Τι είδε ο νοσταλγός από τα μάκρη του λιμένα;...

Το Μερεμετιστάν:

Μιαν άλλη χώρα δηλαδή κι απ'αυτή της επιθυμίας, κι απ'εκείνη της μνήμης, κι απ'την άλλην των βιβλίων του.

Πατριδογνωσία

από το νομό Σερρών

Είναι μουτρωμένοι, γιατί τα οδοφράγματα με τα τρακτέρ θα τους καθυστερήσουν.
Τα λεωφορεία των ΚΤΕΛ αραίωσαν ήδη τα δρομολόγια: κάθε δίωρο. Κάτω από τον πλαστικό θόλο του σταθμού υπεραστικών συγκοινωνιών "Μακεδονία", έχει κιόλας αρχίσει το κρύο που υπόσχονταν από μέρες οι μετεωλογικές Πυθίες. Γέμισε το όχημα. Φορτωμένος κι εγώ με τις αποσκευές του γνωστού ταξιδιού που γράφω στο χάρτη σαν το εκκρεμές το βουτηγμένο στη μελάνη κάθε εξάμηνο. Λίγο πέρα από το Δερβένι αρχίζει η παράκαμψη και ακόμα περισσότερο περιπλέκεται έξω από τις Σέρρες. Αρχίζουμε την ανάβαση από όμορφους στενούς δρόμους κι έχω την εντύπωση πως πολλά χωριά δεν τα είδα ποτέ σε μια φύση καταπράσινη και επιτονισμένη από τα γυμνά κλαδιά κάποιων φυλλοβόλων, φύση που από ανατροφή την αναγνωρίζω ως όμοια με εκείνην των εκδρομών μας: Άσσηρος, Ξυλόπολη, Λαχανάς, Ευαγγελίστρια, Δημητρίτσι, Τερπνή, Σκούταρι, Σέρρες, Εμμ. Παππάς, μετά το μαγικό Παγγαίον Όρος, χιονισμένο και σχεδόν αλπικό. Μπήκαμε πια στο νομό: Παλαιοχώρι, Ελευθερούπολη, Καβάλα. Σύνολο τρεισήμισι ώρες γεμάτες εικόνες και στροφές.

Παγγαίον όρος στο νομό Καβάλας πια

Παρατηρήσεις: μετά την πρώτη ώρα άρχισαν να χτυπούν (βαρούν , βροντούν, ντιντινίζουν, παιανίζουν, κελαηδούν, χασκογελούν) τα κινητά. Οι συνεπιβάτες περιγράφουν με όρους τραγωδίας την περιπλάνηση στα χωριά. Μετά από άλλη μισή ώρα, ανταποδίδουν την κλήση. Στις δυόμιση ώρες αρχίζουν να ξεφυσούν, να βρίζουν τους αγρότες, να καταριούνται την ώρα και τη στιγμή που δόθηκαν ελευθερίες και δικαιώματα. Καθένας κι ο Μεταξίσκος της ψυχής του. Δε χάρηκαν ούτε την άφιξη: είχαν τόσο καθυστερήσει και φοβούνταν ότι έπρεπε να αλλάξουν το πρόγραμμα του απογευματινού καφέ. Προσωπικά το θεώρησα ως δώρο: είχα ξεχάσει τα απόκεντρα, πόσο όμορφο είναι το χορτάρι τέτοιον καιρό, πώς είναι οι χειμώνανθοι κι άλλα μυριστικά στις αυλές, πόσο σπουδαίο είναι να μην έχεις καμιά βιαστική υποχρέωση, τίποτα τόσο επείγον που να σε τυφλώνει. Συνέχισα για την κωμόπολή μου κι όταν έσυρα τα τροχούλια της βαλίτσας μου, ήταν σα να τραβούσα λίγο προς τα κάτω το σκοτάδι του βραδιού, γύρω στις πέντε, μια υγρή κουρτίνα βελούδινη...

Icarus again

I depart

again as planned

everything is now arranged

I guess one gets accustomed

I guess one gets his fair pay

the distance he wished for

the constant doubt

What one may call "here" and "there".

But the aforementioned one starts losing his shadow.

أرض الكوابيس

I somehow interrupted the story of the other day- that travelogue to the unexpected- just to refer to the disappearance of my favorite pasta brand back home. Memory-work proceeds multiplied, because it is the full and personal field where the roads cross, the sights merge, time shifts and where a tiny particle of information may create gigantic shadows.
But, voila, we now crossed the borders and in the nice cloudy day we drive to Damascus. There is no hotel reservation anymore, as you remember. No Meridien, no Damascus International, no Venicia, not a thing. So, the suggestion was to try our luck on the airport way, where the rumors suggested luxury. The distance should not scare us, since the car was available. BUT BELIEVE ME, eventually IT SHOULD. Before long, we reached the area of the International Damascus Fair, some 18 km from the city center, and here it stands: like the late samples of Socialist Grandiose Architecture, Ebla Cham. A huge lobby, surrounded by the internal balconies decorated with wood, that they create the impression that you entered the Scala, in Milan. Nice... We asked for the price, they offered the unbelievable amount of 190 USD plus tax per night. Thanks to what we ambiguously call "Luck", a Jordanian group (part of it actually) has just arrived and, since we happen to know most of the travel agencies in Amman and the guides, this polite young man offered to help us out and to book through his agency. We got the nice, big, warm, nicely painted and decorated room for half the desk price. Great. Then we decided to go to the center, to "Kamal", for a late lunch/early dinner. And by that time we discovered the reality. The streets of Damascus work as the challenge of Labyrinth. Easy to enter, difficult to find your way out: the signs are unbelievable, they are placed at enigmatic locations, and the highways go to thoroughly different directions in case one commits a small mistake. Plus heavy traffic, plus people going the wrong direction and ignoring the traffic lights. After forty minutes we reached, after two hours we went to have some coffee, after two hours and a half we discovered that we were attacked by what is described as "travelers' diarrhea" . Rushed back to the hotel, another fifty minutes, dramatic pressure, agonized moments :). By 8:30 p.m. my friend was sleeping peacefully exhausted from the adventure, the early start of the Eid day and the driving. I went down to the lobby to realize that the huge place is haunted. No one was there, except the waiter, and the night shift guys of the reception. Where could I go 18 km away from the center, under a 15 m long chandelier?
The next day started smoothly: The crowded and, at places, under restoration covered market, Bab Tuma (thank God we did not buy anything except chestnuts, you will know why) , Costa Cafe at Four Seasons. Then we thought why not to go up to the mountain Qassyoon, to admire the night falling onto the city... This was uttered by 5:15 p.m. and we started driving uphill. By 5:40 we were close to the TV antenna, under snowflakes, something so Christmas-like, so I suggested we should drive back. and indeed, we were operating a U-turn when we heard the double scary explosions: the two left side tires had been cut like rose pedals at a sharp edged pit in the middle of the road. The spare was unavailable. So we hastily parked and started going down on foot, under snow. The area is a military zone, due to the presidential palace which is located nearby. Close to the main street we eventually found a taxi, he gave us a lift to a tires' shop (the first day of the holiday not many shops are open anyway) and then we started trying
to find a reasonable solution. In order to replace the tires, one should go up to the mountain to pick them, to put the new ones and, then, to fix them again on the vehicle. Mmmm, you can imagine at what prices, and every time we were moving up and down the owner would discover a previous mistake so the cost would climb higher and higher. How did we go up? By a '70s car, with a 70 years old driver. What did we find there? Around 5 soldiers and an officer setting the poor vehicle under siege. We explained, they checked, they showed interest and care indeed. I kept wiping all along the front window of the '70s car so that there would be some visibility left for our driver. It felt like Karate-Kid 1 exercise. We finished around 9:40 p.m. frozen and poor.
The coming day, we bought few fruits and some cheese and we started driving back. Again some late donations, again some rally from one desk to the other. When we saw the smiles of King Abdullah and late King Hussein, on the borders, we definitely felt better, and we enjoyed the fact that we would have many conclusions to draw in the days to come.
What is Maktub? It is having your left side tires finely cut while your spare is useless and you forgot your tools kit. And many other things...

أرض الأحلام

In English, in the newspaper ad, the brand name of the company was translated as "Dreamland". Which is precise in terms of translation, and so contradictory in terms of connotation. Consider this note as a sketch about the function of destiny, whenever it decides to become grandiose and to prove the humorous root in the universal manual of use. A single event may shock us and leave the impression of a tragedy, while sometimes the succession of unfortunate events that they unfold themselves with the density of nice 19th century prose, may give a fully comical sense.
So this أرض الأحلام (Dreamland) is or, rather, used to be the name of a well established travel agency in Rabiah, Amman, which accommodated the dreams of many Jordanian families and individuals, and of some ex-pats like myself, especially during the occasions of the somewhat longer breaks, during the lesser and the major Feast, the birthday of the Prophet, the day of Independence, the Labor's Day, the Islamic New Year, days like these... For me and my closest friend it has become a ritual in a way to travel to Damascus during these memorable days, in order to divert a bit the iron hand of identical routine days. Damascus is close to Amman (some 200 km), the old city is great, the Wall Gates are plenty, the food is heavenly, Ghrawi chocolates are just an achievement in the kingdom of cacao, the visa process for me is quite simple. Good reasons for making an easy decision or not?
On the other hand, if one decides to book his/her room upon the arrival to the city, this may cost quite expensive. The Syrian normal hotels offer small rooms, very standard-type-of-thing. Therefore, the easy solution is to book through an agency. They have good offers, plus one avoids the hustle of negotiating with taxi drivers. Plus the fun of sharing moments with Jordanian families, the details of behaviour. I have learned pretty much this way and became conscious of even more. My favorite hotel there is Teshreen, which is adjacent to the Stadium of Teshreen: it is not grand, but very warm, with well sized rooms and it forces you to walk to the various locations of interest without tiring you out. I always fight back my friend's tendency towards luxury, but this time I decided to succumb, let us make it a bit shiny with the Meridien option, which is conveniently located next to our favorite coffee shop. This temptation/weakness brought us to the Dreamland.
The second part unfolds in front of the agency, on the first day of Eid Al Adha, from 6:30 a.m. till 7:40 a.m. in front of the locked premises of the agency, expecting for the bus. Only one family (two elderly parents and their 20ish son) was there with their luggage. Gradually we face the truth. A third participant comes to check if the rumours were true: He heard that the owner of the Dreamland collected all the money and rushed to his own dream somewhere in Turkey, fleeing the country. "It was on the News"... Many people, heading to distant destinations lost considerable amounts of money, unlike us who lost no more than 120 J.D. each. We gave a seat to the family to Al Abdali to get a taxi to Damascus. They were decisive and did not want to let down their son, who would travel for the first time abroad.
The facts: The Dream-broker collected some 93,000 J.D. as they said. The guarantee of the office was approximately 75,000 J.D. Hence, for the modest amount of 18,000 he destroyed his name, he harmed his family, frustrated many people who even took loans for their trips, and spoiled the reputation of the tourist business in Jordan. The brother of my dear friend Malik lost the same way his honey moon arrangements and quite a lot of money...Things get cheap at some point, more frequently than they should.
I said, the Sibylla of Shadows: "Well, it is irritating and funny. But let us stay for the Eid in Amman." Ala'a, my friend, insisted on fulfilling the dream. So, there they are the two guys in the car, driving to the borders, crossing with difficulty the borders (bureaucracy is an international phenomenon), giving eidiyyeh (=special treat- money- on the occasion of celebrations) to various Syrian customs' employees, rushing from one stamp to the next. Keep these in mind, and I will elaborate on playful Destiny next time.