Brindisi-Nevsehir Round Trip

04/07/03 and to embark on yet another journey—to attempt yet another escape—the flight from the world—the flight into the world—within oneself—but far from one's own daily life; in the ongoing attempt to lose oneself—only to find oneself again—yet another journey to try—one more time—to understand—so as to find oneself again—on returning—full of renewed optimism—brimming with new hopes—perhaps a little more tolerant—a little more respectful of what is different—and perhaps also a little more different—so as to find oneself again—on returning—strengthened by a renewed desire to resist and to fight—alive in a new, exasperated spirit of survival—more aware—more attentive and to embark on yet another journey—to attempt yet another process of growth—of building up one's own person—of tearing down one's own limits—in the ongoing attempt to reach out towards new frontiers—towards new horizons—to

wards new cultures—to nourish oneself with the world—in the world—to experience people—with people—to finally find oneself—within everything to embark on this yet another journey that—by taking us away—will bring us closer

yasamak bir agac gibi tek ve hur ve bir orman gibi, kardescesine bu hasret bizim! NAZIM HIKMET

(To live alone and free like a tree and in brotherhood like a forest. This longing is ours!)

05/07/03 KATARA To cross Greek soil again six years later—and no longer feel the linguistic limit, even though it exists—nor the cultural one—nor the religious one—the asphalt and the mountain peaks sped by—exactly six years ago—that soil that saw me a stranger and disoriented now speeds away beneath my feet—the same land finally ready to welcome me respectfully—as a citizen of the world—certainly grown—having transformed my simple moving about—into an artistic travelling

and to savour again the same mountains and the same valleys without the endless nostalgia of before—to breathe in the wind without suffering for what is lost behind me—but tirelessly projected towards whatever beautiful thing will be

LEPTOKARIA and it will be the sea—it will be the Aegean—that's what they call it—and yet it sings exactly like my Adriatic—it smells and foams exactly like my Adriatic—only the people celebrate it in another language and with another religion—and keeping me company, Mythos has replaced my Moretti and Assos my Diana—and yet strangely—unlike six years ago—now I become aware that—even if celebrated in another language and with another religion—this sea they call the Aegean smells and foams exactly like my Adriatic

06/07/03 ASPROVALTA

Sunday morning at dawn—the force of the wind and the song of the sea—still travelling without having even had the time to stop and meditate on the physical and cultural immensity of Mount Olympus, which slipped by on my left—still travelling—driven by a supernatural urge to go on—by a strange force that continually pushes me to get up and walk—because the limit is time—and it is profoundly unfair to stop and wait—and so one sets off again—one runs fast—one runs enthusiastically—towards the Turkish border

06/07/03 LAGOS

a little village with few souls—just a few eel fishermen and a few men—worn out perhaps by the sun and loneliness—pausing to stare at the sea with their beer and their countless cigarettes—a small village by the sea—the sky crossed by storks and seagulls—as if standing guard over the boats in the tiny harbour—a small village—the last brief stop before the border—the last solitary pause for reflection before immersing myself in the wonderful life of my Turkey—and this nation too has slipped away beneath my feet—this nation too with its fabulous sea—its green mountains and its sky of an almost unnatural blue—this nation in white and blue stripes has also slipped away—perhaps too quickly—perhaps even a little unconsciously—it has slipped away

Men

who live this sea who live this sky as an escape harbour the only contact with the social governed by laws written by other men for these men who freely choose to live this sea to live this sky as an escape

three hours at the border—after all it's normal—typical Turkish bureaucracy—and immediately afterwards the road—a typical Turkish road—clarifying the Turkish mentality—here the mountains are not gently caressed on their flanks nor crossed from within—the road climbs steeply—the asphalt uneven as if to defy all the laws of physics—and then down; almost rolling into the valley—fast in the wind—the next settlement nearly 40 km away—five dwellings—a mosque—hundreds of barefoot children in the street—and then nothing more—for another 30 km or so there will be; again the road—only this unnaturally straight line—and every so often some tired men walking along the sides of it—everything suggests a strenuous struggle—a struggle that apparently seems to end only with the arrival at TEKIRDAG—about 100 km from the border—about 100,000 inhabitants—smooth asphalt—neon lights—the lokanta—the cafés—but i

t's enough to take a few steps away from the centre to realise that all this "civilisation" is just an illusion—it's enough to savour the atmosphere of the outskirts to recognise in it the typical strenuous struggle of the Turkish man—this man once a citizen of the great empire—this man once a keeper of civilisation, now reduced to mere Periphery—and yet courageous and strong—this is the Periphery of Turkish life—proud, respectable and honourable Periphery—this is Turkey—my Turkey

07/07/03 ISTANBUL as every year the usual exaggerated sea of people—the usual unmistakable emotion—the usual smell of endless experiences—that meet and clash even for just an instant to merge—Istanbul—simply being, at least for a day, part of everything—feeling at the same time enormous and tiny. Istanbul is many small things—it is stopping to pray wrapped in the mystical air of a mosque—it is giving a corn cob to a man alone in the street—it is admiring in awe the shores of the Bosphorus from the seats of a noisy boat—it is immersing oneself in the shouts of trinket sellers in the bazaars—it is continuing, exhausted, to walk among the crowd so that not even the tiniest detail escapes the senses—Istanbul is everything and nothing—moments chasing one another—sensations racing after each other—Istanbul is simply excess—totality in everything

and at dawn one sets off again—just one day to fleetingly savour my Istanbul—just one day to suck out its existence and then flee away—if only to avoid the risk of remaining trapped in this eternal excess—if only to avoid falling in love with it to such a degree as to no longer be able to do without it—and so from tomorrow the long and unnaturally straight strip of uneven asphalt will accompany me elsewhere—tearing me away from this fabulous paradise of chaos—and yet in my heart I am certain—this is not a goodbye but only a see you again

08/07/03 a fleeting greeting to the sea—I race quickly towards places where life rarely offers men the opportunity to know the splendour of the immense expanse of water—along this apparently endless road that seems to divide the austere Anatolian plateau exactly in half—the noisy old lorries—some battered tractors—and the carts pulled by tired donkeys carrying entire families of peasants towards hard toil—the sunflowers—the wheat—the opium—life slips away over itself—it almost seems that for these people everything repeats exactly the same day after day—between work in the fields and splendid sunsets over the lake—and perhaps they will never have the fortune to see the sea—but who among us can immerse themselves in one of these sunsets where everything is coloured an intense pink?—Lake Tuz—an immense expanse of salt—whitest crystals that take on the colours of the sun and the sky—Lake Tuz

—the infinite wealth of this farming people—slaves to the days and to toil—Marvellous Nature—divine Nature and yet wicked and unjust—endless efforts—hard work—continuous struggle—and a village—and then another—and another still—destroyed by earthquakes—man builds—Nature destroys

09/07/03 AKSARAY

Anatolia—my moment to lose myself in the immense—my moment to find myself again—in a tea garden with my cay—the strong aroma of Turkish tobacco—a good book by the great Hikmet—a pen and a piece of paper—green and blue all around—the noisy chatter of some very large family—and the warmth, at times gently intrusive, of the Anatolian peasant or shepherd—and his infinite experience—hidden behind apparent ignorance—Anatolia is not Istanbul—Turkey is not Istanbul—Turkey is not only Istanbul—the fabulous paradise of chaos gives way to this immense land where infinite simplicity and human warmth reign—Anatolia is this space that is too big, where millions of identical lives are lost—Anatolia is this immense paradise where the West still cannot carve out spaces for itself—it is escape—an escape that allows man to understand the why

09/07/03 TASPINAR

and everything that we hyper-developed Westerners consider civilised by now has slipped away behind me—and for over 150 km even the green of the mountains and meadows has disappeared from view to make way for the parched dryness of the steppe swept only by the winds at this altitude of over 1000 metres—only the suffocating heat of the day remains—the icy cold of the night—a few dwellings with mud and straw roofs—a few fruit sellers and then—all around—only what we civilised Westerners call desolation—a desolation charged with spirituality—with mysticism—with life—a desolation that will accompany me alone for at least another 100 km before offering my gaze the next large urban centre

NEVSEHIR

the city in the heart of Cappadocia that has been welcoming me amicably for eight years now—the city that year after year has seen me grow more and more—the city that has seen me draw closer to this culture until I almost merge with these people—these people so fraternally friendly—so pleasantly intrusive—noisy but kind—at times rough—but trusting—never wary—cheerful and willing—this is my people—this is my long-dreamed-of land—a land that has little to offer if not great peace and solidarity—a land that yells at me to return to my West if only to spread the wonderful teachings it has been able to give me—a land that seems to entrust me with a mission—that seems to entrust me with the arduous task of teaching a different way of life—this land so close to Palestine, Kurdistan and Iraq—this land, sister of the Middle East and yet so peaceful and supportive—uncontaminated by the artificial "

values" of our "civilised" West

10/07/03 I thought I'd set off again—flee away as I usually do—and yet I know I cannot leave this oasis of peace before a few days—before having fully absorbed its rhythms and scents

a deep breath—aware breath of life—unceasing scent of green—and of blue scent of sun—and of peace warmth of a home hospitable and welcoming sweetest melody of voices that speak a different language that express different values and hopes children playing games I don't know women praying prayers I don't know a deep breath—aware breath of life—unceasing life—in everything life—in the green and in the blue in the plant—in the water in the sky—in the stone life—within and all around

midnight—the icy cold made sweet and mild by a çay in company—and no longer feeling the consumerist need to have something to do just because it's evening and it's summer and one absolutely must shut oneself in some pub or nightclub—a çay offered from the heart and a bit of chat exchanged amicably in Turkish is enough—so little is enough to spend some wonderful hours—hours of sincere smiles—full of human warmth and full life—a bulging wallet that steps aside to make room for a smile—a little barrel of beer that—as if by magic—cancels itself before the aroma of a very simple çay—finally made fully happy by absolute simplicity

11/07/03 Friday—and Friday is a holiday—fervent preparations—excitement palpable in the air—excessive cheerfulness in every pair of eyes—the coloured lights that tinge red, yellow and blue this fabulous meadow among the Anatolian mountains—the music that brings everything to life—the smell of lamb meat thrown almost distractedly onto the red coals of the fire—men and women running towards each other to greet each other with warm embraces—after all today is Friday—and Friday is a holiday—and it's as if strangely everyone loves one another—and you find yourself eating at the same table—sharing the same topics—exchanging the same very warm smiles—this magnificent land made even more lovable by a Friday holiday

12/07/03 and this land capable of carrying away all bad thoughts and ugly feelings this land where nostalgia and sadness find no place where one cries only from joy and every effort is sweet this land that alone manages to colour lives and I wish I could become part of the experiences of all these men I wish I could make indestructible the bond between me and this paradise even just so as not to forget -once I have returned to the inevitable consumerist routine of my life- that paradise on this earth exists and is; less far away than one might believe even just to remember that there exist on this earth people capable of giving themselves entirely to the other without expecting anything in return

and over two hundred guests seated at the same table and the sublime sound of the saz the coloured balloons and many sparkling little lights in the night and still so much sincere participation and infinite happiness for a child who is about to become a little man

13/07/03 IZMIR many hundreds of kilometres now separating me from my small great paradise and this strange feeling of uzgunluk all Turkish left alone to keep me company and perhaps only now for the first time with all of myself I feel the need to have you here whoever you are to hold you tight to me and suck all your human warmth to savour on your sweet lips nostalgia and sadness and to confuse -my face against yours- your tears with mine and I miss Erdal Ali Aise Murat Mehmet Gu;lay Ahmet...

and perhaps davvro only now for the first time with all of myself I feel the need to have you near whoever you are I wish I had you here with me on this night that has become too hot and almost excessively western again I wish I could wake up in a sweet embrace and share with someone this overwhelming uzgunluk that I already know will accompany me; for days still or perhaps weeks or who knows sadly tender legacy left to me with love by my small great paradise by that generous land that once again managed to get inside me until it made me feel almost a stranger to this now excessive west

14/07/03 -21/07/03 CESME the mussel seller at the exit of the disco and the corn seller on the very crowded beach the tie-wearing waiters serving doner kebap the Turkish harmonies that blend in the disco with rock rhythms the man who -seeing you seated on a bench along Ataturk caddesi- asks you if you would like something to drink the piping hot çay at two in the afternoon on the beach asking for a discount even on a pack of cigarettes the donkey-drawn cart and the limousine stopped next to each other the yachts that seem to look with detachment at the nearby fishermen's little boats the muetzin who -at five in the morning- invites tourists to prayer the countless kittens keeping you company at the table of any renowned restaurant the windows of the Sheraton overlooking a characteristic alley of the old town the breakfast of cheese and onions and the watermelon cucumbers and carrots serve

d with casualness in the disco

22/07/03 too difficult the port disappearing on the horizon çesme moving away soon it will be only the sea all;around soon it will no longer be the unmistakable smell of Turkish earth too difficult having to give up once again absolute happiness to run once again towards the unhappy but safe port of my home

and I sing once again the separations I sing the farewells and the tears feeling the void all around me far from a culture I feel more and more mine and that now slips away far from the world that surrounds me swallowed by the waves of this sea and I sing once again the reunions I sing the welcome backs and the tears feeling full of a life foreign to those around me feeling perfect and at the same time a foreigner unnaturally happy about my newly regained diversity