XVIII - The Boy in the Medina - Part 1

The word medina is commonly used to designate the old part of a northern African city, in opposition to the newer part of the city, which usually displays a more modern architecture.  The medina is the heart of Maghreb city. It is the northern-African equivalent to the historical centres of traditional European cities such as Rome, Paris or Prague.

            Walking around the streets of the medina, Leonardo truly felt as if he had entered another world, leaving the world he used to know at the entrance gate. He relished happily in the new smells, sounds and images, immersing himself into a way of living that he had never experienced before.  

            Almost as soon as he set foot inside the medina, a legion of young boys surrounded him. Instead of attending school like their counterparts in Europe, they spent their days trying to earn a few dirhams as improvised tour guides.

            ‘I show you medina - very, very beautiful. You come with me, I show you everything nice, you come.’

            It didn’t matter that Leonardo didn’t need or wanted a tour guide - the infant tour-guides needed customers. To decline their offer three or four times wasn’t enough, for they would just keep insisting indefinitely. After all, he was a tourist, so he was supposed to get a guided-tour, just as they were supposed to be given a generous tip at the end of it. That was how things worked; there wasn’t much point in trying to change the status quo.     

            So, even if that hadn’t been his original intention, Leonardo resigned himself to the prospect of exploring the medina in the company of his very first real Moroccan acquaintance: his personal guide, 11 year-old Rashid.

            Rashid was very much like many Moroccan kids of his age. Although he had gone to school long enough in order to learn to read and write, a few years had already passed since he stopped attending classes. His family lived in the medina, crowded in a small house and desperate for all the extra-income they could possibly get. His mother did not work since her place was at home, taking care of Rashid’s younger brother, Waleed, and his two sisters, Jasmine and Lassa, who hardly ever left the house and had never set foot in a school. His father worked in a French-owned factory in the outskirts of Tangiers, but his meagre salary was hardly enough to support the whole family.  Rashid didn’t have much of a choice but to help his family by earning a few dirhams as an improvised tour-guide of the place he knew best in the whole world: Tangier’s medina.

            During the course of his stay in Tangiers, Leonardo grew increasingly fond of Rashid. He admired his tenacity and precocious nature. Rashid was a young boy who matured long before he should ever have had to, but he never complained about it. Instead, he accepted things as they were, and was happy to help his family in any way he could. 

            Once every two days or so Leonardo felt the need to wander through the mystical streets of the medina, still mostly untouched by western customs.  The ritual was always the same: shortly after walking across the oval-shaped gate, a swarm of boy-tour-guides swarmed around Leonardo, unwilling to let him go until he acquiesced to one lucky child’s services. Rashid was sure to be amongst them, and he was always the chosen one after Leonardo gave up on trying to escape them.

            ‘Okay Rashid, will you show me around? It’s not like I’ve ever been here before or anything…’

 Rashid would then always smile and take him for almost the exact same tour of two or three days before that.

            In spite of the repetitive nature of this ritual, Leonardo seemed to mind less and less having to hire a tour-guide that he didn’t really need. The truth was that he was beginning to enjoy Rashid’s company, and after some time the boy became the main reason why he went back again and again to the medina.

            From his side, Rashid also started to grow somewhat affectionate towards Leonardo. It wasn’t just because he was his best client… it was something else as well, although the boy couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was the fact that Leonardo was quite nice to him, nicer than most tourists. Or maybe it was because of their age difference; Leonardo could well be his older brother and he was someone to look up to. Yet, for the most part, it was probably because he had never met anyone quite like Leonardo before.  He didn’t seem to be very interested in the same things most tourists were interested in. They came to Morocco without ever really leaving their home countries. It was if they travelled inside a bubble that separated them and their world from the new country they were visiting. They weren’t interested in becoming a part of the place they were now experiencing, nor were they willing to truly emerge themselves in a culture that was completely alien to most of them. They came to Morocco armed with digital cameras, sunglasses and European or American arrogance.

Leonardo, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten his camera at home, often looked Rashid in the eyes and so far had failed to display any sort of arrogant behaviour. In fact, most of the time he seemed to be more interested in what Rashid had to say about himself and his family than in visiting famous old buildings, walking around to the endless tourist attractions, or buying cheap, plastic souvenirs to be admired once and then casually discarded. Leonardo may well have been the weirdest tourist that Rashid had ever met during his entire career as an improvised guide.

‘Leonardo, why do you come to Morocco?’

            ‘I dunno, I guess I wanted to know what it looked like in real-life.’

            ‘So now you know what it look like, why you stay in Morocco? Many tourist come here to the Medina one time, but they never come back. I know because I see everyone that come to the Medina. But you, you come back many time. Why? Why no go to Marrakesh, Fes, Casablanca, like other tourist? And why you come here and no take picture?’

            ‘ Why should I take pictures when I can look at things with my own eyes? If I wanted to look at pictures of Tangiers I would have stayed in Europe. The reason why I keep coming back here is because I like it here, and I like talking to you as well. I’m sure all those other cities are very nice, but I’m more interested in people than in sight-seeing.’

            ‘You are very strange Leonardo, but I like you. Maybe I like you because you are strange.’

               ‘Thanks Rashid, you’re a very nice boy. I’m glad you’re such a pain in the ass and you’ve insisted so much to show me this place around… 100 times. It’s nice to have some company and to meet interesting people while travelling.’

            ‘You travel much? You see more countries than this one and your country?’

            ‘Yes, I have travelled a lot. But I would like to see some more countries still. I very much enjoy travelling.’

            ‘I like to travel one day, too. I never leave Tangiers.  Not one time. I want to see the world. I think is very big.’

            ‘It is big, very big. And I’m sure you’ll get to travel a lot one day, Rashid,’ lied Leonardo. He knew it was quite unlikely that the boy would ever get the chance, but he really hoped he would. 

The Traveller is listening to:

More Arabic Music

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4fcI-g1nUE&feature=related

XVII - The Demons Within

  As he walked along the narrow streets of Tangiers, sweat running down his chest and back, the heat tanning his body with every step, the exotic noises and smells surprising his senses at each breath, he knew that wasn’t his place. Yet, there was no town, no village, no building on this planet that he could call “home.”  This place, like anywhere else, was not his own. An outsider, a foreigner, a stranger, a traveller… Always.

            He had ended up in Morocco, as he could have ended up anywhere else. It was not the destination that was important. It was the road. He was definitely looking for something, but he didn’t know what exactly. Or maybe he was running from something.

            Once a good friend of his had told him that, no matter where he went, he would still carry himself along… Several years later, that simple sentence had proven undisputedly true. Spain, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Morocco… no matter where he went, his demons followed him… and he kept running without fully realizing that the thing he was running from would always be within him, tenaciously wrapped around his suffering heart, eternally spiking him, sending him to new, far-off locations. No one escapes from his own personal demons that easily; a car-ride or a boat trip certainly won’t do - not even taking a plane across the ocean will.

            Leonardo did not know exactly what his demons looked like, or where they had come from, but he could feel them there, lingering, whispering in his ears, convoluting his thoughts, fiddling with his feelings… polluting his soul. He could hear their voices, fragments of their speech, asking questions he could not answer, telling truths he did not care to hear.       

            Leonardo’s bright, shining eyes and curious gaze, however, betrayed the fact that this darkness thrived within him. He was wearing blue jeans and a white shirt that afternoon while he walked up the steep street that led to the medina. Even though his traveller’s backpack now lay on the floor of his tiny room back at the hostel, he still remained almost as identifiable as a tourist.

His typical European dress and paler skin set him apart from the other people gathered on the street.  There were merchants selling their goods, their marketing technique mostly consisting of vigorous shouting and gesticulating; by-passers bustling up and down the street in tunics of all colors (djellabas, as they call them in Morocco); business owners patiently waiting for clients to wander into their shops and restaurants; a few street-wise entrepreneurs whispering, ‘Haxixe?’ at the occasional tourist, while others offered to exchange dollars and euros for dirhams.

            All of them were in their own, well-known environment. They knew well what their purpose was. They fit. Leonardo did not. He was different.

            As the locals looked at him they coveted his money and maybe even envied his freedom since most of them probably had never had the chance to go on a vacation to a country different than their own.   Yet they couldn’t see past his seemingly bright situation into the somber depths of his mind.

            Fun was not his goal.  No, definitely not fun.  That is, unless you consider moving to Morocco to run from your demons to be a pleasant getaway.  A shattered sense of identity, a general lack of purpose, a family that could not understand him – these ghosts would just not quit haunting him.

            ‘Maybe, somehow, in Morocco I will find something different…’ he had thought before making the decision to leave Europe. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was looking for…  ‘Maybe all travellers have something to escape from.  Why else would they want to leave a place where they supposedly belong?’ 

            He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the medina’s oval shaped front gate.  It was carved in the middle of a long white wall at the end of the street. Catching a glimpse inside, Leonardo could see even narrower streets that would hopefully entreasure a new bit of Arabic culture about to be revealed to him.

Overcoming the clatter of dozens of voices shouting in Arabic and the shuffle of hundreds of hasty steps, the sound of a flute being played made its way from inside the medina to Leonardo’s welcoming ears. It convinced him to try to enjoy the moment, as the arts often made him do. It reminded him that there was so much beauty in the world waiting to be discovered and appreciated. The sights about to unfold within the medina were sure to be embellished by the sound of a skilled flute, the same way the images in a movie are made more striking by a good soundtrack.

In that moment, standing in front of the oval-shaped gate, he vowed to leave his demons at the entrance.  The burden of their weight was so tiring.   He knew that by travelling he wouldn’t be rid of himself, but he could at least try to build a new self; a self made out of fresh experiences that would provide a term of comparison to the old ones. A new self made wiser by the knowledge provided by travelling and reading. A new self made more complete by the friendship and love of people who were yet to cross his way in the course of his quest.

He travelled because he was scared. He travelled to flee the demons that assailed him for all these years. But that was not the only reason. He was looking for something: answers to important questions that he could not avoid asking. Some of those questions had already raided his mind while others were still waiting to strike. They were what made him a traveller, just as much as his demons had. In fact, some of those questions were fast becoming demons themselves. It was necessary to address them. He had become a traveller because he was looking for something he could not live without: a meaning and a purpose.     

He took a step forward into the medina just as he had crossed the threshold of the Coliseum or passed through the great doors of Notre Dame’s Cathedral in the past and as he would come to step into palaces, huts, cities and forests across the whole world.

He gingerly treaded into it looking for answers as to why we are here,  where we came from or where we are going. He could not live without attempting to understand the purpose of all these things surrounding him, and he certainly couldn’t help but try to decipher the meaning of his own existence.

Maybe he didn’t fit in on the streets of Tangiers, but as he dived deep into yet another world, he just knew that that was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He was not supposed to be at “home,” wherever that might have been. It didn’t matter what people might have said or thought. He travelled because he needed to find answers to his questions or else they would eat him alive.

The Traveller is listening to:

Chop Suey (System of a Down, 2001)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSvFpBOe8eY

XVI - Tangiers

An amazing feeling flooded Leonardo’s chest while the boat got closer to its destination. He was finally getting his first glimpse at what, at least to him, was an exotic and mysterious land. The boat slowly navigated the blue sea, approaching the white-sand beach, soon to touch the African shore.

 He stepped out of the boat, straight into the chaos of Africa. The port was full of shouting vendors, burly men unloading crates of heavy cargo, and tourists scrambling about, trying to find their way.  He immediately pinched his nose shut in disgust; the intense odor of fish, gasoline, and rotten fruit invaded his nostrils with vigor.  He pushed his way through the jam-packed crowd, everyone rushing to their destinies, many of them confused, inebriated by the flavour of the new setting.

The exit of the port led to the city: gateway to a different continent, doorway to an intriguing civilization.  He could almost hear the blazing sun crying, ‘Welcome to Africa!’ and the hot wind whispering, ‘Welcome to the Arab world.’

As he walked along the streets that led from the port to Tangier’s centre-ville with his big backpack clearly revealing his traveller status, Leonardo was joined in his walk by a “good Samaritan” all-too-willing to make him feel welcome in the new town.

‘ Speak English?  Parlez-vous Français? Hablas Español?’

‘English is fine.’

‘Are you American?’

‘No, huh, from Brazil.’

‘Brazil! Ronaldinho, Robinho, good football players.’

‘Yeah…’

‘Welcome to Morocco! Very nice country.’

‘Thank you, I’m sure it’s a lovely country. That’s why I came.’

‘You have a place to stay? I take you to nice place, cheap, very good. You come with me.’

‘I think that I’m okay, thanks anyway.’

‘No really, I know someone who has a hostel, very good, very cheap, I take you there.’

    Leonardo had never been to Africa before, but he wasn’t naïve or stupid. He was a consummated traveller after all, and he wasn’t willing to take unnecessary risks. He took a good look at the guy and decided he seemed a bit dodgy. He was dressed as a Moroccan, wearing a green tunic and sandals with a black hat protecting his head from the sun. His skin, not unlike his hair and his eyes, was the color of dates, darkened by the strong sun. A few missing teeth and a five-day-old beard gave him a rough aspect but it was his attitude, along with the greed in his gaze that made him seem untrustworthy in Leonardo’s eyes. 

Leonardo stopped walking, looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I prefer to explore the city for myself. So I’m gonna keep walking now and I would prefer if you went your own way.’

‘You are going to find trouble in Morocco with that attitude! Not good. You come with me now, I take you to nice hotel.’

‘I said, I do not want your help. Goodbye,’ Leonardo said, more sternly this time.  He took up his path again, hoping the man would stop following him, but to no avail.  Now this guy was really pissing him off.  ‘Stop fucking following me!’  He couldn’t be any clearer than that.

‘You get in trouble like that. Big trouble. ‘

‘It is you who’s gonna be in trouble if you don’t fucking leave me alone!’ He yelled as he shoved the guy in the chest. This time he got the message. For a second, Leonardo could see a flash of rage flicker in the man’s eyes; his own veins flooded with adrenaline, preparing him for a possible attack, but it never came. Instead the man looked around and backed up a few steps. If he did think of assaulting Leonardo maybe it was the stares of several people in the street that had dissuaded him. Leonardo had claimed their attention with his shouting, as he had expected to do.

His stalker turned around and sauntered off, probably with the intent of finding another tourist to squeeze some money out of. But he didn’t miss the opportunity to make another menace yet before leaving, this time coupled with an insult: ‘You will find big trouble, watch your back in Morocco, you stupid sun-of-a-bitch!’ 

‘Whatever, good day to you too!’ Leonardo screamed back at him. ‘I hope not everyone is “this welcoming” in Morocco,’ Leonardo thought.

 His answer came straight away.

‘I’m sorry for his behaviour, sir. There are some stupid people in Morocco, like everywhere else, but most of us are not like that,’ said a man who had witnessed his quarrel. ‘There are some people in this city who see tourists and try to trick them in order to get money out of them, because they are scum. Those people give all of us a bad name, so normal people like myself hate them.’ His words sounded truly sincere and made Leonardo feel more at ease. He thanked him and asked him if he knew where he could find a place to stay that was decent but not too expensive. The man gave him clear instructions on how to reach a street where he could find some affordable hostels.

He followed the instructions and got to a narrow, steep street that linked the beach to the medina. As the man had told him, on both sides of the street there were visible ‘Hostel’ signs, written in Arabic, English and French.

As he walked into one of the Hostels, a man greeted him in Arabic: ‘Salam Aleikum. ’

   ‘…huh… Hello, I’m looking for a place to stay. Do you have any available rooms?’

The man smiled kindly and asked, this time in English, how long he wanted to stay.

‘I’m not sure. But I will probably stay for quite a few days…’  

They went up the stairs as the man walked him to his room. It was as small as a bedroom can be but Leonardo did not mind. He sat on the small bed, which occupied almost the whole room, and looked through the tiny window at the decaying buildings that made up most of Tangier’s urban landscape.

‘If you need anything, say us; we downstairs always,’ the man said kindly before leaving the key and returning to his post at the reception.

  Finally alone, and with a place to call his own, at least for one night, he allowed himself to relax. As he lay down, his tired muscles loosened, his eyes slowly closed, and his consciousness drifted into the world of dreams. 

The Traveller is listening to:

Arab Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHGBouCAdS8&feature=related

V - The Hangover

Leonardo opens his eyes slowly, still half-asleep. His head hurts tremendously, the legacy of a wild night. He is not sure exactly where he is, let alone how he ended up there in the first place.  As he looks at the people stranded across the living room, everything starts to come back to him… he must have passed out at some point, the result of irresponsible drinking. Yet, he is not the only one. He sees three people sleeping on the floor.  ‘At least I was smart enough to clutch this armchair,’ thinks Leonardo. Sleeping on the couch on the other side of the living room is Jean-Pierre, his belly facing the ceiling, legs and arms spread wide, claiming the whole thing for himself.

Leonardo walks across the room, carefully avoiding stepping on the folks sleeping on the ground, even though they look so fast asleep that they probably wouldn’t notice if he elbow-dropped them. He recognizes only one of the three from last night: a Spanish boy, thick accent, brown eyes and dark hair just like himself, a nice fellow as far as he could remember. He’s just laying there, his limbs dispersed all over the place, his face inexpressive, his lips involuntarily kissing the carpet.  He doesn’t recognize the other two, but looking at them now he is sure that they were at the party and that they certainly enjoyed it, or at least they had enough alcohol to potentially enjoy it... He studies them a moment and shakes his head in amusement: a girl in a red dress is sleeping on her side, her makeup ruined, her disheveled blonde hair covering most of her face; another girl, a bit chubby, yellow dress and black tights underneath, has a drop of spittle trickling out the side of her mouth. Elegance personified, he thinks to himself.  The sight of drunk kids in the morning, the scattering for missing people as well as missing memories, the headache and the thirst, the dizziness and the tired muscles, the aftermath of a good house party… This is probably Leonardo and Jean-Pierre’s last true academic experience.    

‘Jean, Jean, wake up,’ whispers Leonardo, shaking him around slightly. It doesn’t work. Jean is sleeping like a log. ‘Jean, wake up!’ He jostles him harder this time, slightly annoyed.

‘Yeah… what?’ he mumbles, eyes now half-open.

‘Wake up man, we gotta go.’

 Where are we?’

‘We’re at the girl’s house, I guess we fell asleep here last night… or this morning, I’m not sure yet. We had an appointment with the guys, though. Breakfast at Popina’s on Sunday, remember?’

‘Yeah, right… breakfast on Sunday… I feel like shit.’

Leonardo chuckles as he says, ‘Yeah, me too. Let’s get the fuck outta here.’

‘There were so many fucking people there, dude. Those girls really know how to throw a damn good party, I would say,’ says Leonardo, still trying to ignore the pain in the back of his head. This hangover is a bitch, he thinks. He takes his mobile out of his pocket and looks at the time: twelve forty-five.  ‘We’re late man. We should’ve been there fifteen minutes ago.’  He glances back at the screen. ‘Dude we should really walk fast, I got eight missed calls.’

It takes them less than ten minutes to walk from the girl’s house to the restaurant. Popina’s is a nice little restaurant situated in Hyde Park, one of Leeds’ student neighbourhoods par excellence. They are famous mainly for their English breakfast, one of the best in Leeds. Since it’s quite cheap as well, it’s perfect for students like Leonardo and Jean-Pierre.

As they approach they recognize their friends seated at one of the tables outside.

‘Wait a sec, Leo,’ says Jean-Pierre quietly, halting abruptly.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing really… I just don’t want to meet them straight away. I need five minutes.’

‘What are you talking about? We’re late.’

‘Don’t worry, it will be alright. How many more times are we going to have the opportunity to pull shit like this together? This is our last hangover as students. It may even be our last hangover together… I want to enjoy it five more minutes. Just let me do it, before you drag me to that restaurant.’ He sits down on the sidewalk, and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. ‘… And since we ‘re at it, let me have a fag without giving me shit for it for a change, I feel like indulging in vice, even if it’s just for five minutes. I’m not ready to be a responsible adult quite yet.’ He lights his cigarette, inhales quietly, then exhales in enjoyment, his lungs a little more rotten, but his soul is free for five seconds.  

Leonardo takes a seat by his side and tries to enjoy the feeble warmth oozing out of the dim English sun. He looks at his friend, cigarette clinging to his thick lips, his skin black as coal, his white hat giving him the gangster look he tries so hard to achieve. He reminds him of Laurence Fishburne’s character in “Rumble Fish.”  Although the movie in itself is bad, it has some of the coolest characters ever, played by some of the finest actors around when they were just starting: Laurence Fishburne, of course, but also Matt Dillon in his prime playing the rogue Rusty James; a teenaged Diane Lane looking amazing as Patty, his girlfriend; Nick Cage, cool as ever in the role of Smokey, the deceitful best friend; and above all, Mickey Rourke as the great Motorcycle Boy. Leonardo has always wished that someday he could be as cool as the Motorcycle Boy.

‘Hey man, did you ever watch a movie called Rumble Fish? It’s not that great but it has amazing characters.’

‘No, I don’t think so. What’s it called again?’

‘Rumble fish.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You know, fish that rumble, fish that fight.’

‘It sounds stupid. What kind of title is that?’

‘I dunno… I don’t remember why it’s called that. But you remind me of someone in that movie; he’s pretty cool. With your white hat and your cigarette and your nice outfit and all... You look cool.’

He laughs, not sure what to make of Leonardo’s compliment. ‘Thanks dude.  I only wish I could say the same to you. You kind of look like shit.’  He nods his head towards a nasty red blotch on his chest.  ‘Is that wine?’

Leonardo glances down at himself. ‘Aw man!’

‘But I was just kidding, you don’t look that bad… except for the stain…’

 Leonardo lets out a chuckle. ‘It’s okay man, I don’t mind looking like shit. After all, it was a long night.’

‘That it was.’

The cigarette burns out and Jean flicks the butt onto the road.

‘That’s five minutes I guess. Let’s not make them wait any longer. Thanks dude.’ Jean-Pierre stands up and lets out a sigh.

‘No problem, man,’ says Leonardo, following him into the restaurant.

The Traveller is listening to:

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana, 1991)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTWKbfoikeg

IV - Lost Boys

‘Come on in boys, make yourself at home,’ says the girl. ‘If you want to, you can help us cook dinner and prepare the drinks for tonight. There is a lot of work to be done. Hopefully this party will be epic! The guests will be arriving throughout the evening.’   

            Leonardo is in charge of cutting the onions and Jean-Pierre of helping one of the girls make the sangria. She is blonde and quite cute. Leonardo can see straight away that Jean-Pierre likes her. He can’t help but feeling a bit attracted to her either, that’s just how boys are. Cute girls have a powerful effect on them no matter what. They don’t really need to do anything special, just smile and blink their eyes at them and that’s it, they fall under their spell that easily.

            ‘So, how did you guys meet each other? I didn’t know Jean-Pierre had such lovely friends…’ says Leonardo, feeling slightly awkward as the words leave his mouth. Usually he wouldn’t say something quite like that, but he can’t phrase it in any other way and is feeling quite confused as to why Jean-Pierre has brought him to a house full of cute girls and curious about where he has met them. This is the first time he has seen any of them.      

            ‘We met at Prêt-a-Manger,’ says one of the girls, Olivia, the brunette who had assigned Jean-Pierre and Leonardo to their “posts” in the kitchen. ‘I went there to buy a sandwich and Jean started hitting on me.’

            ‘Come on that is not true. I was just trying to be friendly!’ replies Jean-Pierre straight away, faking his indignation.

‘Yeah, right…’ Leonardo says.  He knows all too well that in Jean-Pierre’s mind, “being friendly” to girls and flirting with them works as synonyms. Besides, this would not be the first time that he has met a girl like that working. He works part-time at a restaurant in Leeds called Prêt-a-Manger, a popular chain of restaurants in England.

‘Really, I wasn’t hitting on her. I was trying to be friendly, that’s all, I swear!’

‘Is that why you asked me if I had a boyfriend?’

‘Oh well… you never know… I was just being curious.’

Everyone laughs. Even Jean-Pierre.

‘I’m glad he did hit on me though, because after I told him I had a boyfriend we continued talking and we became friends. This was only a couple of weeks ago so that’s why we’ve never seen each other before,’ she tells Leonardo. ‘But he talked about you a lot, so I’m glad that I finally got to meet you,’ she tells Leonardo.  ‘And this way you can both get to know my friends. By the way, what do you study, Leonardo?’

‘Politics. Or at least I used to. I had my last exam today. So I think that, for the first time in my life, I’m not a student anymore.’

‘ Oh, congratulations! How do you feel?’

‘ I feel weird… but great. Actually, I think this is probably the happiest day of my life.’

‘I know exactly what that feels like. I finished my exams two days ago and I’m also graduating this year. Well, let us drink and celebrate all night long! Most people here are graduating this year so this is, for most of us, our last house party in Leeds.’

They cook and they eat. They talk and they drink. Guests arrive in increasing numbers. When night comes, there is hardly one sober person in the house, just drunk boys and drunk girls, celebrating the end of an era and the beginning of another. They do what they have done as students for several years. They drink too much, in an attempt to have as much fun as possible. This is the way of the student in the contemporary west.        

             Surrounded by music, laughter and loud voices that celebrate a new-found freedom, Leonardo and Jean-Pierre’s glasses find each other once more, for the umpteenth toast that day.

            ‘To freedom,’ Jean-Pierre says.

            ‘To the future,’ Leonardo replies.

            ‘To our new lives!’ screams Jean-Pierre.

They drink some more, they party some more, their senses increasingly diminished by the power of alcohol.

A dark thought races across Leonardo’s mind, a thought he shares with Jean-Pierre who is sitting right by his side, drinking his beer, his eyes going through the many girls dancing around them in the living room. They all listen to “Die Young” by the “Sweet Serenades.”  

‘Jean?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I tell you something?’

‘Yeah. Sure. What is it?’

‘ … I think that our generation is different from every other generation that came before.’

‘How so?’

‘We have no real purpose as individuals. We live in a world that is saturated with people and, as a result, for pretty much everything that you can possibly want to do, there is already someone else doing it, probably better than you could ever do it yourself. And as if it weren’t enough, there are also hundreds, thousands, if not tens of thousands of people who are waiting in line just like you. It makes me feel sad that none of us is special. That none of us is essential. That if we die, or if for some other reason we fail to become another cog in the immense machine, which is modern society, someone else will. It makes me sad that every single one of us is totally and utterly replaceable, nothing but surplus, our petty existences completely dismissive.’

‘So what do you wanna do about it?’

‘That’s the thing. Where do we go from here? If society doesn’t really need us, how can we have a true purpose? I feel lost you know?’

‘I know… I feel a bit lost as well…’ confesses Jean, the alcohol in his blood taking its toll.

‘We’re lost boys, Jean, two more of a whole generation of lost boys,’ says Leonardo. He says goodbye to his life as a student and he starts preparing himself for the imminent arrival of the sea of doubts that come with the beginning of an adult’s life.

Welcome to the real world boys. Neverland is no more.

The Traveller is listening to:

Die Young (The Sweet Serenades)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ-jzDsl_ic&feature=related

III - I've Always Wanted to be a Writer

Six empty glasses sit on top of the wooden table, in front of the two young men. At three pints each, they are both quite tipsy already. It is one o’clock in the afternoon ‘a bit too early to be tipsy already, about time to have something to eat’ thinks Leonardo.

            ‘I’m getting a bit hungry Jean’, he says.

            ‘Yeah, I agree. Let’s order something’. 

            Leonardo orders a pasta dish. Jean-Pierre decides to have a cheeseburger. Both order an extra beer.

While they enjoy the warm food and the cold beer they discuss their future, immediate and distant.

            ‘So what comes next? Do you know what you want to do already?’ Asks Jean-Pierre.

            ‘No, not exactly. I know I’m done with studying for now though. Probably forever actually.’

            ‘You don’t want to do a Masters?’

            ‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not that I don’t think it is a good option for many people, but I don’t think it makes sense in my case. I’m tired of studying. I’m almost 25 years old and I’ve spent almost all of those years studying. Now that I finally graduated, I wanna stop for a while and think really hard what I really want to do next with my life. You see, although throughout the years I have had a lot of different thoughts about what I wanted to do with my life I never really chose one of them as a definitive option. I’ve always dreaded making choices that would send me decisively in one specific path. In think now is finally the time to make some real decisions, to finally commit myself towards something.’

            ‘And what might that be?’

            ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure. I’m a bit scared because I’ve never had a job in my life and I don’t know how to find one. And it gets worse, I don’t even know what job I want to apply for exactly…’

            ‘Isn’t there anything you want to do?’

            ‘There is one thing… but it’s not really a job. I would like to become a writer.’

            ‘I suppose that’s a start. Have you decided that recently? You never told me you wanted to be a writer.’ Jean-Pierre said.

            ‘No… I guess I’ve always known that I wanted to be a writer. Maybe not do it as a full-time job, but ever since I can remember I always wanted to write a book someday. I’ve never been really sure about what I want to write about though. Above all, I just know that I want to write.’

            ‘Have you written before? Outside of University I mean?’

            ‘I’ve never written a whole book, but I’ve written some pieces of fiction. When I was a kid I used to write short stories for school. Usually I would get good grades, which fuelled my love for writing. They weren’t exactly good stories since they were but the writings of a child. As the years passed and I got older, I started writing slightly better stories, but nothing of note. My first attempt to write a book came when I was fifteen. I wrote three chapters of a sci-fi novel, but eventually I grew tired of it. Then when I was sixteen I formed a writers club with some of my best friends. We used to write short-stories and set meetings where we would read them out loud. That was my most prolific period as a writer so far.’

            ‘That sounds cool. Why do you want to be a writer, what makes you want to write?’

‘I don’t know… it’s just like… I almost NEED to write. It’s as if all these thoughts are stuck in my throat, waiting to be spoken (or in this case written).’

‘Then I think you should definitely write. After all the most important thing is to enjoy life while we still can, and if you think that writing is that meaningful to you than there is only one thing I can tell you my friend: Write!’

‘What about you, what are your plans for the future?’

‘I’m going to Africa this summer, and I have to write my dissertation. When I’m done, I’m not really sure. I would like to make things work with Marta, so who knows, I may be able to find a job in Spain and move there.’ (Marta was Jean-Pierre’s ex-girlfriend and one true love, she had moved back to Spain a year ago, which was when they had broken up.)

‘That’s nice man. What kind of job?’

‘I’m not sure yet. A good job, in a big company probably. We’ll see what comes up. I want to make a lot of money dude, to buy a nice car and a big house. And then I want to fill that big house with a bunch of brats.’

‘I see. Well, I guess that’s what we are all supposed to do right?’

‘I think so. At least that is what I want to do. And even if you want to write, you will still have to earn money somehow. So I think you will also have to find a job.’

‘That is very likely… I would like to work for the UN or the EU, but I know it will be hard. So I’ll probably have to take some boring job working for a company or something.’

‘Come on, it’s not that bad! You’ll earn your own money so you will be able to do everything you want, without answering to no one. You will finally be independent!’

‘Right… except that I will have to answer to my boss. And I will be a slave of a paycheck at the end of each month… I’ll be as free as a roaming bird huh?’

‘Sometimes you worry me… come, let’s go. Let’s go for a walk and then we have to buy alcohol. We’re going to a party this afternoon.’

‘A party? Whose party?’

‘These people I know. I promise you will not be disappointed. It’s a dinner and a party. We’re supposed to get there at five-thirty to help with the cooking and everything.’

‘That early?’

‘This is the first day of the rest of our lives. The whole day is a big party. Tonight we’re not going to sleep. Come on!’ Jean-Pierre said while getting up. ‘If we keep drinking like this, we will be too drunk to even find the place. Now that we have some free time we can finally enjoy walking around Campus and lay on the grass.  Besides, who knows how much longer it’s going to be sunny like this.’

Leonardo finishes what’s left of his beer in one long sip, following Jean-Pierre’s example, and the two young men walk towards the exit. After walking around campus a bit they finally lie down on the grass, surrounded by many other students, who look for the most part happy and relaxed, an impossible sight two weeks before. Leonardo closes his eyes feeling the warm touch of the sun on his skin, and the soft grass under his back and his neck, and he slowly falls asleep.  

Soundtrack:
La Mauvaise Réputation (George Brassens, 1952)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVy87tdvx8w