I’m in Agadez, north Niger, the capital of Aïr, one of the traditional Tuareg Berber federations, and at the same time, I’m London, I’m in Istanbul, I’m in Oporto, I’m in Paramaribo, and I’m Yazd, a city in central Iran, nicknamed the "the city of windcatchers". And then, I’m back in Africa, this is, I’m back in Agadez, now walking along a row of crude mud houses with colorful tarps over the main door, and then I’m London, actually going down the infamous Oxford street, currently passing in front of a series of souvenirs shops with the city's main staples on its showcases, this is, the union jack, the mini telephone box, the mini big ben, the mini double decker bus and the mini royal mail postbox. And as I look at that, in fact, in front of one of these showcases, at this right moment, I see a real size phone box, apparently out of order, but, some tourists are still going in and pretending to pick up an imaginary handset, making that memorable London photo, and as this happens, some meters back, I see another tourist shooting this same scene I’m describing. And then, I’m back in Istanbul, Turkey, now going through the Galata bridge, a bridge over the Golden Horn, linking the old Costantinople with Karaköy, a name that may come from the Turkish word “Karay", referring to the Turkic-speaking Jewish community called the Crimean Karaites. And then, further, I’m on the opposite side of Europe, by the Atlantic ocean, this is, I’m in Oporto, the second biggest city of Portugal, presently getting out of the São Bento station, the main train station in the city centre, and so, after crossing this slanted street in front of the so said station, I’m actually passing on side of some terraces with skewed tables where people are actually drink small coffees and stuff, and then, there I go, down a narrow pedestrian street they call “Rua das Flores”, this is, “Flowers street”, and so, instantly, as I get in this street, I already have some gypsy guy dressed in black offering me cocaine and axixe, and, as I smile at him, slyly, he is even trying to show me something that he has wrapped in some kind of plastic bags, but, “I’m ok” I say, and then he leaves. And, as I keep going down this pedestrian street, I appreciate the buildings with their tiled facades, some of them in semi-ruin, but, still, with their lush pots of flowers up there, on the narrow varandas, on the second, third, fourth and fifth floors. And so, after passing a couple of souvenir shops(apparently owned by indian dudes), and a couple of boutiques and some small restaurants, I come to pass in front of some graffitied showcases, and hus, in front of one this showcases there is a man seated on the floor, under a big umbrella, talking loud, with mixed emotions, non-stop, this is, some kind of modern days Diogenes, and then, as I keep going down, I pass some more buildings that look shutdown but actually I see people getting in and out through their doors, and apparently they are foreigners, perhaps some kings of B n’ B hostels. And as I advance, at some point, I approach this girl with an old fashioned bicycle on her side, the bicycle actually totally covered with small drawings of paisajes, aquarelles and so on, and, as I look at it, I get interested in one of that drawings, that is not a paisaje, I mean, a drawing portraying a man wearing a trench coat and some kind of funny hat actually launching a large paper aeroplane (with some tiny letterings) into the air. And thus, I approach this girl (street artist) now and ask her if I could see that drawing from a closer angle, adding, “I would like to know what is actually written on the wings of this airplane”. And I’m in Paramaribo now, the capital and largest city of Suriname, more precisely, at the Leonsberg Ferry Terminal, located in front of the Surinamo, an earth coloured river coming from the Brokopondo lake, about one hundred miles below, not far from the border with French Guiana. And then I’m back in Yazd, a city in central Iran, actually positioned in the middle of some sort of oasis where the Dasht-e Kavir and the Dasht-e Lut deserts meet, being both considered salt deserts. But, coming back to Agadez again, now going through a labyrinth of mud houses, some with corrugated steel roofs, some with clay roofs, but, no transit here, just people passing by with their flowing gowns and kaftans, some girls carrying trays on their heads, this is, trays with bags of nuts, fruits, aperitifs, sometimes nothing to be seen on it, and also, from time to time, a couple of donkeys are passing by, pushing carts with water containers, wood, head sized potatoes, etc. And as it goes, then, I’m actually arriving at the Grand Mosque of Agadez, this is, a mosque with enormous mudbrick minarets, a World Heritage Site, and so, at the door of this same mosque there is some kind of stall with a guy selling teas, and on the side of the stall there is some monobloc chairs with some kind of shade over it, where the casual man can drink his tea before and buy his lottery tiket before going inside to do his diary praying session. But, back in London, here i’m, still going along this super busy Oxford street, and, as I go through, I see people walking fast, with all kinds of accessories attached to their clothes. some pushing suitcases, others being pushed by these same suitcases. Tweed skirts. Tartan skirts. Aloha shirts. Flannel and cavalry twill trousers. Polished jeans carrying legs with a gait that reflect the personality of the user, sometimes manly, sometimes nervous, sometimes calm, confused, relaxed, curious, late, premature, disintegrated, attentive, sleepwalking, tired, greedy, sly, self-centered, bizarre, etc… And then, from “The Tottenham” pub, big-bellied Englishmen are coming out with haughty eyes, and others with minor bellies and shifted eyes, some raising their hand straight away, as they are coming out of the pub. calling taxis. Then, after the traditional Mcdonalds and Coffee Primo, I pass the “Cornish Bakehouse”, some more souvenir shops with t-shirt stores showing off pop-rock icons, slogans of freedom, mysticism at the price of traffic smoke. And then the Emporio Armani, just behind the YB bus stop where you can take bus 10 to Hammersmith, or the 98 to Willesden Gare, or the 73 to Victoria, or the 7 to East Acton, or the 390 to Notting Hill Gate. And then, next to some sort of Thai massage parlour, we have this green and yellow sandwich shop, the current sandwich leader in the world, according to their advertising at the door, and so, as I go inside, looking at the walls, I get to know that this green brand has forty thousand equal restaurants spread through one hundred countries in countries world, something like that. And not even ten meters later, we are facing another world’s leader, ladies and gents, that’s the magnificent "Starbucks", the largest coffee shop in the 3 universe, according to the sky-news. And so, yeah, we can say, this is all that remains from the world peace campaigns from the sixties, ultra biodegradable-caffeine imported from the so-called “developing” countries. And I’m in Istanbul now, presently going up the Galip Dede Caddesi, in Beyoğlu, this is, a steepy alley with many kind of musical instruments shops along its entire length, and so, as I’m going through it, I’m actually entering this and that shop, exchanging half sentences with their clerks, and then, experimenting some of these middle-eastern instruments like… the santoor, the kanun, the the zurna, a double reed sort of flute, many kinds of sazs, some sort of long-necked double-stringed lutes, the cümbüş, that is shaped like an American banjo, with a spun-aluminum resonator bowl and skin soundboard, although originally configured as an oud, this is, with no frets on its arm, and, as it goes, and I also try some percussions, as the riq, that is a small kind of tambourine with jingles attached at its frame, the bendir, a much bigger wooden-framed drum with sand inside their skins, let’s say, and many kinds of goblet drums, I mean, the infamous darbuka, with its acrylic made skins, a instrument that is a national symbol in this country. And then, I’m back in Oporto, north Portugal, still going down this “flores street”, and as I go, now, I’m actually passing some more semi-abandoned buildings with bluish mosaics, and then, amidst some rusty pillars, under some kind of balcony, I see a fat woman, apparently blind, announcing some kind of lottery tickets. And, I stop for a bit, looking at her, and then, I’m already on the go again, now passing by a couple of restaurants more, this is, small restaurants with their tables on the middle of the street, and so, all the ones actually seated on these tables are tourists, and then, as it goes, I kinda hear what they are actually talking about, this is, they are actually talking about the Ukrainian-Russian war, that the one profiting with it is China, because… and then, after a couple of antiques, I pass the MMIPO, this is, some kind of museum with art from the portuguese renaissance period, and then, as this narrow street debouch into some kind of square, on my right there is this burlesque church, that they call “Igreja da Misericordia” or something like that. And so, in front of its facade, a hollowed-face man is actually offering old coins to the passers-byes, and so, to the ones that are actually accepting these coins, he is actually telling some kind of sayings. And as I actually hear some of his babblings, I’m actually appreciating the sea monsters coming out of shells in the church's facade above him. And then, over, I’m in Paramaribo again, now going along the Anton Dragtenweg street, this is, a street still by the Surinamo river, and so, I’m actually passing some single-story houses spaced apart from each other with large green spaces, some painted dark red, others with dark wooden facades, and, I’m actually coming accompanied by my new friend, this is, the one I met on the Leonsberg Ferry Terminal, his name’s Arbi, and so, here he is, now talking about his ancestor, about how they come from Java island to settle here. And then, I’m in Yazd again, a city in central Iran, more precisely at the Ātaškade-ye Yazd, also known as Yazd Atash Behram, a Zoroastrian fire temple that is said to hold a fire burning here since circa one thousand five hundred years, and more is said that this is one of the nine Atash Bahrams, say, Victorious Fires, that is burning since the advent of the Zoroastrian, a religion founded circa 400 BC; being the other eight Atash Bahrams, say, Victorious Fires, located in India. And as it goes, I’m back in Agadez again, this is, in the meanwhile I have reached this openair market on the suburbs of the city, and so, as I wander through it, I see men with all kinds of turbans on their heads and women with huge rings on the their noses going through this maze of stalls, actually not stalls, just some rough pieces of tarp scattered in between the groups men, goats, camels, etc, and then, over some of these pieces of tarp, I see some king of huge pumpkins and other vegetables, like, red onions, pods from the Moringa tree, plus some kind of dry grains, tamaras, and some kind of pinkish salt, this many tarps actually displaying this kind of salt with different pinkish scales, apparently mixed with some kind of gemstones, and also, other tarps displaying animal hides, broken lcd screens, old mobile phones, and other sorts of outdated gadgets brought from europe, and so, around those european items, there actually a bunch of darker skinned guys, without turbans, wandering around it, this is, the famous ilegal immigrantes coming from the south, from countries like Eritrea, Sudan, Chad etc, this is, 4 guys with the intention of crossing all the Sahara and then getting into European lands . And then, I’m once more in London, still going through the infamous Oxford street, this is, by now I’m actually passing the London Perfume Company, the Pizza Hut, the Currys Pc World, the “Intimissimi”, the“Harmony”, the “Foot Locker”, the “United Colors Of Benetton”, the "Clarks", the "Claire's", and then I don't know how many souvenir shops plus, I’m coming against one of these three wheeled taxi-bicycles that normally wander through this part of the city, and then, as a way to apology, its driver, a guy with some kind of tanned oiled skin, long beard, and a sweet kind of tone, certainly a pakistani… decides to take me for free to the Piccadilly square. An so, already on the move, while we go across the narrow alleys of the Soho neighborhood, a neighborhood with its immensity of small pubs and lively nightlife, and as it goes, the driver of this rickshaw kind of thing, is actually having a video conference with with some girl that is on the opposite side of the world, but not in China, not Pakistan, not in India, “she’s in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia”, he says. And then, he even shows me her face, on the video, some kind of fluffy face I may say, this is, her eyes exuberantly painted with black shadows, and then, I say to her some words in malay language, she gets all enthusiastic, this is, soon revealing that she also wants to come to Europe, but not to London, she actually wants to come to Berlin, and so, “Why Berlin”, I ask while we struggle to pass through a group of people wandering in front of some pubs with their pints in hand, and as I pass it, here comes theanswers, “because of that square with that big angel” she says; “What angel?” I ask; “The one that was moved by the Nazis and survived the war”; “Have no idea about that”; “Oh, haven’t you seen the movie Wings of Desire from Win Wenders, with Nick Cave, the Australian singer?”; “No, I guess no, I know Nick Cave but it’s not my genre” I say, and then, continuing, “I guess I haven’t seen that film, but, you tell me, what is it about?”; I ask, and then, “Well, well” interrupts my driver, suddenly taking the phone away from my hand and moving it closer to his mouth as he starts to sing some kind of songs in his mother language, this is, I’m not sure if it is in hindi or in punjabi, or in pashto, or in sindhi, or in urdu, but it sounds good, and then, as we keep advancing through this Soho area, embraced in this kind of singing, the people dwelling around the bars are even waving at us, whistling, screaming, and some, I mean, some are even coming running after us, this is, after our bicycle, after our rickshaw, and as they come, on the going, my driver is already turning the camera from his phone to them, while still singing, this way showing to her lover in Malaysia or whatsoever, the impact he is causing on this people here in the streets of London. And then, back in Istanbul, presently going through the Istiklal street, one of the main pedestrian streets in this city, and so, here I go, opening my way through the clusters of dark eyed people walking in both ways, expressions full of drama, some bashfulness, some rashness, some frenzy, some boredomness, some levianity. And as I advance, I’m throwing looks at this multitude of faces, but without losing too much time with any of them. And so, further, as I surpass the police squad in front of the Swedish embassy, I overtake some pale tourists staring at the showcases with Turkish delights. And then, as I keep going, I come to an interesting attraction, that is, an old man, a peasant, is sited on the floor, actually surrounded by cats of several colors and creeds, and in front of him is a white scale, and the cats are actually going over the scale and weighing themselves, and as they do that, the man is actually speaking with the tailed ones while throwing animated looks to the passer-byes. And then, further, as I advance some more blocks, I’m actually passing some fat arabs wearing pointed shoes, and some of them are actually coming companied by their princesses with golden scarves around their heads, and so, as I pass by, I’m even winking at some of them, and one or other can't help but laugh, but, a shy sort of laugh, and then, their husbands throwing me sick looks. But, further, after passing a small group of Russians stopped in front of some cosmetics shop, I see haunted Europeans on the gate of the ultra-protected church of Santa Maria Draperis. And then, further ahead, we have disguised Americans stopped in front of some ice-cream shops, and the guys inside those shops are actually making odd percussion noises beating with their metal pincers against the balcony made of can, doing some theatre, and as it goes, some garbage collectors are already arriving with their trolleys full of cardboard and other kinds of trash, now stopping by here, throwing indiscreet glances at the American tourists in front of the ice-cream parlors, and then, the guys working in this parlors, sending the garbage boys away… and as it goes, there are some commotion, some tumult, some ruckus… but, I leave it, this is, there I go, now I’m passing in front of some more kebab houses with doormen shouting “Buyrun–Buyrun–Buyrun”, and then one more commercial center, and one more tea house, and one more Baklava shop, and one more changing money store, and then, again, I’m passing in front of a certain group of street musicians, this is, one of them is playing the clarinet, a nagging sound, and the other on the side, a kid, playing the darbuka, smartly, and one another, playing some kind of semi-acoustic guitar, but, totally misunderstanding what rock n’ roll is about. And then, as I reach the Beyoğlu HalkDöner, I envisage another street musician, a mustached old man playing the a bowed string instrument similar to the violin, but he is not holding it on his shoulders, like we normally see, here he is holding it between his legs, playing it opposite way, what looks much more cozy. Back in Oporto, now at cais da ribeira, a downtown area by the Douro river, and so, I now go under some arcs, a shabby place with some storage places, some old pubs, some old fashion whore houses, and then, at the end of this passage there is an entrance that lead me back to the embankment of this same Douro river, and so, as I go through, I pass some stalls with fluffed ladies selling embroidered fabrics and some other guys selling tickets for boat trips, and then, I’m actually mounting on this narrow bridge, apparently designed by Gustave Eiffel, the same guy that designed the famous parisian tower, I get to know. And so, once I reached the opposite side of the bridge, “here is Gaia, it’s no moro Oporto” someone just tells me. And thus, by now, as I turn right, and go a bit down, I already see some small wooden barges wobbling on the water, this is, barges loaded with barrels, what may be just a representation of what was the thing, even so, it looks sweet at this time of the night. And then, as I advance, I’m already passing in front of the Cálem and the Kopke port wine cellars, and then, arriving at this square where is this Manueline style building, a building with the statue of a big cloaked man appearing on the roof, this is, the sign for the Sandeman Porto-wine brand, being the Sandman a mythical character from the Germanic and Scandinavian folklore who puts people to sleep and encourages dreams by sprinkling a certain kind of magical sand onto their eyes, I just checked on google. And then I’m back in Paramaribo, still going along Anton Dragtenweg street, a street by the Surinamo river. And I’m in Yazd again, now going through the city centre, where there are some kind of tower buildings with some huge chimneys like thing on the top of it, actually what they call here badgirs, some kind of building that used to host and refresh the many travellers of the Silk Road, they just tell me. And then, I’m back in Agadez, now leaving the city, actually aboard some kind of pick-up van filled up with sub-saharian black men, this is, the so-called illegal migrants intending to go across the sahara, and then, illegally-cross the Mediterranean sea in order to reach europe. And so, as we pass through the suburbs of the city, some kind of deserted area is already in sight, and then, as we go through it, a mixed up conversation about european football is actually coming up, this is, the names of african players actually playing in European teams are being pronounced with different tonalities and accents and then, the name of the teams where the just said players are actually playing, are also said with different tonalities and accents and so, exemplifying, the thing is going more and less like this: Salah: Roma/Liverpool. Sadio Mané: Bayern Munich. Yaya Touré: Manchester City/Olympiacos. Édouard Mendy: Chelsea. Felix Afena-Gyan: Roma/Juventos. Romelu Lukaku: Chelse/Manchester/InterMilan/Napoli. Etc etc etc. And then, I'm in London again, more precisely, at Piccadilly circus, this is, I’m here seated at the stairs of the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, a small fountain with some kind of winded figure on the top, and so, I’m here seated just on the side of a friend, Mr Ubiquitous, this is, some sort of middle age man with a big orange beard, and his body/clothes actually totally covered with big clocks with different timings, this is, he have like fifteen or twenty big clocks actually attached to different parts of his clothes/body, and so, inumering them, there is one on his crotch, a couple of them on his legs and feet, a big one on his belly, another big one on his ass, a couple of them on his back, two big ones on each side of his chest, some smaller ones around his neck and even, a crooked pointer on his forefront. And so, as it goes, his performance is, he is here just saying some salutations in different languages, and me, well, I’m his assistent, this is, I’m actually going around, distributing his card, this is, the card with his name and his website, a website where you can actually see some many photos of mr Ubiquitous in the many squares of some diferent worldly cities performing this same figures he is actually performing here right now, and thus, as it goes, tourists are actually coming on his side, just to take pintures together with this man of the one thousand watches, and as they make their pictures, they are actually invited to deposit some coins in the plastic bowls at the feet of the artists, and then, as they deposit a coin the man gives them a small paper with a special message, and the message can be something really silly like, “get naked now or you will never remember!”. And then, I’m in istanbul, more precisely, at Taksim square, now staring at the monument in the middle of this square, actually, the Cumhuriyet Anıtı, someone tells me, this is, a statue portraying the founders of the Turkish Republic, with prominent depictions of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the founder of the republic, İsmet İnönü, a statesman, and Fevzi Çakmak, a field Mareşal, someone explains me, and then, as I turn around of it, I pass a small group of russian tourists taking photos of the thing, and then, on the other side of it, I also find a brunette guy leaning against the fence of this same monument, and as he sees me, here he comes right now, already picking some small boxes from inside his big plastic bag, what comes to be perfume flasks, fragrances, this is, as I see it from a closer angle, between other things, we have here fig blossoms with jasmine, rose blossoms with citrus fruits, saffron blossoms with cloves… and then, as I make as leaving the place, he even inserts one of his flasks on my pocket. And then, I’m in Oporto again, or more precisely Gaia, which is on the other side of the river, and so, here I’m, inside some kind of shipyard, by the river, actually getting drunk and stone with some guy from Norway. And then, I’m back in Paramaribo, still going along the Anton Dragtenweg street, with Arbi, this is, we are now reaching the city centre, and so, in the meanwhile we go along some kind of bridge in front of the Palmentuin, a small palm tree garden with some kind of cottage in the middle, we pass the Statue of Baba and Mai, an homage to the immigrants that came from Calcutta in India, the Mama Sranan statue, a statue with a female figure wearing a round hat and holding five children in her arms, and as it goes, my mate Arbi actually tells me that this figure represents Mother Suriname, with her five population groups, namely the Creoles, the Hindustani, the Javanese, the Chinese, and the Europeans. And then, after this statue we get to the independence square, where is the Fort Zeelandia, a fort built by the French and the British, rebuilt by the Dutch, that served as a prison already in the 20th century, during the Dési Bouterse dictatorship, my brother Arbi also inform me. And then, I’m in Yazd again, now inside some sort of city garden, and so, I’m here with Arash, the gardener, and as it goes, after talking about the plants on tis garden, Arash is actually talking about Yazidism, also known as Sharfadin, this is, some kind of religion which has roots in pre-Zoroastrianism, and, as it goes, the man iis actually telling me that in this religion there are actually seven main divinities seen as angels, being the first one Tawûsî Melek, that is represented as some sort of peacock, “which flew around every part of earth to bless it” he says, and then, “there is six more, are them Fexreddin, Sheikh Shems, Nasirdin, Sejadin, Sheikh Obekr, and Shex Hesen”, tells me the gardener.
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