(9) Crete

23 - 28 November 2012, Crete, Greece

Paleochora's beach at night

After Sarajevo, I met with Kara in Belgrade.

Together we travelled southward in order to escape the approaching winter. We passed through humble and lovely Macedonia and finally got to Athens.

On 23 November we left the Greek capital to reach Crete in hopes to enjoy a thrill of summer.

Docked in the early morning in Chania - with a ferry from Athens - we took local buses and hitch-hiked through the island to reach Paleochora in the first afternoon.

This town lies at the south shore of Crete and is supposed to be one of the warmest place in Europe.

Paleochora, Crete

Once there we immediately went to the beach to rest. The deserted field of sand stretched in front of us and gave a feeling of desolation and serenity. Children were playing with their dogs. The low winter sun was brighting and wind pulled the lukewarm air from Lybia.

Looking at those children playing and running free on the flatland made me realise how lucky they are. It must be great to live at a seaside place with a mild winter and to enjoy the freedom that only a small town can allow.

On the other hand, I think that a place like that could be perceived as a cage to escape, especially when children grow up and want to see the world.

However, coming to Crete made me feel better for two main reasons.

Traveling through Crete

Firstly, because I left Athens. One week being stuck in this busy metropolis trapped my mind in a deadlock where my thoughts run in circle at the frenetic rhythm of the city.

Travelling is a way to break this circle and to regain freedom of mind.

The second reason was related to the environment. Meeting the sea, the nature and a more pleasant temperature while leaving cars, pollution and chaos had some clear advantages. Moreover, as my eyes enjoyed a wider view than the narrow one of the city, my mind could open up and relax.

In this setting I asked myself what is the purpose of working an entire life to make money and to pursue a career in a grey and polluted city and then come to a place like this to enjoy two weeks of holiday per year.
 

The Artificial Caves of Matala

That night in Paleochora we slept on the floor of a closed beach bar.

The following days we slowly passed through the island and reached Matala, to see its famous caves.

In these artificial caves - created in the Neolithic Age - we heard that some people are still living and we were thus intrigued to see them.

(8) Sarajevo

26 October - 31 October 2012, Sarajevo

After Mostar I spent five days in Sarajevo hosted by a couchsurfer.

In this post I will report an interesting quote (in English and translated in Italian) that I found on the web about the meaning of travelling together with two pictures I took in Sarajevo.

Sarajevo at Sebilj

“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves.

We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. 

We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. 

And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again- to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more." 

Pico Iyer

 

Cemetery in Sarajevo

"Viaggiamo, inizialmente, per perderci. E viaggiamo, poi, per ritrovarci.

Viaggiamo per aprirci il cuore e gli occhi, e per imparare più cose sul mondo di quante possano accoglierne i nostri giornali.

Viaggiamo per portare quel poco di cui siamo capaci, nella nostra ignoranza e sapienza, in varie parti del globo, le cui ricchezze sono variamente disperse. 

E viaggiamo, in sostanza, per tornare ad essere giovani e sciocchi – per rallentare il tempo ed essere catturati, e per innamorarci ancora una volta." 

Pico Iyer

(7) Medjugorie: Mistaken for a Pilgrim

24 October - 25 October 2012, Bosnia

The main Church in Medjugorie

From Kosovo I headed to Bosnia as I wanted to see Sarajevo before moving to Belgrade.

Arriving from the region of Hercegovina in the south of Bosnia allowed me to stop in Medjugorie and Mostar.

Medjugorie is a destination of catholic pilgrimage after reported apparitions of the Virgin Mary. 

Although not particular religious, I was interested to see this place and the people who go there.

I arrived on the morning of 24 October and the town appeared immediately for its expected commercial side: a lot of shops selling every kind of religious souvenirs to a number of pilgrims from all around the world but mainly from Italy, Austria, Poland and Germany.

A warm autumnal shining sun allowed me to walk around the pilgrimage places only with my t shirt. I climbed the hill to reach the apparition spot where pilgrims were praying and some crying.

Climbing up to the apparition hill

Looking at them made me feel as there was something to feel and to see there. I tried to do that but I could not perceive much more than a peer pressure to take this whole thing as serious and real as possible. Maybe because of my strong catholic education and my consequent resistance to it, I did not feel at ease.

On my way down the hill, I sat on a rock for a short break. An Austrian lady - probably because of my beard, sandals and backpack - thought I was a pilgrim and hence offered me food, money and shelter. Respectful for her faith, I refused her offer: I did not want to take advantage of her devotion.

In the afternoon I participated to a presentation of a community for ex-heroin abusers. Three young men talked about their experience with drug and how their life changed after they entered the community Cenacolo and how they were rescued by faith. This community was established by a nun in 1982. She took a decaying farmhouse in Saluzzo - a town near Turin - and with little money she renovated it and started taking care of young drug addicts. The project worked well and now the community counts about 20 bases in Europe and America, one of them in Medjugorie.

After the presentation it was late afternoon and I needed a place to sleep. So I started asking around in the town for a cheap accommodation. A group with a priest, two mystic nuns and a pious woman offered to me to spend the night in a beautiful villa owned by a wealthy American lady giving hospitality to pilgrims. 

Notwithstanding my resistance and my attempts to explain that I am not a religious pilgrim, they seem to not care about it and eventually I was brought to this place. The pious woman tried to convince me to regain my faith and to enter the seminary to become a priest.

In order to persuade me to come back to the path of righteousness, she insisted that I should meet a clergyman with special capacities to read inside people and talk directly to their heart. I was intrigued by this figure. In a van with other pilgrims arrived an aged bishop on a wheelchair. He is supposed to levitate and to carry invisible stigmata.

I found myself in a uncomfortable situation. I was keeping the hand of this old man surrounded by about 20 devoted people and answering his questions about my life, studies and faith. Eventually, when I said that I do not even pray, he told me that I should welcome Jesus in my heart and he let my hand go. I did not have the feeling that he actually told me anything meaningful.

Probably because they finally realised that I was not a believer, I had to find my own place to spend the night.

In this place of religious pilgrimage I saw a lot of brainwashed people who desperately need to believe in something. On the other hand the most precious experience has been the presentation in the community by the ex-drug addicts. By working hard on themselves, they developed a strong loving attitude that I could not see elsewhere in the religious people or clergymen. Herman Hesse was right: "the shortest way to holiness is the hell". Through heroin those men saw the worst part of life and reached an awareness of themselves, a maturity and a humbleness that I had barely seen before.

My stage after Medjugorie: Mostar

Finally, satisfied for this experience that allowed me to see this contrast, I left the town and hitched to Mostar.

(6) The Beauty of Albania

18 - 21 October 2012, Albania

On the ferryboat at the Komani river

My stay in Albania was brief and limited to its very northern part. Nonetheless I realised that Albania is a unique place. A land of hyper friendly, energetic and roaring people facing problems of a third world country. A culture that seems the result of blending other ones, such as Ottoman, Balcanic, Italian and, recently, American.

Albania is one of the most intriguing countries I visited. A country where beauty melds with misery and where genuineness is everywhere.

This impression was clear already the first day in the country but it was strengthened by the experience of the following ones.

The day after my entrance into the country I woke up in Shkoder willing to reach the Koman river and the Valbona national park. Worried for my safety, I was not sure that hitching in Albania was a good idea.

In the late morning a crowded local bus brought me to Vau I Dejes - which is on the way to Koman. From there I started walking alongside the road leading to this village. While walking I was showing my thumb to the passing cars, aware that walking the remaining 25 kilometers was not possible in one afternoon.

Soon a car stopped and its driver approached me speaking Italian, without knowing my nationality. Bizarre, I thought! He was an Italian priest working with local communities on those mountains. During the travel he explained about the difficult situation in this area, where one of the biggest problems is that most of the children do not go to school.

The road we were driving on was winding up and down the mountain next to a canyon with a river at the bottom that granted me a jaw-dropping scenario. He left me some kilometers before destination. No car was passing by and I could walk in the middle of the road. I did not know where I was going to spend the night but I trusted my fate. 

Accommodation in Komani Village
on the floor of a restaurant

Later I realised that in a country like Albania you can do that. People - especially in the countryside - have a big heart and help if they can. I had the feeling that Albanians are less scared than most of people in Western-Europe simply because they are poor and therefore have nothing to lose. People are used to help each other just because peer support is sometimes the only resource available.

My faith in fate was eventually awarded. In Koman village I entered a restaurant to get some food. There I met a man who lived in Piemonte and therefore speaks the local dialect of my region. He arranged me a place to sleep on the floor of the restaurant and gave me some advices about Albania. One of the main ones he gave was to do not mess up with Albanian women. Allegedly, I could easily get into troubles with men if I gave a longer look at one of 'their' women - wives, sisters, daughters. Fortunately, finding a woman in Albania was not the purpose of my travel.

Komani River at Koman Village

The following morning a ferry navigating along the Komani lake brought me up to the town of Fierze. On the ferry I enjoyed its conformation. A large green-water river divided the mountain range into two imposing entities of rock covered with scattered native green vegetation.

The result was a canyon of uncontaminated beauty. If the same scenario was in any European country, it would be completely over-crowed by tourists. There, in the middle of Albania, fortunately untouched by mass tourism, I enjoyed the sight only with locals and so I felt privileged.
 

Komani River at Fierze

From Fierze I walked and hitchhiked through Bajram Curri to the village of Dragobi in the Valbona national park.

In this mountain village I met a man who escaped Italy because of problems with Italian justice. He offered me to sleep in the infirmary of the local hospital that was closed. He gave me the key and a bottle of tap water and left. In this building there was neither running water nor electricity or heating. I needed food but seemingly there was no shop in the village and I could only see a closed bar.

It was five in the afternoon and in the midst of the mountains it was breezy, cold and quickly getting dark. A beautiful mountain stream was running in front of the hospital. Although we were inside a national park the stream at the village was so full of garbage that it seemed to be running on an open dump. The village was almost deserted. I did not feel good. I felt fever and I was tired by the night before on the floor. I had no other option than to wait in the infirmary for my host to return. Fortunately, after a while the bar opened and I could buy some biscuits.

I plunged myself into the sleeping bag and did not know if the man was actually going to return. After a couple of hours he came with a tray of warm food for me. In my weak condition where the only thing I could desire was something warm to eat the sight of the warm meal made me feel moved. And of course I felt extremely thankful to this stranger, a man who at home I would probably have not trusted and assisted, because of my fears and prejudices. I felt also thankful - I reflected later - to all the local people encountered who welcomed me with a moving ardor.

Mountains at Valbona National Park

In bad conditions following the cold night, the coming morning I reached the highest village of the national park where I took a room with heating, running water, electricity and breakfast for ten euros. I passed the day by resting in my warm room, walking around the village and enjoyed the sight of the unspoiled nature around me.

I met an American woman living there. She runs a restaurant and tries to promote eco-tourism and to raise awareness among local people for respecting the environment (more information about her project). She explained to me that northern Albania is a particular complex reality: in fact it used to be the poorest part of the poorest country in Europe. She explicated that rough dumps are the result of behaviour of local authorities that do not collect rubbish and hence leave local people no other option than create this kind of dump.

The following day two guys of about my same age brought me to Kosovo from where I started my way up to Sarajevo.

I left with in my head one word that sums up my feeling for the country - genuineness - and one sentence that best concludes my experience there:

If you are one of those persons who can see beauty beyond problems, prejudices and your own fears, then Albania is a must for you.

(5) My first day in Albania

17 October 2012, Montenegro and Albania

After Montenegro, three options unfolded before my way to Sarajevo and Belgrade: going directly to Bosnia, staying in Montenegro or find another destination.

Goodbye Montenegro!

I started being intrigued by Albania in Kotor where three girls traveling in a van in the Balkans referred to it as "The India of Europe", probably as they perceived a strong spirituality in it. In the same direction, an American traveler in Kotor amazed me with the picturesque images of the Koman river in Albania. On the other hand, other people encountered on my way referred to Albania as a wretched and dangerous third-world-country. Not to mention all the ideas and prejudices about Albanians in which the Italian culture is soaked.

Okay, I thought, let's see with my eyes what it is about, so that I can form my own first-hand opinion.

On Wednesday 17 October I left Podgorica - where I had a Couchsurfing host - and headed off to Albania. After one week of rain, sun was shining again and it filled me with positive energy.

With two rides I arrived just before the border, which I crossed alone by walking. After the state line, I went along a gravel road surrounded by building sites and heaps of rubble within a desolated landscape as background. Almost everyone I came across was bewildered by the sight of me passing the frontier by foot and said something to me. An ugly man in particular took my hand, strongly squeezed and kept my fingers while screaming something I could not grasp. Finally, out of his repulsive howl I understood something like "one euro". I pulled back my fingers and went further, agitated by the first encounter in the country.

Map of Albania just after the border

I kept walking for about half an hour when a truck - one of the first vehicles I saw - stopped and offered me a ride to a town on the way to Shkoder. Sitting on the planks in the back of the truck with two Albanian men I observed the reality around me and realised that indeed it was different. Somehow it felt good. At that point I could not figure how and why, but I was sure there was something special.

Once in Shkoder I needed to know how to reach a local restaurant, where I was supposed to meet an American working in town. I asked a kid of about seventeen years old about it and he offered to escort me there, even though it was not on his way. During the walk, I was dazed by his candor. In particular, his eyes and smile struck me. His eyes were those of a genuine soul. Those of a child who had already met the sorrow of life yet still kept innocence within. This mix - sorrow and innocence - has not yet led to anger, as it normally occurs at a later stage. His smile was missing a tooth at its side but was glowing and I felt moved by his spontaneity.

After the meeting with the American, I walked around Shkoder's alleyways to find accommodation. I was approached by a man who spoke a perfect Italian and offered me to sleep at his place with his family. I was not sure if I could trust him. Common sense told me to stay away while the situation led me to surrender to his proposal. 

Giorgio - as he wants Italians to call him - and his family were lovely. I enjoyed listening to the story of his life: looking for fortune with no money in Europe and ending up married and part of the local church's choir in Shkoder.

After spending the night with Giorgio and his kin talking about family, religion, spirituality and answering all possible questions about my life, I found my self lying in bed staring at the ceiling and repeating his words as a mantra in my mind: "We should not be ashamed of telling the truth".

Astonished by the quality of experiences done in one day, I could not wait for the next day to come.

On the truck with Albanian men

The main Mosque of Shkoder

(2) Rainbow on Vir Island

29 September - 2 October 2012, Croatia

On Monday 24 September I separated with Kara in Rijeka and continued my travel alone southward to Zadar, the ex Italian city. We said goodbye believing that we would meet again in one month or so but after few days she told me that she was coming to an island near Zadar for a Rainbow gathering in the forest.

I did not know much about it and I was not sure about what to do: proceeding my travel southward as planned or spend a couple of days with her at this gathering. I had this sour and excited feeling mixed with fear when a very new kind of experience presents. Eventually, I decided to take the opportunity to check out what those hippies were doing there.

From Zadar I walked for about one hour to the outskirts, to reach the road leading to Vir island - which is connected to the mainland through a bridge. I got two rides, one of them on the back of a truck. They left me before the town of Kir from where I had to walk for another hour to get to the meeting point with Kara, who was already in the island from the night before.

When we met I joked with her about the gathering. I asked her whether I would be the only person with short hair and whether strange sexual games were involved. Delighted of being together again we arrived into the forest of the gathering. She informed me that people interact with each other as if they were old friends - even if they had just met. Practically, it means to hug everyone and call them brother and sister. Once there I settled into Kara's tent and started my introductory tour of the gathering' 'facilities'. There was a big tepee with a fire inside as the main gathering point, a 'shit pit' for its obvious use, a rudimentary kitchen and a number of tents and other kinds of huts for sleeping. 

A Bosnian and an Italian brother briefly explained to me about the few rules and philosophy behind the rainbow. It is a gathering of people who want to spend their time in the nature and away from mainstream society  - referred as Babylon - and embrace ideas of freedom, peace, love and harmony. Main activities involve meditation, arts, various learning workshops and music. People attending the gathering usually criticise at a different extent the consumerism and materialism of Babylon.

The common food is strictly vegetarian, the consumption of alcohol as well as of drugs is highly discouraged - even though natural soft drugs such as marijuana or hashish are tolerated. However, I have to say that the amount of this drug used in four days by approximately thirty people was less than the quantity I saw consumed in one night out in Turin, Muenster or Brussels by far less people.

The gathering is free: it works through donations. There is a magic hat that circulates after each meal where people can give what they can afford; if they do not have money they can leave their love through a figurative kiss. This procedure is made jovial by a song where people also stand up and dance spontaneously. 

Spontaneity and freedom are the aspects I felt mostly at the gathering where formalities matter little. In fact, I felt that in this kind of setting it is easier to be myself. For example I could sit together with other people playing guitar or just talking and I felt free to leave whenever I deemed necessary without need for particular explanation.

Relation with nature is of great importance: garbage production is kept at minimum level and the environment is cleaned up at the end of each event.

The organising principle is the one of anarchy and unanimity. There is no boss or representative of any sort. Consensus is attained by talking in circles where a small object circulates and gives the speech right only to the person holding it.

Nevertheless, as in all human settings, there were people more involved and influential in the decision making process and others more marginal, as newbies like me.

Two things of this gathering were particularly beneficial for me. Music and healing circles.

Music is everywhere. No electrical music device is used: only guitars, bongo drums, ukuleles, didgeridoos and you name it. The flow of spontaneity is reflected in music. Somebody can for instance start playing a guitar and sing and you can join with other instruments, singing, clapping hands or any kind of rhythmic sound.

The healing circles I attended were mainly organised by a German brother. He is a student of psychology who tries to use art, music and meditation to reach the heart of people. In these spontaneous arrangements participants sit in circle and speak in turn with a twig giving the right to speak only to the person holding it. You can say whatever you wish but it is better to focus on what and how you feel at the moment. Mostly important, you take all the time you need to talk.

The first circle I took part occurred shortly after my arrival. Already there I realised that this experience was powerful. The energy increased as people slowly took down their barriers and came untied of their fears. This was possible as fellows expressed their feelings, sensations and thoughts in a setting inspired by trust and mutual respect.

I tried not to overburden the round with my personal story but to remain positive and focus on the flow of changing impressions. The days before the gathering I had traveled alone and passed through increased uncertainties. A lot of energy lied unexpressed and silent within myself. Round after round I was getting closer to it. This energy - I realised afterwards - was made of the tears I repressed and of the truth I was not ready to accept. This energy finally found its way out and expressed itself in silent tears that were nonetheless visible to the others.

After that moment, I felt very close to these people who I barely knew. A closeness that I had felt in few occasions before and that I deeply craved. A closeness that allows boundaries to fall, together with the impression of individuality.

With these circles I truly opened up to others and I felt to be safe as others were doing the same. Eventually, I realised something that I already knew. Beyond the masks we all wear, we are similar in our feelings, fears, ambitions and desires. We are much more similar than we usually think.

Another aspect I reflected upon was my relation with time. In this kind of context, likewise other experiences characterised by the absence of a strict schedule, my relation with time was sane. You take all the time you need to do what you want to do.

In the last years at university and work my mindset was to always be productive and have a schedule for each moment of my day. I felt guilty and ashamed when I did not. By losing track of time it is easier to focus more on the present experience and less on what comes after and on the time left. Moreover, without schedules pure creativity and inspiration can thrive.

At the end of the gathering I felt that this experience was in perfect line with the spirit of my journey and that it offered several things to learn. Hence, I left by knowing that I will repeat it at some point in the future.

Eventually, the gathering was moved to another location in the north of Croatia.

Kara joined it while I decided to go on with my journey southward, heading to south of Croatia.

(1) Working on an Ecovillage in Istria

13 September - 24 September 2012, Croatia

This post is about the first 'big' experience of the travel.

The first week I passed chilling out in Trieste and traveling through the narrow Slovenian coast, where I spent three nights in the ex Italian towns of Koper, Izola and Piran.

One week after my departure from Turin I entered Croatia, where I worked in an ecovillage in Istria for about a week.

On 13 September I left Piran by hitchhiking and by taking a local bus to the border. From there I entered Croatia by walking. It took about two hours to cross the frontier and reach the first town - Buje - from which I got a ride and a bus to reach my destination in Bale, near Rovinj. There I met Kara, my girlfriend, with whom I spent one week at the ecovillage.

Volunteering in ecovillages is an experience that an increasing number of youth does. Through websites such as Wwoof, Workaway or Helpx you can find ecofarms - but also other kinds of organisations such as hostels or bed&breakfast - by which you can work in exchange of food and accommodation. 

Ecovillage in Istria

The place where I worked is an ecovillage with no community living there - as typically happens - but it is owned by a man of about 55 years old who traveled around the world and volunteered himself in farms in other places. Eventually he settled down and opened this center at his home town. This settlement is eco as it tries to reduce at maximum its environmental impact. Solar panels produce electricity, rain water is collected and organic waste is transformed into compost. Toilets consists of a wood hut with a hole in the middle and sawdust to shovel in the hole after each usage.

The center does not merely involve agriculture-related activities but also others such as art, meditation, dance and various related to nature.

Concerning my experience, we helped in the morning for about four hours and the afternoon was free and we could go to the beach. During my week there I built a bookshelf with Kara, helped the cleaning of the center and completed various maintenance tasks.

It was a good opportunity to spend some time into the nature and for a different kind of experience.

Handmade book shelf

However, I was not enthusiastic and decided to stay only one week for two main reasons.

Firstly, contrary to other ecovillages, no food was provided. Just a kitchen and a hut to sleep - that we actually did not use. We preferred to stay in our own tent, that was cleaner and fleas-free, of which the hut was full.

Secondly, I did not have a great sympathy for the owner of the center. Apparently he is rather friendly and positive. But he constantly gives life lessons and has this superficial attitude to tell that everything is wonderful in the world, that you need to be happy, smile and love always.

Moreover, after talking with other people in the area, we eventually found out that he is well known for manipulating women in order to massage and sexually abuse them. As Kara and other women rightly noticed, he hides himself behind spirituality in order to gain their trust and get sexual proximity.

Feeling uneasy with this situation, after one week we left and spent a couple of nights camping into the wild, close to the seaside.

In those nights I enjoyed letting my self being cradled by nature. I realised that the sound of waves shattering on cliffs and the chanting of crickets in the night is particularly beneficial for my sleep.

I realised that spending nights on the rocks with nothing to do, with stars glittering, the full moon glowing and the sea in front, flattered me with a different angle over life. In this setting my daily worries can be put in perspective and my individuality feels like dissolving into its surrounding. I especially appreciated these nights as I grew up in a big city where the only noises in the night were engines roaring and the urban pollution concealed the night sky.

Eventually we departed and on Saturday 22 September we arrived in the center of Rijeka. The impact with this unpleasant city was strong. The city's dazing lights, the noises and frenzy activity of Saturday afternoon made me feel immediately alienated.

We stayed two nights in a hostel and on Monday 24 September I left Rijeka and continued my travel alone southward alongside the coast.

Shantaram

Mostar, 25 October 2012

When I left home I was reading the book Shantaram, which - despite its weight - I took with me during the travel. The book is about the Australian author's ups and downs of his experience in India.

In short, Gregory David Roberts was a scholar at an Australian university when personal problems led him to become a heroin addict and a robber. Consequently, he is caught by police and condemned to a ten-year jail sentence. He breaks out of prison, flees to India where he enters into the Indian culture and into a flow of extreme experiences. He lives in a slum in Bombay where he sets up a small clinic, joins the Bombay mafia and eventually fights with the mujaheddin against the Soviets. 

Throughout the story emerges a deep human experience told with an accurate and highly descriptive narrative style. The author is outstanding in the description of the different - and at times - contrasting facets of his emotions. He provides his deep understanding of truth, freedom, meaning and humanity.

The book is basically about love: fatherly love, fraternal love, passionate love, love for a friend and for a country. Above all, it is about love for life. This is a book to feel. Through the unfolding events I could feel a lot of insights that made me reflect. Sometimes I felt like reaching a deeper level of understanding by following his words and entering into his heart.

Nevertheless, there are a couple of remarks to be said. Firstly and obviously the book is too long: 936 pages densely written that took me five months to read. Sometimes I had the feeling that he reports episodes that could easily be omitted as not in line with the flow of main events.

My main critic is however on the nature of the book. The work is neither a true story, nor a novel. According to him, main events are true but some details are invented without specifying much about what is true and what is fictional. In fact, this opacity bewildered me. 

A good book needs trust between the writer and the readers. Trust - as in human relations - needs clarity. Either you write a novel or a true story and you are clear about it. In fact, this is vaguely stated but not clear enough and the main information on this matter I had to find on the Internet.

Notwithstanding these remarks, his first-rate narrative style makes it a must for wannabe-writers and I believe that Shantaram is one of the best and most insightful book that I have ever read.

The following is one of the passage I enjoyed mostly:

"I think I'd expected to feel ... nourished, perhaps, and vindicated, by forcing her to tell me what she'd done and why she'd done it. I think I'd hoped to be released by it, and solaced, just by hearing her tell me. But it wasn't like that. I felt empty: the kind of emptiness that's sad but not distressed, pitying but not broken-hearted, and damaged, somehow, but clearer and cleaner for it. 

And then I knew what it was, that emptiness: there is a name for it, a word we use often, without realising the universe of peace that's enfolded in it. The word is free."

(4) On my way to Montenegro! // Verso Il Montenegro!

11 October 2012, Croatia and Montenegro,

After exactly four weeks in Croatia, I left it and headed southward, to Montenegro. The last stage in Croatia was Dubrovnik, which is an amazingly beautiful town on a stunning crystal clear sea. But high cost of living and the huge amount of tourists made it completely unbearable to me.

Hence, I decided to run away from it.

View of Dubrovnik from the Sveti Jakov Beach

In the late morning I jumped on a local bus to a wonderful beach named Sveti Jakov - with unexpectedly few people - on the south shore of the city. The sea was so warm that I could not stop swimming and enjoying the beach life and so left later than planned. Snaking up in the hill I saw a small closed-to-traffic road directed to the main road heading south.

I walked along that way for about an hour and reached the main road. Sun was shining, temperature was extremely mild and pleasant and I enjoyed a magnificent scene over Dubrovnik and its sea. 

With music in my ears and no fixed destination or anything booked, I felt free.

On the main road I got four rides which slowly brought me to a tiny town just before the border crossing to Montenegro. The sun was setting and I was ready to find a place to camp and to spend the night. But finally a guy offered me a ride to Montenegro. In the car I assured him that I did not have any drug with me and that my passport was in order so he accepted to go through the border with me.

Eventually it turned out that problems with the authorities were his, not mine. We spent in total three hours between the border and the police station where we were brought. The young guy is Kosovar and, according to him, Montenegro  - similarly to Serbia - has an issue with people from this nationality. He asked me 20 euros to bribe the policemen so that we could make the procedure smoother. I was tired and also a bit worried after what happened with the bullying policemen at the border. They menaced that they would not let me in the country if I did not withdraw 300 euros to show them that I had enough to live in Montenegro. In that moment I realised why people sometimes can despise the arrogant policemen so much.

After that happening I felt close to my companion in the detestation for the Montenegrin police and I felt like helping him. Therefore, I gave him the 20 euros so that he could make the process smoother and so that they could let him go, and me and my passport with him. Only to then regret it, since with this amount of money I can travel for almost two days. Finally, he brought me to Kotor where, tired, I checked in the hostel Old Town.

At the end of the day the lesson was clear: do not cross international borders with people you do not know enough to trust.

-  Versione in italiano   -

Dopo esattamente quattro settimane in Croazia, ho deciso di partire e di dirigermi verso sud, in Montenegro. L'ultima tappa del mio viaggio in Croazia e' stata Dubrovnik, una citta' incredibilmente bella che si affaccia su un mare cristallino ma che e' insopportabile a causa dei prezzi elevati e della folla di turisti.

Quindi ho deciso di scappare da Dubrovnik.

Sulla collina a sud di Dubrovnik

In tarda mattinata sono salito su un bus locale fino ad una spiaggia chiamata Sveti Jakov - inaspettatamente con poche persone - sulla costa a sud della citta'. Il mare era talmente caldo che non riuscivo a smettere di nuotare e di godermi la vita da spiaggia. Sono quindi partito piu' tardi del previsto.

Dalla spiaggia ho notato una strada chiusa al traffico che sale su per la collina verso la direttrice principale che costeggia il mare. Camminando lungo questa via per circa un'ora ho cosi' raggiunto la strada principale. Il sole splendeva, la temperatura era mite e piacevole e mi sono goduto una maestosa vista su Dubrovnik ed il suo mare. Con la musica nelle orecchie e senza fissa destinazione o qualcosa di prenotato, mi sono sentito libero.

Arrivato sulla direttrice principale mi sono diretto verso sud facendo l'autostop. Tramite quattro passaggi in macchina lentamente sono giunto ad una piccola cittadina appena prima del confine con il Montenegro. Il sole stava calando oltre l'orizzonte e mi stavo preparando a cercare un posto dove mettere la tenda per trascorrere la notte in questo paesino. Nel momento in cui mi stavo rassegnando a quest'idea un ragazzo mi ha offerto un passaggio fino in Montenegro. In macchina gli ho assicurato di non avere alcun tipo di droga e che il mio passaporto era a posto. Ha quindi accettato di attraversare il confine con me.

Alla fine si e' rilevato che i problemi con le polizia di frontiera li aveva lui, non io. Abbiamo trascorso tre ore tra il confine e la stazione di polizia dove ci hanno portato. Il ragazzo e' kosovaro e secondo lui il Montenegro - come la Serbia - ha dei problemi con le persone di questa nazionalita'. Questo ragazzo mi ha chiesto 20 euro per corrompere la polizia e 'oliare' la procedura. Ero stanco e preoccupato dopo l'esperienza con la polizia di frontiera - la quale minacciava di non farmi entrare in Montenegro a meno che io non avessi prelevato 300 euro per dimostrare che avevo abbastanza soldi per sopravvivere nel paese. In quel momento ho realizzato il perche' la polizia arrogante puo' essere cosi' tanto disprezzata dalla gente.

Dopo quell'episodio mi sono sentito vicino al mio compagno di sventura nell'odio verso la polizia montenegrina, e mi e' quindi venuto da aiutarlo. Gli ho dato i 20 euro cosi' che potesse sveltire la pratica e lo lasciassero andare via, io ed il mio passaporto con lui. Salvo poi rimpiangere questa decisione, in quanto ho realizzato che con quella somma posso viaggiare per quasi due giorni. Alla fine mi ha portato a Kotor (Cattaro) dove, stanco, ho preso posto nell'ostello Old Town.

Alla fine della giornata la lezione e' stata chiara: non attraversare confini internazionali con persone che non conosci abbastanza da poterti fidare.

(3) From Split to Dubrovnik

Camping in the olive grove

7 October - 10 October 2012, Croatia

I left Split on the afternoon of the 7 October and I spent the following three nights on the island of Korcula and on the peninsula of Peljesac. I arrived in Vela Luka, one of the main towns of Korcula island, and walked alongside the coastline to find a spot to put up my tent.

I asked a man on an olive grove about a safe place to camp. He offered me to do it in his olive grove that is almost directly at the sea. After setting up the tent, I swam and spent the time before dusk on the cliffs watching the fishermen going out for the night catch. Thoughts were storming in my mind and feelings in my heart. I realised that past insecurities and suppressed tensions were emerging inside my self and I found myself chasing each of them aimlessy. With this spirit I went back to my tent and finally found sleep.

The morning after I woke up and jumped into the sea from the cliffs. The water was crystal clear and the sea completely flat. Swimming was a good start of the day. That day I traveled little by little southward through the small towns of the island. Finally, I ended up passing the night on a campsite in one of them - Lumbarda - where I could enjoy its sandy beach before sunset. I spent the evening reading and writing while sipping a tea in one of the central bar of the town.

Swimming at sunset in Vela Luka

The 9th October I took a ferry from Korcula to Orebic. From there I got two rides to the small cozy town of Ston, around 60 kilometers southward direction Dubrovnick. I decided to pamper myself with a proper meal at restaurant. After two days of biscuits, fruits and bread and cheese the feeling of a good warm meal was powerful. I felt really relaxed and serene.

With the good night sleep of the night before, my stomach full and feeling somehow protected in this small town, I strolled aimlessly around its small stony streets. I realised that probably also the distance from the frenetic life of the city and from the internet was contributing to my serenity. In the late afternoon I found my self sitting on a bench beside the local bus station going on reading my never-ending book Shantaram.

I did not care about where I was going to spend the night. I did not want to haste to find an accommodation and I was surprised that I was not worried about it. I just felt fine on the bench going on with the book. Notwithstanding the clear physical and psychological benefits of one month at the sea, I realised that I did not want to continue with the relaxed touristic life of the Croatian coast and that this travel ought to be more than that. With this thought I lied down on the external pavement of a closed bar and waited for the first light of the morning to come.

The following morning just after sunrise I hitchhiked the remaining 60 kilometers to Dubrovnick and so managed to get there when it was still early in the morning...

Dobro Jutro Dubrovnick!