ON THE ROAD - A Coruña / Dakar

 So, I’m leaving A Coruña, a city placed on the top-west corner of Spain, Galicia department. Actually walking along the Fernando Suárez García avenue now, an avenue just in front of the sea, by the left side of the Orzán cove, that the Greco-Roman geographers designated as Portus Magnus Artabrorum. being the Artabri, I got to know, an ancient Gallaeci-Celtic tribe that used to dwell around this lands. And so, as I walk by the Paseo Maritimo, I’m actually contemplating the imposing masses of granite rocks that rise against the harshness of the sea. And, with very fresh winds blowing against my face, I actually pass by the “Miradoiro Fiestra ó Atlántico”, that lays just in front of three small islets, Illa Vendaval, Illa do Pé, and Illa Aguión. Further, I’m actually going around a small and sympathetic cove that form the Portiño harbor, also called “Porto de San Pedro de Visma”, being Visma the name of the neighborhood here, and well, as it goes, I’m now passing right on the side of the Miradoiro do Faroleiro (Lighthouse Keeper's viewpoint), following along the Punta do Burro (donkey's tip), soon reaching Suevos, a small hamlet that is part of the Arteixo municipality, named like this after the Suevi, a group of Germanic peoples that migrated from central Europe to this area during the “barbarian” invasions of the fifth century, I got to know. Then, after exchanging some impressions with the villagers I meet on the street, in front of houses with unpainted walls. I’m leaving this humble hamlet on the top of the hill, coming back to the seaside, already going along the “soap beach” or “Praia de Sabón”, getting close to Malpica, a place indicated as the starting point of the so-called “death coast”, known for its high cliffs and severe weather, located near the Sisargas Islands, a notoriously dangerous, rocky spot where numerous ships have sunk… I got to know. And so, as I walk by this piece of coast, I pass by the Beo beach, the Seiruga beach, the Barizo beach, the Punta Nariga lighthouse, then going along a narrow dirt path through lush, low-lying vegetation, always by the sea, I end up reaching the Areia de Prata beach, plus the Niñóns and the Morro beach. Afterwards, as I come back to the road, I will pass Brantuas de Arriba, Casas da Espereira, Brantuas de Abaixo, As Gurichas, Carballido, A Brixéria, Cospindo, Carracido, Cedeira, Ponteso, between others... I go though the bridge over the Allones river, and I keep following along the AC429 national road, not hitchhiking, just walking fast. And so, after having passed Sinde, Borneiro, As Pias, Reparada, Vimianzo, Vilaseco, Berdeogas, Bustelo, Lobelos, and Sardiñeiro de Abaixo, I reach the so colled lobster cove and then, finally, the Cape Finisterre, that ages ago was appointed as “the world’s end”, this is, it is here, at this rocky beach, that I end up meeting with some pilgrims coming from the many corners of Europe, and say, as I’m already approaching some of these people here around this fire, I realize what they are actually doing right now… this is, some of them are actually burning their socks, spreading the smoke and the smell around, laughing while doing it, and… as it goes, throwing these same burnt socks down the cliffs by the sea… Thus, while watching them, I wish I could do the same, but no, because, actually, I’m not wearing any socks… so, I have this idea, instead of socks, I end up burning my shoes, and then yes, like them, I’m throwing my burnt snikas down the cliffs by the sea… and so, in the meanwhile, after exchanging some words with a few of those pilgrims here wandering around the fire, I get to know that most of them are actually coming from Eastern Europe, but, not only that, there are also a couple of them coming from that countries on the strip of land between Europe and Asia, this is, the so-called middle-east, and well, after getting to know about the reasons that impelled them to come here, nothing religious, I may say, we all get into some kind of singing, and further… as I see some of them actually playing castanets while doing some dancing moves, I also start to rummage inside my rucksack, and from there picking my small harmonica that instantly I start to blow while actually washing my feet on the sea. And say, after much playing and dancing around this rugged rocks, some of us become acquainted, share stories, divide in small groups, and in a while, me and my group are already walking in the direction of Santiago de Compostela, a city about fifty miles from here, to the east… and so, once there, as we go through this clerical city, soon we get to understand how the locals are actually tired of all this shabby pilgrims coming here to spread their misery around, people in the search of miracles, others, just mere tourists, interested in photographing the misery of the others… and, as we get to the “plaza del Obradoiro”, the main plaza in front of the main cathedral, my escorts disappear, and I go to explore the city alone, this is, I get to hear some conversations from the locals, and also, I meet some other travelers, and again, I get to hear stories about how they actually got here, and in the meanwhile there I go, setting myself  under a porch, playing the harmonica, I mean, busking… this is, right now clusters of people are actually passing by in front of me, groping through the haze, some looking at me with indignation, this while the bells from the adjacent cathedrals clatter, as thus, as they clatter, I’m actually trying to play in their rhythm… this is, time passes by, and when night is already coming, I see two strange dudes getting close, one thinner, the other fatter, smiling and smirking, exchanging whispered comments between them while approaching... And so, at some point, the thinner one is already offering me loose wine, while the other, the chubbier one, just sits down on the floor on my side and begins ordering people to get closer and give money to the player (me). This is, in a while, they are both saying nonsense things in a pretentious semi-operatic tone, and eventually, at some point, the thinner one even starts doing some dancing steps, with one hand on the chest, and the other, the bustier one, here he is now, rolling on the floor at our front, tying up the passers-by, and laughing non-stop while doing so. And well, as it goes, the gaunt faced one is already giving me orders, telling me to play it slower and simpler, say, telling me to play only the bass notes, to do like a waltz rhythm, and, accordingly, as I do it, here he comes, already asking me pointless questions, and then singing with some kind of operatic style, well, not really operatic but… while the other, the chubbier one, that before was sitting on the floor, is now calling “Vaca Loca” to anyone that passes by our side, and then, immediately, offering the neck of his bottle to whoever deposits coins inside the hat at our front. And so, at this point, the gaunt faced one, is actually singing about “damas desnudas con bigotes de harina...”; “filipoyas místicos…”; “piruletas macabras…” and other things I can’t really understand, coz his language sounds like Russian. And then, just then, when the wine is finished and his voice begins to fail, I see them confiding something between themselves in my back, and so, as a result of this, in a while, I’m actually being invited to leave this place and accompany them somewhere, this is, they need a driver, the gaunt faced one tells me. And promptly, without knowing about directions, I accept to be their driver, thus, after collection the coins from that hat set on the floor here in front of us... there we go, already leaving this place, but, as we try to advance, the chubbier one doesn’t want to move, and then, when he tries to move, actually, he keeps going against walls and stuff, even falling on the floor a couple of times, this because he is dead drunk, so, both of us have to supporting him on the move, bracing him both sides, so he doesn't fall to the ground again. And thus, while we pull him, actually, he continues to snort words, things that are incomprehensible, this while his friend keeps pulling him, giving him shoves, offering him a beating, a scene that is somehow comic and depressing at the same time. And therefore, in those ways we wandering through the city, actually looking for the place they have parked their car… and, while advancing, the chubbier one, despite being almost in a sleeping mode, when he opens his eyes, he is still howling, calling dirty names to anyone that crosses our sight. And then, finally, when we manage to find the car, a Rover GSI, that actually was parked inside some public garden, a garden adjacent to some kind of semi-rotten church, we throw the paunchy one onto the back seat, and there we go, seating on the front, me on the driver’s seat, and the gaunt face, his name Alberto, on my side… this is, is not easy to maneuver the car out of this park, but when I manage to do it... following the hints of Alberto, I’m already getting on the AP-9, say, a motorway heading towards Pontevedra, and as it goes, with my co-pilot getting asleep, and the one in the back already snoring, after passing Vigo and Ó Porriño, I’m actually driving towards the Portuguese border, because those were the instructions Alberto gave me. And so, accordingly, as we pass the border, I have to wake him up again, because I need to know about directions… And so, as we pass Valença, the first town in Portuguese lands, Alberto (half asleep), order me new directions, and so, there we go, following along some national road and then an earthy path, and well, at some point, after having passed some pine tree forests, we are actually reaching some kind of farm with a few adjacent shacks, and at this point I understand, this place here is actually some kind blacksmith workshop, and so, following his instructions, I do park the car somewhere, and well, by now, as I try to get out of the car, instantly, I get surrounded by huge dogs that do not look very friendly, but, instantly, as its owner (Alberto) shouts at them, they back off. And so, at this point, as we make our way out of the car, leaving the paunchy one there snoring in the back seat… there we go, already getting inside some of the adjacent shacks, say, entering some kind of kitchen that looks more a box room, and, as we move around, the man just approaches some wood barrel, opens the tap and fills two glasses with that liquid, this is, “now you can drink, finally...” he says, then adding, “this is a different kind from the ones you may have tasted in Santiago, I mean, it’s home-made green wine… ‘maduro’ we say, green but mature… and so, after all this talking, I want to try it… and oh boy, it’s really good, not acid like the one I have tried in Spain... I mean, really fruity, and then I’m ready to leave this place… thus, after piercing through the scattered pieces of scrap metal and wood lying about the front-yard, I come back to the road, and, while imagining being pursued by a bunch angry dogs, I run all night, just stopping at the sun rise, by the entrance of some village, this is, here I’m, seated inside some bus-stop shed, and, I still have time to sleep a couple of hours, this before some kids arrive, kids that are actually coming to get on the bus that will take them to the school placed on bigger city in the surroundings… this is, Braga city, the third bigger city in this country in terms of population, they say. And so, as the bus comes by, I quickly move to the last seat, and, despite the cackling that circles me, I permit myself to sleep a bit more… just opening my eyes when we get to the last station, this is, the bus station at the city center… and so, as I get out of this station, and randomly follow some streets, watching the people, I end up in front of some kind of castle, at a colorful garden, with some kind of romantic fountain in the middle, and thus, by this fountain I rest for a while, but, it’s early, so, not much people are coming into this garden, just a couple of youngs are crossing it, from time to time, and then, at some point, a homeless guy actually approaches me and asks for a cigarette, and so, I give him a stone that I had in my pocket, and, while staring at this stone, he starts to tell me the story of “Santa Barbara”, the patron saint of this garden and the castle on our back, this is, he says that “...in Vila Real, a city about one hundred kilometers from here, to the east, there lived a rich and powerful man who wanted to arrange a marriage for his daughter, Barbara, but the many suitors that he would bring to her, she would refuse, and so, he locked her in the tower of a castle, thus, making her unable to meet anyone of her interest, and then, one day, suspecting that some her suitors were actually entering through some kind of window that she herself had ordered to be opened in the this tower, her father, he himself, tried to kill her, but at the exact point that he was about to do so, a lightning came down from the sky and incinerated the man, being for this reason now, Santa Barbara, the patron saint of heavy artillery members, firefighters and miners who place their faith in this saint to protect themselves from unexpected explosions…” he says, and then, after hearing this fantastic explanation, this same man just accompany me until the surroundings of the train station, from where the motorway going in the southern direction departs, and as it goes, I quickly get a ride with some guy driving a Fiat Punto, actually driving in the direction of Oporto city, that is the place where I wanna go, and, because he works at some kind of laboratory, all the way we speak about virus and viruses, starting by the Escherichia coli, “also known as E. Coli,  a gram-negative, facultative anaerobic, rod-shaped, coliform bacteria of the genus Escherichia that is commonly found in the lower intestine of warm-blooded organisms”, he says. And accordingly, about thirty minutes after, I’m already in Porto city, this is, at Boavista Square, some kind of roundabout on the north branch of the city... and so, as I ask directions people point me in a certain way, and soon I’m actually advancing through stone paved roads that lead me to the small Cedofeita church, a church with more than one thousand years, some locals say, and they also say that this church as actually some kind of municipality house from the Suebi, the Germanic people that I heard about in A Coruna. And then, after some small conversations about the Suebi and other Germanic tribes from that time, like the Marcomanni, the Quadi, the Hermunduri, the Semnones, and the Lombards, I go through the Cedofeita street, a pedestrian street that gives me the impression that I’m actually in Napoli, I don’t know why. And further, as I reach the main historic building from this city, the Clérigos Tower, a building with about three hundred years, that was a construction ordered by the “Clérigos Pobres Brotherhood”, a brotherhood that was a merger of three pre-existing brotherhoods that developed in the Santa Casa da Misericórdia do Porto, this is, the Brotherhood of São Pedro ad Vincula, the Congregation of São Filipe Néri and the Confraternity of Our Lady of Mercy. And so, I get to know, after the merger, the name of the brotherhood became “Confraria de Nossa Senhora da Misericórdia, São Pedro e São Filipe Néri”, later simplified as “Brotherhood of Clérigos”. And I also get to know that, the new brotherhood, intending to have its own headquarters, soon tried to achieve this objective, and when, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, they were offered land in the this so-called place of Cruz de Cassoa, next to the Adro dos Enforcados (a plot of land already outside the Fernandina Walls, near Olival, olive tree field, where criminals sentenced to hang and those who died outside of religion were buried), it was here, not without some controversy, that the house and Clérigos Tower would be built. And so, now, as I go down the Clérigos street, soon I reach the “praça da liberdade” or the “liberty square” at the bottom of “Aliados street” where is a monument to Dom Pedro IV, that at the same time as also Dom Pedro I, the first emperor of Brazil. And then, after turning right in front of the São Bento train station, I pass a series of terraces with skewed tables, and people sitting in a weird way, a place that, again, gives me the impression that I’m actually in Napoli, and continuing, as I go down a narrow pedestrian street called “Rua das Flores”, this is, “Flowers street”, instantly, some gypsy guys come to me offering cocaine and axixe, and, as I refuse it, one of guys even explains me that, the “tripas à moda do porto” dish is actually made from the muscle wall of a cow's stomach chambers, and “not from the intestines”, as some say, he says. And then, as I keep going down this “Rua das flores”, 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 verandas on the third or fifth floors. And then, after passing a couple of souvenir shops (actually owned by Indian dudes), I see, under some kind of porch, seated on the floor, a cadaveric man under a big umbrella,  talking bullshit to the passersby, this is, some kind of junkie, injecting his body in front of everybody, and so, I think to myself, definitely some kind of modern days Diogenes. And further, after leaving him alone, I pass some more buildings that look shutdown, but actually I see people getting in and out through that doors, and they are actually speaking foreign languages. And then, as I keep advancing, I come to approach this girl with an old fashioned bicycle on her side, the bicycle actually all covered with small drawings of paisajes, aquarelles, and so, at the first look, I get interested in one of her drawings, say, a drawing with a man in a trench coat, actually launching a large paper airplane into the air. And I also like his hat, coz, it looks like a postman from the old times. And, as I say this to her, straight away, she decides to offer me the drawing, and in exchange, I also offer her some stones I have in my pockets. And then, further, as I keep going down, I see a guy announcing lottery tickets, a woman selling crochet clothes, and then, as I pass a couple of restaurants with their tables in the middle of the street, and all the ones seated on these tables are tourists, and some more abandoned buildings on both sides of this street, buildings also covered with bluish mosaics, and on the ground floor, between the rusty pillars, there are some antique dealers, antique dealers that also sell costume jewelry, and then, as I get to the bottom of this street, I pass some kind of church with sea monsters coming out of its facade, and also, in front of the small entrance hall of this barricaded church, I see a brunette guy seated on the steps of this same church, not young not old, and, as I seat on his side, “my name is Fred”, he says, and when I ask him from where he’s from, “I’m Brazilian”, he says, and then, “but during the first years I lived in in this country, I lived in Lisbon, not here… but then… I traveled a bit through all western Europe… this is, I went to Spain, France, Italy and even Germany, where I stayed for a while, but that snow, man! That cold! I got depressed, I got sick, and in the end… it wasn't easy to come back. I mean, it wasn’t easy at all, but when I finally managed to do it, I ended up here, and so, I decided to make my base here, instead of Lisbon, which has already too many Brazilians…”, And, after hearing this, I also decide to say something about Berlin, but it looks that he’s not listening now, instead, he starts to hit the steps from the stairs where we are, this to show me that he is a drummer, and me, without wasting time, I also have something to show him, so yeah, there we go, both with the asses up and the arms down hammering this stony staircase with the palms, say, producing what can be called an impromptu drum battle. And, well, as it goes, after a while we are already being surrounded by a bunch of tourists and curious people taking photos of the situation, but then, we kick them out and move away. So, this is, as it goes, we move to Ribeira, really downtown, an area by the river, the Douro river, and so, on the way we buy a couple of wine bottles, and then, while we walk by the river, we pass some stalls with embroidered fabrics, handmade jewelry, etc. And just then, when we get close to that double decked bridge, the so-called “Don Luís” bridge, we go down by the water, and, as we go he actually presents me to some of his friends actually living here in barracks under the bridge... and so, in a while, we are already sharing drinks with them, and they, they also share some of their drinks with us, and then, there they go, inside their tents, then coming back with a bunch of percussive items like, djambês, timpanis, snare-drums, many kinds of tambourines, cymbals, pumpkin-shakers and other kinds of shakers, and so, there we go now, more and more close to the water, playing all this percussive stuff all night long. And so, just next morning I actually go across that bridge, say, when coming to the end of this bridge, I turn right, and while walking by the river on the other side, I actually pass by a bunch of Port wine cellars, this is, I pass brands like “Cockburn's”; “Taylor's”; “Cálem”; “Burmester”; “Sandeman”; “Ramos Pinto”; “Graham`s”; “Ferreira”; etc. And so, in the meantime, after having passed some ruins, a shipyard, some buildings under construction, and a series of abandoned lots, I’m actually by the sea, at the southern mouth of Douro river, in a place with some kind of dunes, and some bones buried there among the shards, and as it goes, the tide is actually rising and falling, quickly and then slowly, without rhythm, treacherous. And, as it goes, after reaching the Lavadores neighborhood, I go in search of the national road by the coast, going south, and accordingly, when I find it, there I stand at an intersection, showing up my thumb. And so, being taken by this and that car, I actually pass cities like Espinho, Esmoriz, Santa Maria da Feira, Ovar, Aveiro. Figueira da Foz, Nazaré, Peniche and Mafra, and well… soon I'm already going through the April’s bridge that goes over Tejo river, the river that separates Lisbon from Almada, or Al-ma'adan, “the mine”, and say, at this point, I’m actually being taken by a former university teacher, currently talking about Dona Urraca, apparently, the daughter of the first king of Portugal, he says, “Urraca was born in Coimbra in one thousand one hundred forty eight, and, she was the daughter of Afonso I, the first king of Portugal, and Maud of Savoy, the second or third daughter of Amadeus III, Count of Savoy and Maurienne, and Mahaut of Albon, the sister of Guigues IV of Albon, applied ‘le Dauphin’... and, one of her aunts, Adelaide of Maurienne, was actually the queen consort as the wife of King Louis VI of France, and one of her great-grand-uncles was Pope Callixtus II… and so, coming back to Dona Urraca, she actually married Ferdinand II of León, but, the marriage would be annulled about ten years after, coz, it was discovered, they were direct cousins, great-grandchildren of Alfonso VI of León and Castile…” and as he tells this things about the beginning of Portugal, and its connections with Spain, we actually pass towns like Laranjeiro, Corroios, Amora, Coina, Palmela, Marateca, Palma, Alcacer do Sal, “one of the most ancient cities in Europe, founded by Phoenician hairs, and apparently… it provided salt, salted fish, horses for export and food for the ships that traded with Cornwall, a ceremonial county in South West England… but, later, would be invaded by the Arabs, and it would become the capital of the of the Al-Kassr province…under the Umayyad rule of Damascus… this is, after an internal victory over Muwallad rebels in 888, a Moorish fleet transported troops from Alcácer to Oporto, to support Al-Mansur Ibn Abi Aamir, that culminated in the destruction of the sanctuary of Santiago de Compostela, in Galicia, northwest Spain..” he says. And so, as we keep talking about the time when the Arabs ruled over what is now Portugal and Spain, we pass Ervideira, Grandola, Santa Margarida da Serra, Roncão, Santiago do Cacem, Barbuda, and then, as we drive on the side of Sines, a coastal city on the Alentejo region, he just says, “This city holds an important oil refinery and… it is also the birthplace of Vasco da Gama,  the 1st Count of Vidigueira, a Portuguese explorer and nobleman that was, it is said, the first European to reach India by sea…”. And so, then, as I wander through the city, they tell me that this city hosts an important folk music festival, simply named, Festival de Musicas do Mundo de Sines, where already played names like Shemekia Copeland, Omar Sosa, Taraf de Haïdouks, Black Uhuru, Sly & Robbie, Hedningarna, Tinariwen, Sa Dingding, Kronos Quartet, The Skatalites, Lee "Scratch" Perry, Tom Zé, Femi Kuti, Hermeto Pascoal, Marc Ribot, Master Musicians of Jajouka, Señor Coconut, Trilok Gurtu, Toumani Diabaté, Rabih Abou-Khalil, Mahmoud Ahmed, Salif Keita, Gogol Bordello, Seun Kuti, Nortec Collective and Alamaailman Vasarat, etc. “Oh, the Master Musicians of Jajouka, that is great, I love them…” I say. And then, as they tell me that the best beaches in this country are actually between this city and Sagres, a city on the southwest tip of Portugal, this name tells me something, yes, I have seen it before a lot of times, because yes, Sagres is also the name of a famouse beer brand in this country… And so, as I go down the Costa Vicentina, I pass wonderful depopulated beaches with excavated cellars made inside schist-greywacke sedimentary kind of  rocks, and birds coming from Africa, like the swallow and the black stork, or Ciconia nigra, that, as I get to know, “all years travels between central African countries, like Burkina Faso, Niger, and south Portugal…” a fisherman tells me. And as it goes, after crossing several cliffs, walking up and down roads between beaches and pine forests with sandy terrains, at some point, I would eventually reach the southernmost part of the country, this is, Algarve, and so, as I go though it, I get to know that this name Al-Garbe, simply means “the west” in Arabic language, and so, at some point, when I’m crossing Albufeira, a city famous for being a hub of many English expats, I get in a van with a guy with a goatee and a ponytail, his name Yan. And soon, I got to know that he is actually transporter, this is, “I transport staff between south Portugal and south Spain and the opposite…” he says. And so, along the way, he would confide about his roots… “Say, actually I’m the son of an unscrupulous Englishman of lost whereabouts and a sketchy Greek woman, I mean… my childhood was spent in different islands of the Aegean Sea, where my parents met and lived for a while… islands like Corfu, Milos, Nexus,  Amorgos, Ikaria, Rhodes, Lesbos, etc… this is, in these islands I had contact with the many fugitives from the Asian world, say Turks, Arabs, and other Middle Eastern creatures… and so, still young, I got into problems related with these acquaintances… and, at a certain point, my father sent me to an aunt in Italy, and then another one in France, but I hated France, so, I ended up with my paternal grandparents in Yorkshire, where I spent part of my adolescence… this is, I did some schooling there and then, I would found myself on the road again with a group of hippie bastards… this is, with them I went from Europe to Russia, and then from Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan, from Tajikistan to India, and then, we would hit Bangladesh, Myanmar, and finally Thailand… and so, in the meanwhile, my would friends leave, and I would move to Hong-Kong, where I would work for a while… and then, with the money I did there, I would take a flight to the States, this is, I traveled across America, I mean, I hitchhiked from Washington to Texas and Miami, and then, I even ended up living in the Caribbeans, for a while…” he says, as we pass the border, and then the coastal cities of Cadis, Mazagón, Matalascañas, and the Parque Nacional de Doñana, an area of marshes, shallow streams, and sand dunes in the delta where the Guadalquivir River flows into the Atlantic Ocean. And so, once we reach Gibraltar,  a city located at the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula,  I even help him to unload some furniture here and there, and then, as he keeps his travel, there I stay, this is, in this enclaved British city, I discover a great tunnel perfect for busking, located really in the city center,  and so, during some days I would play my harmonica there, this while watching the tourists passing by, tourist from all europe and some from the Maghreb world also. And so, in the intervals of time between my playing and my moments of wandering, I would attend some morocco-style cafes, humble places that greatly differ from all the other British style kind of thing, where old Maghrebean men come to drink shay and smoke big cigarettes, this, while having their exalted conversations in Arab, Darija or Llanito, a form of Andalusian Spanish heavily laced with English and some arabesque expressions. And so, here I’m now, more precisely at “Roxy”, one of that places, this is, here I stay with Amin, and as it goes, say, while we smoke some pot, eventually, he decides to explain to me how he has actually crossed the Baḥr al-Maghrib,  this is, the Mediterranean sea, and so, here he goes now, already asserting that, “The first time we did it… we actually did it in a small dinghy made of inner tubes from truck wheels, you see, ‘kasdi’, and it happened that, the sea… actually dragged us to where we did not expect, and so, unintentionally, we ended up landing in south Portugal… this is, as we landed in Algarve, straight away my friends left to Spain, leaving me alone there… and so, in the meanwhile, I would go to Lisbon, where I would remain for some time, coz, I may say… I liked the Portuguese people, they are humbler than the Spanish, but… there aren't many work opportunities in that country, and so, after a while, I would leave the big city and go to work illegally in the extensive orange tree farms of southern Spain, mainly located around Valencia, say, a city that actually have ferries to the famous island of Ibiza, ‘kasdi’, and, attracted by this name… somehow, I managed to get into one of that ferrie, illegally, but, unfortunately or fortunately, I don’t know now, I got caught on the arrival and they sent me to a special kind of prison for illegals that turned out to be a forced labor camp, and so, there there was also people from Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and also some sub-sahariens, this is, people from Mali, Niger, Chad etc. And so, it was there that I learned how to properly speak and write is Spanish, and then, just then, when I already could speak and write in that language, they would send me back to Morocco… this is, my mother was happy to see me again, but I can’t say the same about my older brother, that soon would put me out of the house, this because, as he said, I had become an infidel... and so, I wandered through the country and eventually would end up in Ouarzazate, at the doors of the Sahara, on the side of the Barrage el Mansour Eddahbi, where I worked for a while, this before reaching Merzouga, a city on the border with Algeria… but you know, ‘kasdi’, in the desert there are no borders and so… after a while I would actually find myself in Tunis where I heard about a place people could cross into Europe, ‘kasdi’, and so... once again I got into a dinghy that would take me to Malta, a European island I had never heard about… say, an island where people speak Arab, Italian and French, all mixed up… and so, then, some months after I would actually reach Sicily, where I would for the Mafia, say, I would do numerous trips between Palermo and Napoli, and then, between Napoli and France, and so, that’s how I came to live in Montpelier and then in Marseille, but there, in Marseille, I got into a series of problems with some Algerian guys, this is, I got arrested, found illegal, and again, they sent back to my country… this is, my mother was happy to see me again, but not my brothers, the same as before… and so, after some months I would came back to Europe again, but, this time I would go to German, and then I would travel through some Balkan countries like Hungary, Serbia and Romania, and at some point, I would eventually reach Istanbul, in Turkey, this is, I would get some girlfriend there, and with her I would travel to Lebanon, where we separated, and then,  I would come back my country going all around the Baḥr al-Maghrib, this is, the Mediterranean sea, I mean, I would go through the occupied Palestinian territories, I would get a job in the port of Alexandria, in north Egypt, and so, after some time there, eventually, I would get in contact with the vessels transporting products between Egypt and other North African countries, and so… that’s how I managed to get back to my country...”, he says. And then, further, I'm no more in Gibraltar, this is, now I’m on the other side of the sea, in Tangier, more precisely, at the Grand Socco, a piazza at the top of one of the city's central hills, more precisely, an intersection of rue de la Plage with rue d'Italie with avenue Sidi Bou Arraquia with rue Sidi Bouabid with rue d'Angleterre and with rue de la Liberté, where there is a night market, and so, here I’m, now inspecting some old trinkets displayed on the cobbled floor around some kind of broken fountain, and so, as it goes, in the meanwhile, I even meet a group of young French people on their way to the Gnaowa music Festival, a festival taking place in the southern part of the country, more precisely Essaouira, former Mogador. Accordingly, I join the caravan, this is, I take the road with then in the direction of Essaouira, and so, going by the Atlantic coast, we pass Rabat, Casablanca, Safi, and then, I’m already at the camping area of the festival, in ‘Saouira, where I manage to make friendship with a couple of krakeb players, being the krakeb a large iron castanet-like thing that commands the rhythmic aspects of Gnawa music. And so, after some days there, attending jam sessions between Europeans, Arabs and Africans, roughly speaking, this people from the festival would take me to Agadir, and then to the Aglou Plage, that is already part of the Souss-Massa-Drâa... and then to Mirleft, perched on top of the gigantic ocher-colored cliffs, where I would eventually find locals selling pots of argan oil, and then Sidi Ifni and Tan-Tan, a town already surrounded by the desert and further, on the border with the Western Sahara, some guy driving a very old Mercedes Benz would actually take me to the  springs of the Layoun oasis, springs that furnish Laayoune, the capital of the western Sahara, and then, the driver of another truck with a load of pumpkins, would eventually give me a ride until the border with Mauritania... and afterwards, a group of Touaregs would actually take me to the vicinities of Dakar. And so, this is, here I’m now, at Malika beach, just on the side of some fish cottages where there are some pirogues turned upside down, pirogues with sentences saying things like “Papa Alada Ndao”; “Yeye Fatow”; “Dieng Dieng Dieng”; “Noo Ko Bokk”, etc. And then, as I wander around, a fisherman that is also a kora player, would eventually accompany me to the city center of Dakar, and so, this is, now, I’m already reaching the Boulevard Dial Diop, and then, as it goes, I pass the Place de l'Obélisque, I go down Boulevard du General de Gaulle that takes me to the Medina where I meet someone that actually wants buy my hair, and then, after passing the Our Lady of Victories monument, I go down Av. Pasteur, I pass the Ancien palais de Justice, now converted into an improvised art center, and finally, well, finally I arrive at Cap Manuel, a place that is said to be the westernmost point of Africa, and so, here I stay, just in front of the Atlantic sea, imagining what can be there, on the other side.