I recently paid a visit to Istanbul. It was my first time and I must say that Iistanbul is absolutely worth even a three day excursion! Not to mention (obviously) the city overwhelming architectural and artistic inheritage, you will be hit by contemporary Istanbul’s astonishing diversity, its hybrid character, the variety of its multiracial and ethnic traditions, its booming economy and its actual “speed of life”. I know that -considering whatever place you wish- there is always a  strong discrepancy between the reality and the perception of reality. Nevertheless, as every updated tourist, who has having a great time, I too shot a short video about three Istanbul famous locations, relatively  to the various feelings the city communicated me. So, no illustrations this time! Yet my video clip has a peculiar graphic carachter in order to quote those romantic artists and travellers who, during late eighteen and early nineteen centuries, enjoyed themselves in drawing, etching and  watercolouring.

Most of us live their lives within a consolidated routine, whose boundaries completely depend by our will. In other words we are supposed to be sufficently self-possessed in order to get out our rate-race as soon as we are fed up with it: our mental well-being cannot but improve! With this respect we typically long for a trip, because a trip allows us to step beyond our mental and physical boundaries in one fell swoop. Among the other remedies late holidays give the persons the chance of making them feel good about themselves quickly, just because set them free to get away from everyday life in a few days. Personally I think that this “wake up and leave” attitude should arise from endless pretexts, each of them very personal. I mean, the fact of  being stuck in a boring life-routine should not be the only reason that drive us when we suddenly realize that we need a break. Sometimes is a song we listen to, or a film we watched to make us going for a precise holiday destination, perhaps a place we have been long time before or a place we have never been. My friend Gino has come from Thailand a month ago and kindly gave me  a new cotton sarong of the real and authentic kind used by north-east Thai farmers. You know one thing? I put the colourful brand label on my desktop and I am watching it  day after day, and I can’t escape the feeling of give up everything: there is just a Thai holiday in my mind!

Illustration Friday topic is: boundaries

I am quite an organized fellow when it comes to plan my trips. Since I’m going to be “on the road” usually for long, I always try  to arrange as many details as I can before leaving: booking in advance  is a must for me. Off course many people simply let their customary life-style go on:  late deal holydays is a perfect choice!  I know that a last minute rush to get organized can be fun and exhilarating and, I have to say, I experienced this special frenzy a few times when booking my flights as little as 24 hours before travelling! I suppose that my last last-minute flight happened a couple of years ago, while departing the  pictoresque Manda airfield (Kenya). Actually my first plan included a bus trip to Mombasa. I would left the island within a week so spending a few days more by the beach. Travelling by bus in Africa is a time consuming process, everybody knows, a bit demanding too but quite enjoyable to me. Yet some sudden news from home made my plans changed:  I had to hurry, in order to attend to my exhibition opening that had been anticipated. Fortunately enough the local air carrier had a vacancy on their Nairobi flight next day.  A lovely and imponderable last minute chance which made me feel suddenly happy and brazenly lucky!  The day after I found out that the plane was not exactly crowded: perhaps ten passengers all in all, and, among them a lovely red hair woman I had met a few days before…

I’ve not been yet in the U.S. These days however, a good reason to drive me there would be to visit Key West: I have just been re-reading Hemingways’s  “To have and Have not” and now I fancy a quick trip to this very tiny island, about 6 km long and 3 km wide. Key West City  international airport provides services and, as a matter of fact, there many available Florida Flights nowdays…On board his boat Hemingway’s hero Harry Morgan the smuggler, navigates between Key West and Cuba: a boat full of illegal spirits and Chinese clandestines. Hard and tough, Harry Morgan is the symbol of  every outcast “condemned” to make use of whatever risky trick in order  to survive a society split between who has and who has not. Generally speaking I don’t especially appreciate Hemingway’s narrative; yet  this short novel published in 1937 at the end of the Great Depression, inspired by that era, still conveys strong suggestions. In the present economic world trend, Morgan’s character  sounds so contemporary as his misadventure.

Plenty of cheap flights to India in Bangkok! I had bought one, a night flight to Delhi. I had got my 6 months visa at the Indian Embassy in Sukhumvit. After travelling an year I was now coming back from the costly Japan. Yet it was to early to get back home and India was on my way home: a great, fascinating place to visit,  an affordable and exciting stop-over before to fly to Italy. The night flight found me mostly reading a beautifully illustrated, yet  misleading India guide book. When the plane landed my mind and my eyes were so full of visual stereotypes about sacred cows, sadhu, fakirs, holy men, Kumbha Mela, and then Taj Mahal and Hindu temples, snow capped peaks in Himalaya and the Ganga river, that I said to myself: “The author of this book is just exaggerating and his is a very trivial way to advertise such a wonderful land: there must be a deeper way than this!.” . But, alas! A few minutes later, at the passport control desk, the mature female officer checking my visa, smiled politely and pointed out that, during my six months stay in India, I would surely meet a fakir.  Her concise  talk caused my sudden, puzzled  immobility which she could not but  noticing:  to check that I had understood,  she gently turned her head and glanced to the closest wall where an old poster promoting tourism in India, was sticked: a poster that my eyes had obviously, unconsciously rejected…When I left India 4 months later, not even a fakir had been in sight.

For us Westerners, born and raised by the concept of “fixed price”, bargaining may seem a strange practice at first, or more benevolently, a waste of time. On the contrary Africans think that every bargaining is a challenge to immagination, a friendly way to “duel” with the customer, to value his ability and patience. Despite our different ideologies both of us look forward to get the best value: actually  a holiday deals is the golden rule of everybody who travels on the cheap. But even travellers who have no definite plan but not going home soon, need to bargain. So who cares if an hotel room deal or some souvenirs purchase turn into a time consuming process? The very thing is getting the right price, and even more important, being positively influenced by the local habits. How could I forget, for instance, the never ending deal I had in Mombasa with The Hydro Hotel indian owner some 30 years ago? How to forget his lethargic manner, purposely “provocative”, that included scores of apparently inconsistent questions and ended with a cup of chai sipped togheter, after he had appreciated my skills and before fixing the room final price: 18 kenyan shillings a day. A great price! So when I went back in Mombasa Old Town in 2009, I could not escape the feeling of paying a visit to the old and lousy Hydro Hotel which, I found out, was not changed at all. I climbed the stairs  and reached the same wooden desk at the reception, as in dream. The young clerk listened to my story, laughed a lot and said that the old baba retired just a few years ago…

Illustration Friday topic is: influence

On August 13 morning, 1978, I woke up in  the ground floor dormitory of King George VI Memorial Hostel, Holland Park, London. I was very dizzy. The first thing I could see from my bed was a bunch of clothes in the middle of the room and my room-mates standing around it,  picking up their trousers and shirts…What the hell had happened was clear to me when someone told that burglars had entered the ground floor dorm in the nighttime, by an open window, sprayed the air with some funny sleeping gas, stolen everybody’s money. I was definitely broken! I went to the dorm upstairs where my travelling companion was, I talked to him and borrowed 30 £. All I could do with such little money was to buy a cheap ticket home. I went for Magic Bus. At their travel agency in  Shaftesbury Ave they told me that a coach bound to Greece was scheduled on august 15 at 8 pm; I was supposed to get off in Milan, where my dear aunty lived. The ticket price was 25 £! All I had to do was to survive until the bus departure. Friends of friends drove me in Weighton rd, Penge, where someone else lived in a squat. I was welcomed and I was suggested to attend the nearby Hare Krishna restaurant where I could get free vegetable soups. On august 15, the magic bus left from Charing Cross. I was on board, rather hungry, a Wimpy Bar sandwich in a box, 5 copper pence in my right pocket and the absolute certitude to be in Milan in less than 48 hours. The bus was overcrowded by last minute tourists, willingly looking their hot greece holidays. In a hurry, we all where positively hurry for some reason, but, alas! that bus company was really magic. As soon as we reached Chamonix Bus Station, on the French side of  Mont Blanc tunnel, the Greek driver asked everybody to get off:  a new magic bus would be arrived in half an hour and picked up all of us. It is a fact that after 6 hours no bus whatever was in sight yet! All The Brits where absolutely disgusted and very, very angry. I left them there , still waiting for their never coming bus, and I  caught an ordinary shuttle bus to Aosta, Italy. Once in Aosta I went to a police station, I showed my fully empty pockets, so getting a printed temporary permit to travel by train for free to Milan. Happiness and exctiment swelled within me: I felt so proud, I was just 18 after all…

Illustration friday topic is: swell

A very good reason for a cyprus holidays is to visit the archeological greek sites, particularly the temple of Aphrodite and the Sanctuary of Apollo Hylates.  Everybody who has been visiting some “special” archeological area, has experienced a very peculiar and powerful  feeling, something that really can project the visitor back in the past, making him almost able to be phisically in that very place many centuries ago, among the ancient inhabitants and their voices…I suppose that the temple of Apollo in Cyprus makes no exeption: about 2,5 kilometres west of the area of Kourion’s ancient city stands the temple of Apollo “Hylates”. In it -being one of the main religious centres of ancient Cyprus -pilgrims form all parts of the island arrived at the sanctuary of Apollo and entered in it through its two main gates…Can you figure this out?

A trip to Cyprus is also a trip back to greek mythology. According to the myth, Cyprus claims Aphrodhite’s birth from the island waters. The fact that Aphrodite, among hers many names, is also called Cypris (Lady of Cyprus), might confirm this thesis. Wherever she borned, the myth of her birth has been widely depicted by classical art history. Perhaps the most famous reperesentation is  Botticelli’s The birth of Venus, definitely an outstanding masterpiece. In my poor an imperfect illustration, Aphrodhite is giving her shoulders to Cyprus southern area where the Troodos volcanic chain culminates at nearly 2000 mt. This is an area covered by forest that is sometimes quite thick, hiding dozens of richly decorated chapels and small mountain villages. The road stemming from Paphos, on the western coast, crosses lovely mountain sceneries: you might need some car hire cyprus to fully enjoy a road trip to Troodos vallies: once in the area  you will be able to choose the footpaths that go into the forest…

Illustration Friday topic is: imperfect

While reading an old guide book printed  by the former Yugoslavia Tourist Bureau in the mid ’70, I can’t avoid some personal memories.  My hometown Ancona lies on the Italian side of the Adriatic sea and, as a matter of fact, the Croatian coast has always been for us the very place heading for a short  holiday: a ship passage takes just a few hours. Everything was cheap in Yugoslavia, perhaps the most welcoming country among the ex-communist block. In 1984, as a moneyless youngster I went for the first time to Croatia, to Ugljan Island exactly. A very few money in the pockets means no comfortable hotels and restaurants. Cheap room renting was ok for me and some fasting too. Yet after a few days I really needed jam, sweet  and fresh blackberry jam. There was just a food shop. I went in and bought a jam jar. The label was peculiar, simply I couldn’t understand a single word but the expiring date and that stuff was expired since the previous year! So I asked politely the good-looking girl to have my jar changed; the good-looking girl looked at me smiling and politely said “yes sir, off course  consider that all the jars we have here are already expired ! “. I survived indeed the very expired Yugoslavian jam and I was able to happily go back many times more for new Croatia holidays.