From Genoa to Monaco, December 9th 2019

Read "From Genoa to Monaco, December 9th 2019" on TravelFeed.io for the best experience

For the 1st time in my life I touched the Mediterranean sea on the beach in front the island Bergeggi, in Liguria, Italia.

Introduction

I cannot remember whether I have woken up early or late ... When is it ever early or late?! It depends on the person, I suppose... All I knew was that I wanted to arrive to Monaco today to visit my mother. It seems to me that the distance I planned to cross was exactly 200 km... Everything only seems to me and I can’t remember things as sharply as I sit on the main square in Chefchaouen, Morocco, sipping Moroccan whiskey, flowing gently in my conceptual Universe, feeling as in a tiny, protective bubble... Everything is kinda soft and swaying, again a bit noisy. There is a sports match the sounds of which keep entering my left ear, and some fine music coming from a family flea-shop is pushing its way through the noise of the match... People are constantly passing by in front of me. Eight thirty in the evening. An invitation to attend the evening prayer just came from the mosque. Then, a few men stood up and headed for the mosque. The end of the prayer wasn’t announced or maybe I just haven’t heard it, but a Moroccan man who could be the same age as I am sat next to me. He was playing the guitar beautifully on this very same place yesterday. I forgot his name. I keep forgetting names. Many new people come into my life every day making it difficult to remember everybody’s name...

Already I’ve finished my tea. Writing my diary and smoking hash is making me thirsty, so I occasionally reach for a glass that is still empty on the table, reminding me again that I have already drunk its contents. I hesitate to order more. My thoughts are confused. Mustafa just brought a guitar. Yesterday I wanted to bring a cajon and play it here, together with a Moroccan whose name I have forgotten. Here's a new opportunity – he’s here! But I’m having second thoughts. Maybe it would really be best to go get a cajon and order another Moroccan whiskey and enjoy these moments?! Maybe there won’t be another chance to do this?!

I haven't left yet. I'm still here. I'm trying to decide. The noise keeps getting amplified and subdued both internally and externally depending on how much attention I give to it.

Chefchaouen...

...deserves to be shot in color, still!

Day Two

I ended up grabbing my cajon yesterday and playing it on the terrace of Blue Star accompanied by wonderful local musicians who were playing Gnawa music, with gimbri and krakebs, and the Moroccan with the guitar was also there. We played for several hours... It was a few hours of recharging with the sonorous vibes and the togetherness we created in that ring of sounds. We were joined by more people clapping and singing. It seemed I was the only stranger, but I still felt at home.

The Gnawa tune usually begins at a slow pace with lots of warm gimbria bass, and the high and loud metal krakebs’ give it a contrast. The gimbri is made of wood and camel leather, and its wires are made of camel ligaments. The combination of these instruments in a continuous, repetitive rhythm, with a lot of deep, warm melody and soloing gives this music a special dance atmosphere. Often, songs and clapping are added to make this music richer and to increase the volume of the sound. Often, one singer starts and the others repeat the chant, like a chorus. This makes the musicians seem even more connected within the ensemble. It also makes the listeners more interested and often inspires them to engage in dancing, playing, singing or clapping. Also, quite often, the musicians gradually speed up the tempo to a certain amplitude, which takes about 2-3 minutes, and then suddenly with a very effective ending, they mark the end of the song. The krakebs mimic the sound of the slaves’ chains, ringing as the slaves walked or worked, and so this instrument mimics that rhythm of walking and working in chains which would constantly rattle as the shackled people moved. There was a leading singer among the slaves: he would begin to sing the song and the others would follow. In this way, the labor burden seemed lighter.

An Intermezzo

This reminds me of American (or any other) soldiers portrayed in the all-too-frequent and dumb Hollywood movies which depict how the US “saves the world from villains”, when in fact, in reality, it is the US who is the real villain terrorizing others. You know those scenes of a military unit at a US military academy where young, poor Americans, under the pretext of patriotism and the spread of false democracy, practice discipline by marching in a sergeant-led unit? Well, that sergeant is in reality that leading singer among the slave soldiers: he opens the song, and the freshly recruited soldiers respond as a chorus... These are contemporary slaves who are even paid by “their” governments to kill innocent, free people in the countries who stand opposed to contemporary, interest policies; most commonly in oil and other natural resources such as gold, silver, platinum, copper, tin, zinc, aluminium, uranium, water or strategic positions. Thus, the governments of some countries have jointly destroyed many other countries such as Yugoslavia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria and many others in Central and South America, Africa and Asia.

Remember the Dayton Peace Agreement in Bosnia and Herzegovina wherein domestic traitors and separatists – Tuđman, Milošević and Izetbegović – signed a deal with the devil? Well, that agreement marked a new division and a new downfall for the South Slavs! And history repeats itself! Now they are just telling us how independent we are, and in fact we are again slaves to the West. Our agriculture is ruined! The water systems, the irrigation canals, all neglected and not maintained, regardless of the fact we pay for their maintenance... So devastating floods occur.

Water is the source of life, but it can also take life! Agriculture, water and life are closely linked. And how can any state be independent if it does not produce its own food?! A country that does not produce enough food is not independent but highly dependent on food imports! Imagine if food imports were stopped at once – there would be hunger! As long as the import is greater than the export, there is no independence!

Many parliamentarians, ministers and government officials and even their relatives are involved with the business of import. They have agreed to declare lower taxes on imports, lower incentives for domestic producers as a pre-crisis excuse, and they have lowered the prices of domestic products. The banks have however previously approved the business loans to the domestic producers, loans which can no longer be repaid because the price of the products they produce is less than the installment loan they have to repay. The banks then seize the poor people’s inherited assets which they would never ever want to sell otherwise. These stolen assets are worth amazingly more than the fictitious value of the bank-issued loan!

Later, that same bank sells those assets at a low price to cover their fraudulent, fictitious claims towards that same stinker in the importing consort or to one of his relatives. In this way, the hardworking and honest people become homeless, and Tuđman's, Miliošević's and Izetbegović's liars, fraudsters, murderers, bigots and separatists become richer and richer. Of course, domestic traitors are closely linked to European and world fraudsters from Berlin, Paris, London, Brussels, Washington and other, smaller power centers, and act in accordance with the orders obtained from these power centers, familiarly referred to as “directives”. How do you get the South Slavs to sell their grandparents' heritage? First, get them to kill each other, and then offer them “help” with high-interest loans that they will never be able to repay. Then cheaply buy their confiscated assets from the banks. There you have it – the American dream in liberal capitalism and false democracy!

Continuing the Travelogue – Liguria

Back to my journey...

From Genoa, I headed to Monaco at about 12:00 h here I hoped to arrive in three to four hours. That region is called Liguria and it consists of little towns, extremely warm and green, with sandy beaches, and on almost every beach – surfers. It was a sunny and warm day. I also noticed that all these little towns were deserted and empty. These are just clusters of apartments. A bunch of dormitories for summer tourists. They are ghost towns.

And then around 3:00 pm, only 50 km away from Monaco, crowds, deadlock, trumpets, nervousness, pushing, swearing, or that fine capitalist expression – the rush hour. There are many cars, vans, trucks, engines and pedestrians on the road, all at once and everyone wants advantage. Horror! It took me about two hours to cross the last 50 km, using only three gears. Horrible!

While the villains tell us that traditional, Yugoslavian mentality is no longer good and that our sympathy for Nature and other people is no longer good, that all South Slavic, Croatian and Balkan values are no longer good and that only the Western way of life is what is good and what we should be living?!

Well, fine! – if you want concrete, asphalt, huge, empty apartment buildings, millions of motor vehicles on the roads, GMO food, nuclear power plants, deforestation, privatized water sources, insensitivity and indifference, heroin and cocaine addicts on the streets, dealers poisoning your children - cause that's also a reality of the Western way!

The Greeting in Monaco

My mother was again annoying (just a tad) with her fears for me, her little boy, so just before my arrival, she made a remark: “There is always police standing at the entrance to Monaco, and they will probably stop you because you look the way you do and you drive that bucket of a car! Be careful and don't carry illicit things with you, please! If they don't stop you at the border, they could always be watching and following you, and they might stop you later! Be sure to stop at every pedestrian crossing and red traffic light!” [...] But I can tell you for sure! The Italians did not stand on the crossings during the rush hour, and some were crossing regardless of the sign. I stopped every time, just as I do in Croatia. (It’s like listening to my mom!) Decent, cultured and nice! No one in Monaco asked me anything. No civil servants, neither the police nor the military stopped me or asked to see any of my documents.

So, after 5-6-7 hours of buzzing from Genova, I finally arrived in Monaco where my mother and her boyfriend Damir greeted me. Damir is a great man! (And it's interesting he’s an Aquarius just like me...) That same night, mother made a hearty feast, and Damir opened some nice bottles of wine. We talked and hung out until reasonable hours.

That evening, I walked into a fancy casino on a hill in Monaco. I was all messy and unshaven, dressed in a torn tracksuit and white-stained work shoes. I bravely, evenly and proudly paved my way through the elite snobbery of this capitalist principality I was in. Along the way I met cops, suitcase holders, and those whom the wealthy leave behind with the keys of their Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Mercedes’, Porsches, Aston Martins, Teslas... All these servants treated me decently, respectfully, humanly. Maybe they thought I was an eccentric, a rich man, or a son of some wealthy businessman, so they kept acting professional... I bought myself some rolling papers at the casino to finish that flower that the carabinieri haven’t found, and after burning that flower mixed with tobacco in a white paper sheet and inhaling the grey spirits of the plants, I dozed off and was satisfied with a deep sleep in the “safety” of Damir's Monaco apartment.

That's all in this episode! Until soon!

Most sincerely, and wholeheartedly yours,

Nikica Karas