Travel is what we just wanting to be. If facing forward and unbiased, the most damaging epidemic among travelers, the flashes will overwrite any trip. But, if instead, we strive to baste contempt and summary trials, the most dazzling experience pales intransigence, Always alert. Normally, we have to choose from and almost always up to us to assert one or another attitude towards the unknown. Just listen to several people who travel to the same place, even on the same dates, to realize that seem to have been in different places.
The traveler's willingness brand experiences, the largely molded to fit their judgments / prejudice. It is inevitable. Few are, and very wise, those who are far from routine travel willing to change their perceptions and remove them from the inside. That is, course, Trip sublimation: which is capable of changing traveler. The inner journey that accompanies the physical displacement. But that, clear, must be willing to fight with yourself. And, sometimes, conceded the first blow away the desire we. Most, course, feel more comfortable reaffirming, shoring up their worldview without being impregnated by footnotes page. The uncertain security.
Few are, and very wise, those who are far from routine travel willing to change their perceptions and remove them from the inside
I thought about this issue a few days ago, on my return to Tunisia after seven years. Circumstances had changed, because now traveling with our two children, but the suffocation of a hotel where everything was too comfortable soon dragged me to the Medina of Hammamet in a taxi. I searched the gates, identical corners, but this time I could not miss. Memory, that old rascal who, often, breaks when we forget and hides when we turn it harder, did not allow me desorientase. Somehow, this maze of whitewashed alleys, the maze of light and voices of faceless merchants, had left a mark on my hard drive.
We walked to the waterfront, where the walls of the socket die surrendering to Mediterranean, unable to avoid entering a trade after another. For the woman who makes a henna tattoo your children for a dinar (who becomes in twelve) has a brother who owns a shop just around the corner with the best prices in the Medina, and opposite a young man strives to teach your beads, and beyond a group of shopkeepers interrupts their quiet chatter to encourage you to explore their crowded trade.
I searched the gates, identical corners, but this time I could not miss
And you, while, try to find some silence reconcile you with your memories. Turning away from the voices, wandering through those narrow passageways and bougainvillea Andalusian essence embraced the walls.
Then, suddenly, an older man invites you to enter your home. His son, says, lived in Bilbao a few years and speaks "a little" of Spanish. When you politely decline the invitation you're inside, greeting his daughter, you are watching one of those little old televisions had to hit from time to time to recover the signal. His son, how not, Hence walks, but it is very warm for the arrival of the Spanish.
After a curtain, a patio. An elderly woman greets us as we climb in single file from narrow stairs to the roof, where it tended to dry a blanket of red spices like saber looming. Two teenagers idle, I guess his grandchildren, greet us with smiles. By now I'm starting to suspect that the scenic tour of the Medina typical house will cost me a tip. Assumed the disbursement, take the opportunity to take some pictures of this unusual perspective variegated maze of streets. It starts to rain. Touch collect spices to not spoil.
An older man invites you to enter your home and, when you politely decline the invitation, you're inside
Descend the stairs to the exit. Our host takes my arm and asked me ten dinars (five euros to change). Si supiera francés, would explain that when you invite someone to your house you are not charged for it and that of the renowned Arabian hospitality one expects, at least, subtlety claim when the levy. But when you are traveling with children you take away the desire to discuss. I tell him that I think enough with five dinars and reached into my pocket, but I have no notes of less than ten dinars. Conscious, as I said on another occasion, that the tourist must confront the inevitable resignation petty theft chain institutionalized by the customs, extension cord will do as you ask.
Reasons I have already, if I want to, to sour the memory of my return to Medina and, Worse, for that everything else backwards conditional. But Medina did not let go just like that. The drizzle is curdling in rain in just a breeze and we are forced to take shelter under the awning of a shop, in a narrow street full of shops separate from one side to another by just three meters. Looks like the rain is going to be a matter of a few minutes, but far from past, the water is falling ever more strongly.
The drizzle is curdling in rain in just a breeze and we are forced to take shelter under the awning of a shop
Traders invite us to take shelter in their tents, but we prefer to stay where we are, lest we end up taking us a carpet. Soon, sewers can not cope and the water threatens to reach the sidewalks. Two women start to shrink it down the street a few brooms helping thinning hair. From awnings starts dripping water increasingly. My two year old daughter, indifferent to all, falls asleep in his mother's arms. Then bring us a chair on the other side of the street.
Shopkeepers are busy, barefoot, to withdraw all their goods exposed to water, dripping everywhere. They take out their phones and record the fury of heaven. Someone up there has decided to thoroughly flush out the Medina. We passed smiles amid thunder not invited out in the open in search of a taxi. There are, half a dozen people not see again in life twinned by a storm. Complicity is inevitable and they almost want to go to buy something. The reverse of the coin. The opportunity that always gives you a trip to choose which memory you want to stay.
There are, half a dozen people not see again in life twinned by a storm
I make peace with the Medina. It costs me a lot, truth. And even smile thinking of the ten dinars me out the alleged hospital. And when, eventually, think about my return to Hammamet, I'm sure you remember above all that Betsy spontaneous hospitality merchants of Medina. Himself the vieja bribona no lo impide.
