeria, I saw the camions with arab lettering coming out of the port, and in the same port there were also ferries leaving to Melilla and Ghazaouet and Oran in Algeria. But, I kept on the road, and soon I got another ride, this time in a Mercedes Benz, with a lawyer, a cinephile. We began speaking about movies. I tell him I'm a big fan of Buñuel, the Spanish surrealist director. I tell him my favourite movies from Buñuel are “That Obscure Object of Desire, The Milky Way and Diary of a Chambermaid”. But he tells me he’s not a big fan of Buñuel, “too old” he says, “I prefer Tarkovsky, the Russian one” he adds. Then, he tells me about his favourite Tarkovsky movies. “Solaris, The Mirror, Stalker”, and so, I tell him I know about “Stalker”, we speak a bit about it. Then I ask if he knows about Béla Tarr, “Effectively” he says. “Sátántangó is one of my all time favourite movies”, I say. “Why?” he asks. “I don't know, I love the slow plans, and there is something in this movie that reminds me of my childhood, I guess…” I say. “So, what do you remember about that movie?”, he asks, “What I best recall is that scene in that sort of decrepit bar or tavern, the accordionist playing, drunk people dancing and messing around, the man with the stick hitting the table non stop, the woman with big boobs dancing with a man with a beret, dancing and rejecting him at the same time, and the little girl looking out of the window”. “Yes, that's an amazing scene, very visceral, happy and sad at the same time… that scene also reminds me of another movie called The House, a French-Lithuanian production directed by Šarūnas Bartas” he says. “Yes, what happens in that movie?”, “Nothing great… it's just people wandering inside a house in silence, a ramshackle mansion in the middle of the woods, strange individuals wandering about, some naked, some dressed with rags, they eat, they sleep, they roam between the desolated rooms, always in strict silence”. Now I'm in Barcelona, I go up, I go down the Ramblas, and it's true, those mountains over there, the Montjuïc as they say, it looks like the knob rock in Rio de Janeiro. So, I end up sleeping at Barceloneta beach accompanied by some dudes from the overseas and the next day I arrive in Figueras (a city about one hundred fifty kilometres from Barcelona, to the east) and get abducted by a guy from the parking lot, he says he is part of the painter Dali's family and then, after a couple of decrepit stories about art, he accompanies me to Cerbère, the first village on the French side. Yes, Cerbère, a prehistoric occupation at the foot of Pic de Querroig la Pera Dreta, Col de la Farella, Col des Portes and Coma Estepera. So, I take the train, it's free in France, that is, when the controller comes you just have to show your document, say where you wanna go, say you have no money, and he passes you a ticket without any hassle. Simple like that, some hours after I get out in Marseille-Saint-Charles, I go down Boulevard d'Athènes, turn right to La Canebière, walk for a while and glimpse at the bottom, a narrow arm of sea. I pass the Pernod Ricard, and get closer to the quai. Therefore, we are now in what they call here the Vielle Port, the old port, a narrow extension of sea at the entrance of the city centre, and small boats berthen to its margins, some for fishing, some for funky excursions, some for… and I’m already approaching a guy inside one of these rowing boats, I bring him sardines, but he says he doesn't like it coz he is from Sardinia, the island itself. Actually, he says, he was born in Sardinia but grew up in La Corse. And I ask what he is fishing nowadays, he says he is not into fishing, “This is a bateau de plaisance” he marks. “But what are you really looking for here?” he questions and while I dwell on my assumptions he starts to boast about the history of La Corse, “after a brief occupation by the Carthaginians and by the ancient Greeks, and an only slightly longer occupation by the Etruscans, La Corse was incorporated by the Roman Republic at the end of the First Punic War and, with Sardinia, became a province of the Roman Republic…The Romans, who built a colony in Aléria, considered Corsica as one of the most backward regions of the Roman world… The island produced sheep, honey, resin and wax, and exported many slaves, not well considered because of their fierce and rebellious character… Moreover, it was known for its cheap wines, exported to Rome, and was used as a place of relegation, one of the most famous exiles being the Roman philosopher Seneca. Administratively, the island was divided into pagi, which in the Middle Ages became the pievi, the basic administrative units of the island until the eighteenth century... then, during the diffusion of Christianity, which arrived quite early from Rome and the Tuscan harbours, Corsica was home to many martyrs and saints: among them, the most important are Saint Devota and Saint Julia, both patrons of the island… then in the fifth century, the western half of the Roman Empire collapsed, and the island was invaded by the Vandals and the Ostrogoths… briefly recovered by the Byzantines, it soon became part of the Kingdom of the Lombards… This made it a dependency of the March of Tuscany, which used it as an outpost against the Saracens. Pepin the Short, king of the Franks and Charlemagne's father, expelled the Lombards and nominally granted Corsica to Pope Stephen II… In the first quarter of the eleventh century, Pisa and Genoa together freed the island from the threat of Arab invasion and after that, the island came under the influence of the republic of Pisa… Many polychrome churches date from this period… then there was a massive immigration from Tuscany, which gave to the island its present toponymy and rendered the language spoken in the northern two-thirds of the island very close to the Tuscan dialect… This led to the traditional division of Corsica into two parts, along the main chain of mountains roughly going from Calvi to Porto-Vecchio, the eastern Banda di dentro, or Cismonte, more populated, and open to the commerce with Italy, and the western Banda di fuori, or Pomonte, almost deserted, wild and remote… Then the crushing defeat experienced by Pisa in the Battle of Meloria against Genoa had among its consequences the end of the Pisan rule and the beginning of the Genoese influence in Corsica… a popular revolution against this and the feudal lords, led by Sambucuccio d'Alando, got the aid of Genoa and after that, the Cismonte was ruled as a league of comuni and churches, then around one-twousand-five-hundred, Genoa ceded the administration of the island to its main bank, the Bank of Saint George, which brought peace… In the sixteenth century, the island entered into the fight between Spain and France for supremacy in Italy and in the meanwhile a Franco-Ottoman fleet occupied Corsica, but the reaction of Spain and Genoa reestablished the Genoese supremacy on the island, confirmed by the Peace of Cateau-Cambresis. The unlucky protagonist of this episode was Sampiero di Bastelica, who would later come to be considered a hero of the island. Their power was reinstated, the Genoese did not allow the Corsican nobility to share in the government of the island and oppressed the inhabitants with a heavy tax burden. On the other hand, they introduced the chestnut tree on a large scale, improving the diet of the population, and built a chain of towers along the coast to defend Corsica from the attacks of the Barbary pirates from North Africa. The period of peace lasted until the eighteenth century when the refusal to pay taxes by the peasants sparked the general insurrection of the island against Genoa… so, the island became known for the large number of mercenary soldiers and officers it produced, serving in various armies, like Genoa, Venice, and Spain, making it one of the most militarised societies in Europe…” Then I’m in Canes beach, the plus bourgeois city in south France, it's really morning, and there is a guy with a metal detector thing patrolling the beach, instantly I approach him and offer to carry his thermal bag, but he protests, anyway I insist and end up running away with it. So, next morning it’s really cold, and I’m already at some crossroads not far from the Bermuda triangle where France, Switzerland and Italy are getting together, this is, the western section of the Alp mountains. And so, it may be summer, coz, there is no snow at sight, well, just a few dapples here and there, far away, at the summits. And so, around, the gorges, are actually covered in green and grey, a prehistoric sort of grey, let’s say, prehistoric coz these rocks are said to be from African and oceanic (Tethyan) origin, at least that’s what I just read in some placard attached to a small shed on the other side of this crossroads.  And so, you may ask, what am I doing here at those highlands, and I may say, I’m here waiting for some vehicle to come by, I will hitchhike, but it’s taking some time, this is, it’s really morning and… then, when my attention is drawn to something else, finally, I notice a very small sort of car coming by, and as it gets closer, I can apprehend now that it’s one of these things you can drive with a motorbike licence, a very small sort of car, indeed. And now, at this point, I can already see the head of the driver coming out of the window, hairspray overflowing, bulging eyes behind the gross glasses, and to finalise… a quaint smile showing off blurry red lips. And so, as she makes a signal I move to the opposite side of the car, and then, already sitting on her side, I see that this car has no backseat. And, as we take off, here she goes, already asking custom questions like “What am I doing or not doing here / Which is not my destination / Where am I from and not from” and “it doesn't matter” I say, “n'importe où/ Ich will überall hin/ voglio andare ovunque” plus adding “I want to go anywhere, I mean, where you are going I also wanna go” and then, while explaining this, there are some confusions with the meaning of the words I’m saying, and the meanings of the words she’s saying, and we wonder which would be the best language for us to speak in order to be understood. And so, as it goes,  now she’s looking from the road to me and from me to the road, studying my face, and me, still studying the cockpit of this car, a cockpit totally decorated with various types of teddies, cats and monkeys with bells around the neck, bells now swinging with the movement of the car, plus the auto-radio reverberating songs of caressing rhythms and light-romantic melodies. And just like that she says “I’m a Russian… My great-grandfather belonged to the Tsar but with the taking of the Bolsheviks he parted to exile somewhere in what is now known as Bielorussia, but… do you 7 know the meaning of the term Belarus?”, “No” I say, “so, let-me explain… the name Belarus can be literally described as White Ruthenia or Baltic Ruthenia… this is, in Balto-Slavic culture, white designates north, so, the name "White Rus'' originally referred to the northernmost settlements of the Kyivan Rus' by the shores of White Sea, which is a historical region of the mediaeval Novgorod Land, and… after the Novgorod Republic left the Rus' confederation, the north eastern lands of the modern Republic of Belarus became the northernmost ones and were called Ruthenia Alba in Latin… but, another theory suggests that the old Rus' lands that were not conquered by the Tatars had been referred to as White Rus… but do you know about the Tatars?”, “I have heard about it,'' I say. “The Tatars is an umbrella term for different Turkic ethnic groups eventually incorporated into the Mongol Empire, a long time ago… when the Mongols invaded Russia… and, the largest group amongst the Tatars are the Volga Tatars, native to the Volga-Ural region Tatarstan and Bashkortostan, who for this reason are often also known as "Tatars" in Russian… so, my grandmother was a Tatar, and was from the Crimean peninsula. Do you know about Crimea?” she asks now “Hum, yes, I have heard about it”, “So, the Crimea is a peninsula on the northern coast of the Black Sea, almost entirely surrounded by this sea and at a smaller extent, by the Azov Sea… the Isthmus of Perekop connects the peninsula to Kherson Oblast in mainland Ukraine… Greeks colonised its southern fringe and called it Tauris, later romanized Taurica, some cities became trading colonies of Genoa, until it was conquered by the Ottoman Empire. And throughout this time, Crimea was occupied by a changing cast of Eurasian nomads. This is, in the 14th century, it became part of the Golden Horde; the Crimean Khanate emerged as a successor state. In the 15th century, the Khanate became a dependency of the Ottoman Empire. Lands controlled by Russia and Poland-Lithuania were often the target of slave raids during this period. By the end of XVIII the Russian Empire annexed Crimea after an earlier war with Turkey… later, during World War II, Crimea was downgraded to an oblast… as a result of alleged collaboration with the Germans, all Crimean Tatars were deported by the Soviet regime and the peninsula was resettled with other peoples, so, that’s how my grandmother and grandfather came to Turkey, but, they could adapt, and so, later they have crossed all the balkan area and come to live on the border between Ukraine and Romania, yet my parents born somewhere Poland, they spoke Ukrainian, Polish, Tatar language and Russian… and me, well, I was born in St. Petersburg, but I was raised between Ukraine, Poland and Germany, and later, I came to live in Switzerland, by myself, so, initially I worked in Zurich, as a house cleaner, cleaning houses of all kind of people… working class people, merchants, teachers, businessman, landowners, shop owners, doctors, lawyers, etc... then I moved to Bern, and then to Geneva, where I learned the French language and started to study the Ayurveda medicine, and this happened around the Lac Leman… then, I even went to do a small extra course in India during some time, and later, when I came back from India I travelled across south Europe, Greece and Italy in particular, and well… it happened I married a guy in Napoli, but the marriage didn’t last… so, to here I came back, to this hilly lands…”; she says, and then there is some silence, the auto-radio playing some caressing melodies, and so, “What do you do here, in the middle of this hell?” I ask. “I’m a therapeut!” she says, “I have an office down there… at the foot of the largest alpine mountain… where we are going, this is, before I used to work abroad, but now, it's them, they're the ones who come to visit me… this is, people are coming from Munich, from Grenoble, from Nice, from Turin, from Milan, and even from Vienna, come to visit me here…” and then I sleep and somehow manage to arrive in Ventimiglia, the first town on the Italien side, and so, here, I take the train to Milan, and from Milan I take the train to Venice. So, I already getting out at Venezia Santa Lucia, I wander through the floating city, many tourists, some hidden palaces, many channels, I cross the Cannaregio, Rio de San Marcuola, Santa Fosca, rio del Trapolin, Ponte San Marziale, Rio della Sensa, Rio de la Guerra, Ponte Santa Caterina, Rio del Gesulti, and then close to the Fondazione Donà Dalle Rose, a pink palace, I take a small boat to the San Michele Cemetery, a inland, where is the tombs of Igor Stravinsky. Next day I go in the direction of Triste, then I’m in a small village named Krvavi Potok, in Slovenia and so, here I get a ride with a small tractor, the driver is an old man with a huge smile, and he speaks a mix of the Italian and the Slovenian language, a dialect that I can't understand, but he keeps smiling and pointing to places on the side of the road, and then, a couple of kilometres after, he stops and invite me go come in his house. So, I get to know his wife, they offer me homemade cheese and then I’m close to Ljobljana swaying my thumb again, and after a while a broad car stops, its driver a German or Austrian guy in his forties or fifties. And so, as we depart, I recognize the music playing on his stereo, it’s some piece by Karl Stockhausen, one of the main figures of the so-called contemporary experimental music. This is, as it goes, we recognize the relation between this Stockhausen and the krautrock movement from the seventies, a movement that mixed rock music, jazz and electronic experimentations, and also, the relation between Stockhousen and Holger Czukay, the bass player/sound engineer from the band Can. And so, as it goes, we talk about other krautrock bands, like Neu! Faust, Gong, Tangerine Dream, Ash Ra Tempel, Popol Vuh, Amon Düül and Acid Mothers Temple, a japanese band that was largely influenced by the krautrock movement. And then it’s night and we reach Belgrade, Serbia’s capital, and so, as we park in front of the Beogradska Autobuska Stanica, we come inside the station atrium, looking for some coffee house open at this time. And so, as we go by, we pass some loafers wandering through the atrium, like, a dwarf with a darbuka attached to his waist that comes by and tries to sell us some annulus. And then, already inside a cafe, where there are only a couple of middle aged men and women seated on the tables, smoking big cigarettes while looking at an old TV set placed on a corner,  and the waiter is playing cards with the cooker, and there in the back, some other dudes are sleeping over the tables, and now the waiter comes to us and say that at this time they serve only beverages, cafe, chai and goulash, a kind of meat soap. And so, we order drinks, and join the guys dozing down there, on the back of the bar, this is, illegal migrants from the middle east, and so, as we confederate, we hear some stories about a big all that Iran is building on its border with Afghanistan etc, and at some point i take a night bus to Greece. This is, next morning I’m already in Piraeus, the main port of Athens. And once there, instantly, I get inside some blue Ship that takes me across the Helenic sea to the Chios island, the home town of Mastika, a liqueur seasoned with mastic, a resin with a slightly pine or cedar-like flavour. And so, from Chios I take another small ferry into Turkey mainland, more precisely to Chesme, a word that means fountain in türk language, and so, from Chesme I pass to Izmir, or Smyrna, a city that was completely burned at the beginning of the twentieth century. And so, more precisely, I disembark in konak, I pass the Kemeraltı Çarşısı, a huge street market, and I go up the Kadifekale Dağı, or the Kadifekale hill, a shanty town, before inhabited by Greeks and Armeniens, now a hub by gipsies, syrian refugees and Mevlevis. And so, I go up the Mount Pagos (being Pagos a derivation from the word pagus, that is the origin of the word meaning “country” in Romance languages, and the root of other words like pays (French), país (Spanish), and more remotely, for the English word "peasant" and the corresponding adjective paganus that became the term "pagan") and so, as I arrive to the top of the hill where is the ruins of the Kadifekale, or Kadife castle, I move inside its fortress inhabited by some female pine trees and there in the middle of this small groove, I find this small stall with a guy serving teas. And so, it is here inside the ruined fortress that I meet Reza, an Iranian guy from Tehran, and Anneli, a girl from Finland, being Anneli “grace” a contraction of the name Annalise, which itself is a combination of Anna and Liese. And so, then, I go down the Pagos mount with them, and as we go down, we visit the ruins of the Agora, a word that means “assembly" in ancient Greek language. This is, historically, the Agora was the centre of the athletic, artistic, business, social, spiritual, and political life in any ancient Greek city. And then, after leaving this city, I’m already hitchhiking south, and so, I pass Aydın, that means illuminated, I pass Bodrum and Marmaris, a city in front of the Greek island of Rhodes, an island that inspired a song from Portishead. And it is here, that I get a ride with an economics student, and as it goes, we talk about the difference between the turkish lira and the american dollar, and then I get a ride with a van carrying packages of crisps, this man take me Fethiye, and then some kind of touristic van takes me to Antalya and Alanya, and then, once on the border, some kurdish soldiers help me to cross into Syria, and so, as I go through Syria all gets dark, and then, when I wake up, I’m already floating over the dead sea. Further, after crossing the Sinai desert, I end up in Port Said, a city situated in north Egypt, established about one half hundred years ago, during the building of the Suez Canal. In this city, there are numerous old houses with grand balconies on all floors, giving the city an impression of holidays-in colony, but that isn't the case. And so, during some days I explore the port area, I wander around the loading and unloading areas, watching the huge container ships arriving from China, Japan, India, some countries in Africa, etc. And as it goes, someone tells me that there are about one hundred of them arriving here every day, from both sides, including tanker ships, bulk ships, container ships and general cargo ships, being China, the most frequent customer. And so, I end up making friends on the port, and they offer me work there. So, after less than one week here, I’m already helping to load and unload the ships on the port, I help to arrange the loads in the warehouses and also, I serve as translator from time to time, coz I can speak some Arab, English and Latin languages, so I'm useful to them. Port Said itself, I get to know, was a city founded by many foreigners during the construction of the Suez channel. And since its foundation people of many nationalities and religions had been moving to this city and each community brought in its own customs, cuisine, religion, architecture, etc. As time went by, the old Arab Quarter was swallowed up into a thriving city, and the bustling international community included, between others, Jewish merchants, Italian architects, Swiss hoteliers, Maltese administrators, Scottish engineers, French bankers, Greek opportunity hunters, and diplomats from all around the world. But nowadays, things are a bit different, everything is much more mixed, there is no more big difference between Arabs and Europeans, and there are also some Africans working here, mainly people from Sudan or Eritrea. And I made friendship with a couple of guys from Bangladesh too, they said they used to   work in Dubai, ten years ago, when there was a boom of construction in United Arab Emirates, and after they came here, temporarily, as a way of transferring themselves to Europe, but there was some problems with their documents and they ended up staying here. And there are a couple of Plestinians here too, and when I tell them that Israel refused my entrance, they like me even more. So, some weeks after I board a ship full of cotton and nitrogenous fertilisers, and our destination is Tripoli, in Libya, our neighbour country, that is trying to recover from a series of failed revolutions after Gadaffi’s disappearance. And then, already inside the ship, cruising the Mediterranean, as we enter in Libya waters, our conversation goes exactly around Gaddafi sons and daughters, and someone from the ship crew say Gadaffi have ten sons and ten daughters, and some others say he was a impotent man, and others say he may have more than one hundred sons and daughters spread through Africa and the Arab world. And so, now they talk about Muhammad Muammar Gaddafi, his elder son, regarded as a possible successor of his father, but reported to be uninterested in the role. “Some years ago he was involved in an armed standoff with his half-brother Mutassim over control of a Coca-Cola bottling plant" says one of the men aboard. “And he was also the owner of the main Telecommunications Company in Libya…” others says, “and one of his children was killed by a NATO airstrike along with his half-brother Saif al-Arab Gaddafi” another one says. “Later, he surrendered to rebel forces of the National Transitional Council as they took over Tripoli”, they add “and while being in custody in his home, he gave a phone interview to Al Jazeera, saying that he surrendered to the rebels and had been treated well before the line went dead from a apparent gunfire… and some say he’s now in Oman, since they granted him political asylum over there, a long time ago”. “And after there is Saif al-Islam...  the second of Gadaffi´s son, from a different mother… an arrest warrant was issued by the International Criminal Court for charges of crimes against humanity against the Libyan people, for killing and persecuting civilians, but he denied all this… and  after the end of the Civil War, he flown by plane and was sentenced to death by a court in Tripoli for crimes during the civil war, in a widely criticised trial conducted in absentia… later his full amnesty was declared and he even attempted to register as a candidate in a recent presidential election, but was rejected and once again disappeared…”. “Then we have Al-Saadi, the football star, he played for the Italian teams Perugia, Udinese and Sampdoria, playing only some minutes in a couple of matches, and employing Diego Maradona as his technical consultant… he would become the leader of Libya's Special Forces… later arrested in Niger and a central figure in a business scheme in Canada's, he is now residing in Turkey…”. “Then we have, Mutassim Billah Gaddafi, assassinated in the same year as his father, he was a Libyan Army officer, and the National Security Advisor of Libya… he even met the U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, asking her some billions, to form his own special forces brigade, with material from Russia, China, and the United States… he lived in Egypt for several years after allegedly attempting to take control of Libya from his father… he would often travel to Roma, London and Paris, in his private jet, and would frequent the plus expansive hairdressers… where he would play his seduction games, and one of his famous girlfriends was a model named Talitha Van something…”. “Then there is Hannibal Gaddafi, who graduated from the Marine Academy of Maritime Studies… and later married a Lebanese Christian former lingerie model, with whom he has three children… he was arrested in Geneva, Switzerland, after an incident in his hotel… and later was involved in another turmoil in another hotel, this time in London… he, his wife, and a local woman, were found in the room bleeding heavily… then, during the revolution times, after the rebels entered Tripoli, Gaddafi and his wife fled to Algeria together with other members of the Gaddafi… and later he would move to Syria with his wife and children… and later, an Ethiopian nanny who cared for the couple's young daughter and son was found abandoned by the rebels in a room at one of the family's luxury seaside villas in western Tripoli. She claimed that they tied her up, taped her mouth and while one would pour boiling water on her head, the other would slashed her with knives… later, after the revolution, Hannibal was kidnapped and briefly held in Lebanon by an armed group demanding information about the disappearance of a certain Shiite Imam… but later was released and an arrest warrant was issued against him by the Lebanese government… a request by the Syrian government to return Gaddafi on the grounds that he was a political refugee was denied by the Lebanese government… and later Russian officials would offer him asylum in Moscow… and then we have Saif al-Arab Gaddafi, the sixth son of the Gaddafi despot, this one used to live in Munich… and so, excessive noise from the exhaust of his Ferrari led to questions from the German police and his car being impounded… Also, during the same period, Saif was suspected of attempting to smuggle an assault rifle, a revolver and munitions from Munich to Paris in a car with diplomatic number plates… However, the case was later dropped as the alleged weapons were never found and the German public prosecutor decided that there was insufficient evidence to proceed with a prosecution… following the outbreak of the Libyan Civil War, the German press reported that Saif al-Arab had returned to Libya. Subsequently, the Bavarian Interior Ministry stated that he had been declared persona non-grata and in the aftermath of that, United Nations Security Council imposed a travel ban on Saif al-Arab and an Interpol notice was then issued against him… an air strike on Saif al-Arab's house had killed Saif al-Arab, along with three of Muammar Gaddafi's  grandchildren… and then Khamis Gaddafi, the seventh and youngest son of the former leader, was the military commander in charge of the Khamis Brigade of the Libyan Army… At age three, Khamis Gaddafi was injured in the U.S. bombing of Libya, suffering head injuries when the Bab al-Azizia military compound was attacked in retaliation for the Berlin discotheque bombing… He graduated from the military academy in Tripoli, receiving a bachelor's degree in military arts and science, further graduating from the Frunze Military Academy in Moscow and the Military Academy of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of Russia… Khamis, who was said to be uninterested in politics, rose in prominence due to the exile of his older brother Mutassim, who was sent to Egypt in 2001 after being accused by senior officials of plotting to seize power from his father… Muammar Gaddafi ordered the disbandment of Mutassim's Tank Battalion and created the Reinforced Brigade known as Khamis Brigade in its place… By most accounts, Khamis was competent, loyal to his father, and maintained good relationships with his siblings… He was especially close to his reformist older brother Saif al-Islam and began a master's degree at the IE Business School in Madrid. However, he was expelled by the institution for his links to the attacks against the Libyan population… so, after hurrying back to Libya to aid his father in the civil war, Khamis commanded the assault on Zawiya, leading the Khamis Brigade… and the battle resulted in pro-Gaddafi forces retaking the city… but later was reported by the anti-Gaddafi Al Manara Media that Khamis had died from injuries of an aeroplane that supposedly crashed against him… a NATO aeroplane… and then there is Ayesha Gaddafi, the only biological daughter with his second wife Safia Farkash. Ayesha was educated at the Paris Diderot University, and studied law at the Sorbonne. She trained with the Libyan military, reaching the rank of lieutenant colonel. In 2000 after sanctions were imposed on Iraq, she arrived in Baghdad with a delegation of 69 officials, and shortly before the invasion of Iraq, she met with Saddam Hussein… later she would sued NATO over the bombing of a building in her father's compound which she alleged killed her brother, Saif al-Arab Gaddafi, and her own infant daughter. Later, during the revolution, along with two of her brothers and other family members, she left Algeria to go to Oman, where they were granted political asylum. But she had been kicked out for repeatedly setting fire to her safe house in Algeria and later moved to Amman, Jordan and then she moved to the capital of Oman, where other members of the Gadaffe family are currently living…”. And so, as we get out in the port of Algiers, I cross the Rampe Magenta and enter a piazza garden with some small palm trees and a bandstand in the middle, a nouvelle vague bandstand like the ones I have seen in some gardens in Lisbon. And they tell me this is the Port Saïd Square. Then I go along the Abane Ramdane street, there is a huge building on my right with a series of arches and on my left I see a store named Miss Dunya Lissa, a clothes shop with some old fashioned pyjamas for women, slightly risky necklines, lacy sleeves, like the female nightwear of the 80s, then a couple of shops with home goods like towels, bedspreads, aprons, trench coats, toilet brushes, etc, and to the left there is a narrow alley named Oucherif, but I keep going on this street. I pass the Hotel Akfado, a couple of boutiques more, raw perfumes stores, then the Motel Odeon capsules, then the Redouan Episse, that is selling packaged spices and some different kinds of roots, and I arrive at an archaeological excavation site, named Quartier Ottoman de la Basse Casbah. I keep going through the lane Bab El Oued, I pass some carpet stores and I arrive at the Martyrs' Square, a square with some more palm trees and a couple of minarets in the back. Then I turn left and I go up through a series of narrow staircases, and I arrive at the Palais Dar Ahmed Pacha, from here I can see the coast and the sea, and the Dar Mustapha Pacha and then the Dar Souf Palace. Then I go through the Rue de l'Indépendance and I arrive at the Rue du Diable, which is a staircase inside a tunnel, and on the top of it there is an old man, seated on the balustrade, he greets me, I greet him and we act out a conversation. I ask him why this alley is named “devil street” and he tells me about Barbarossa, the famous pirate of the “albahr al'abyad almutawasit, the mediterranean sea. He tells me that he used to come here into these alleys, looking for girls. Originally named Khayr al-Din Barbarus, also known as Hayreddin Pasha, romanized BarbaRossa (red beard) by the Italiens. “Was an Ottoman corsair and later admiral of the Ottoman Navy, by Suleiman the Magnificent, that great pasha famous for the Siege of Vienna.… BarbaRossa was actually born in Lesbos, the Greek/Turkish island on the aegean sea, and began his naval career as a corsair under his elder brother Oruç Reis, that captured Algiers from Spain, then following Oruç's death, Khayr inherited his brother's achievements and became one of the most feared man in the mediterranean… he captures Tunis, Gibraltar, Secilia and some other Greek islands…” and then, after saying this things, the old man stands up and makes me signal to accompany him, and he takes me precisely to the Barberousse street, which is just some alleys up, and from there we enter another alley named Rue Kataroudjil and in some minutes we debouch at a kind of natural balcony, from where we can see all the Bay of Algiers. Next morning I come back to the port and I manage to board another small ship that goes in the direction of the Morocco coast. Apparently the ship is carrying a cargo of detergents, things made in China, that were exported to Libya, but Libya discarded them to Tunisia, and Tunisia discarded it to Algeria, and now, Algeria is passing it to Morocco. And so, already by the MArroquin coast, we pass cities like Saidia, Nador,  Al Hoceima, El Jebha, and then, Tétouan and Tanger, where I disembark, and then, there I go, in the direction of Cape Spartel, where is the Spartel Bank, a sunken island hypothesised by some as the location of the legendary island of Atlantis.