skater boys in museum

Last night I bribed 10 skater boys with coca colas and jaffa-cakes, to enter museum, go for a ride. They where seduced by the spotlights I had placed on the usual steps they jump on, giving them light ot play and making them a spectacle of their own, where they have been always yet at the same time in the shadows of the museum and its events.

So, they did enter the round museum, in style of migrating bison, galloped and jumped their stunts trough the circular gallery. "Here comes the apocalypse" grimaces overtook faces of artists and designers participating in the festive fair. Little dogs hid behind legs of owners squealing. And even the security finally had reason to activate their brains and start frightened crab pincer opening and closing walk towards the kids, not sure whether the kids are art or not.

The kids will no longer go unnoticed by anyone present in the museum at the same time.

Oh what merry fun it was.

Smrdljivi Martin- Stinky martin

Kad sam odlučila da definitivno u stanu živi duh, i uapalila sva svjetla, stvori se u sred kuhinje Smrdljivi Martin ,prošeta pedeset koraka kao Clint Eastwood i pogleda me ka, ili ti zgnjeći mene ili ču ja tebe.

So, when I concluded that there definitely lives a ghost in the apartment, and put on all the lights, in the middle of the kitchen appears Stinky Martin the bug, walks 50 feet like Clint Eastwood, than looks at me as if to say , ether you squash me, or I shall squash you.

tutas visit to hvar 1

This time Tuta appeared on my new home, that is the island Hvar with his boat.

I skipped across the riviera, with hands full of groceries and vine, nodding, waving and laughing my hellos to all kinds of people hellowing at me, did unfortunately see galerist whom I wanted to hide from having promised to paint my garden piece all weekend, but Tuta was here I simply had to uproot my plans.

I handed over the groceries. Saluted Tuta with lifting of the hat and kisses to the cheeks. Thus we chigged on to Pakleni archipelago of amasing colored seas.

Pakleni archipelago is made od 17 little islands most of which are uninhabited, largest of which is called St. Clement, or Palmižana after the bay one most likely visits for purposes of restaurants and chill out in the olive trees and hammocks bar. The islands have provided pleasure for man since Rome, when legionaries used to win such exotic locations to retire to from battle.

On my move from living in Rome to Croatia, I was invited by whom I call the old queen or witch of plamižana, to reside in her botanic gardens and paint. I painted fantastic things. But the highlight of my day became riding out on the speed boat to hunt down fishing boats and get fish, and to eat. So in a Robinson Crusoe syndrome I ran away ecstatic with each sailing boat i recognized the captain off back to my house in Kaštela, to tell my self that i am not a forced prisoner and get a ferry back the next day.

Tuta once decided to visit me whilst i lived on palmižana. He had just bought the boat. He and Krivi his double he age, fishermen companion, once owner of large fishing ships, and swore on having the licenses arrived to palmižana. The thing is the day before i had merrily escaped the hell islands-for that is the direct translation of the archipelagos name, and discovered that boats from Hvar to Palmižana had left and my telephone had no batteries and whist trying to figure out how to save my self, the two casually cruised over to Hvar rivera as if it was all pre arranged, picked me, up, presented me with a matching blue and white t-shirt as they wore and drowe towards Palmižana as dusk turned in to blackness.

On the way to palmižana we embarked on fishing. As each time in my woman tainted presence, we threw kilometers of net, to draw them quite barren and wet, with only a few baby fish, forcing us to eat ever in restaurants or starve.

Today, I put lunch to cook, wonderful fish called chicken, and Tuta sailed to the south side of the islands. The sea around Pakleni is a color of diamonds and sapphires and tirkize

In the evening one by one other members of the kastela front line turned up on the island and fully advanced on the park hotel vine bar vine. As a result all prior plans where abandoned we where to set ail the next day.

We sailed to the east coast on saturday moring to the bay of Zaraće. In the bay fish will eat out of our palms, and hundreds of them fearlesley jumped at morsels of bread and could have been caught in a bucket had the men not been just fed and not hunger enough to gut them.. Than zaraće was left for pakleni in the west and at the very last peak of a pakleni island proceeded to make a flag to cocncour the land...

The next day we sat sail again again all prior plans as per usual and embarked on westward circling the island of Hvar . At the western point of Hvar the boat anchored for a swim and lunch break.. when to my surprise I noticed something odd about a tree. It was walking. The tree was a stag with a stag friend. The horned beats came to chill on the beach, chew leaves and lick saltey stones .. What an idyl. There we where swimming among deers in sheer nature and of course with naked germans scuba diving around us.

Coffee memoires

Coffe Memoires

I commence with the coffee that I am sipping whilst writing to you. Turkish coffe is the traditional at home to be had coffee on the Blakan teritory and espresso is the outdoor in the bar reading newspaper coffee.

Turksih Coffee

Turkish coffee is what we call it. However in Turkey its as thick as tar and can only be sucked trough the teeth to keep the coffee sand away. In Egypt they add cardamaom cornels producing a strange tasting mud. In Bosnia they boil water seperatly and heat ground coffee on the bottom of the Jezva pan than mix with water, they bite at sugar cubes whilst sipping the bitter black juice. In Croatia one boils water and plenty of sugar in the Jezica , than adds the ground coffee for it to froth, and is drunk with milk .

My mother makes Turkish coffee with honey, to add a healthy aspect to the un healthy coffee she cant live without.

Balkan Manners

It is considered good manners to bring a packet of coffee and biscuits or other consumables wrapped up in simple white paper, on ones visit to someone’s home on an informal visit.

Just as it is good manners to offer, coffee, juice, rakija, biscuits, cakes, food, and everything one may have in ones house to visitors until it is refused or all consumed.

Etiquette

In Bosina you will receive 3 coffees, a welcome coffee, a conversation coffee and a go away coffee which means there is the door, your coat, shoes, leave.

Medicinal Properties

In the life of JT dear painter friend, espresso is to be drunk, once ,twice, thrice until he goes to the bathroom and produces what he calls proudly his first creation of the day. And only after some hours will he go home and paint.

For digestion problems Zrinka’s recommended home therapy is a Turkish coffee with 16 spoons of sugar, and not the chewing of a bowl of dry seeds from Machu Pichu 24 times as some infidels do.

Tempo

In Croatia the coffee sit down with friends can last an hour or two, and you can add more coffees at different bars after.

In Italy the espresso is drunk at the bar in a shot.

Having come back from out of town I called Caterina to ask her for a coffe, she drowe on her scooter all across Rome to Via del Pelegrini , to order coffe which che fhinished in 3 minutes. I offered another. It was still far too short with the added cigarettes and than she drowe off.

Function

In Split one uses the coffee to sit behind it on the riviera to people watch and comment.

In Zagreb one uses the coffee to be seen.

Drinking coffe at the window of art studio and watching a storm thrash sea over the edge and square gigleling with a friend, sending inapropriate messages, and fortune reading is the best way to consume turksih coffee since I have over cooked and melted the espresso pot, a present of Ivana given for such occasions.

Coffee and alcohol

Quaint old bars in Rome also have a coffee and sugar fluffy cream they add to the espresso, instead of adding bags of sugar. Its lush. They also offer you morning grappa with the coffee.

In Dalamatia after the first 4am coffee fishermen swallow Rakija until lunchtime when they alternate to vine.

Espresso Hirearchy

Italian espresso is the best.

After Italian Croatian espresso is second best.

Than it gets hard. English, German, French coffees are horrible, and so is Mexican. I suppose Spanish espresso comes 3^rd.

4^th A Vienna coffee is not horrid.

5^th Bosinian expresso.

In some countries the espresso does not exist.

If in the wild west of Europe or America in great need of decent coffee find a decent Italian bar or restourant.

The western coffee

In France the best tasting coffee is the noisette. Little espresso little warm milk.

French in general have horrible coffee. They just put too much water in it.
I’m certain they invented the Caffeetiere.. When one gests acustomed to it, and starts being snobby about where the extra terrestial organic grain comes from, as half my London friends do it can be nice, but still its far too watery .

In England offices employees drink 12 mugs of watery instant coffee per day, and dip into it buiscuits such as custard creams, hobnobs and burbons. When English wish to drink good coffe they buy the French caffetieres.

On Brick Lane Indian restaurants they serve Nescafe with double cream, surprisinlgey delicious and surprisingley a fast way to get fat.

Germans cook coffee as if its soup, couple of liters at a time, than fuel their big internal Mercedes engines with it.

American brew coffe similar to the Germans filling macho pint or 2 pint cups with a quantity of milk and water which reflects the size of their macho truck parked in the yard.

In Mexico the best coffee is at Starbucks in Moterray, which is really sad seeing they produce the grain. But to my shock horror Mexicans drink mainleyNescafe.

Nescafe is the death of coffee.

Memoari kave (Hrvatski)

Memoari kave

Počimam s ovom koju pijem dok pišem.Turska zna se je kava u kući, a espresso kave van kuće s novinom.

Turska Kafa

Turksa kava mi je svi zovemo. No u Turskoj je gusta I crna kao katran I može se samo sisati kroz zube de se neproguca onaj crni pjesak. U Egiptu dodaju sjemenke Kardamoma u kori stvarajuči čudnog ukusa blato. U Bosni zavriju vodu odvojeno od kafe koju sprže u džezvi zatim pomješaju s vodom, pa grickaju kockice šecera dok piju gorku crnu vodicu. U Hrvatskoj se zavrije voda I kolicina šecera u đezicu, zatim se doda kava I pije se s miljekom.

Moja mater kuha tursku kavu s medom da bude bar pola zdrava ako je već na nezdravi kava dio ovisna. Moja mater uvijek me odgovara od kave koju pije otkada sam se rodila.

Balkanska pristojnost.

U posjete se nosti kava I keksi zamotani u jednostavni bijeli papir.

Kada imamo goste nudimo, kavu, sok, kolače, rakiju, hranu sve što imamo dok ne odbiju ili se sve potroši.

Pravila

U Bosni služe 3 kave, jedna za dobrodošlicu, druga za razgovor, a treću da vas protjerju van, koja doslovno znači tamo su vam vrata ,kaput, cipele, idite.

Ljekovita svojstva

Za probleme s probavom Zrinkin preporučen kućni ljek je turska kava sa 16 žlica šečera, a ne žvakanje 24 puta svaki zalogaj od zdjele suhih sjemenka sa Machu Pichu kao neki krivovjernici.

U životu JTa dragog prijatelja slikara, kava se pije jednom,dvaput, triput, dok ne posjeti wc I napravi što on ponosno zove svoju prvu kreaciju dana. Tek poslje moze poći kući slikati.

Tempo

U Hrvatskoj ispijanje kave s prijateljima moze trajati sat-dva, te može se I nastaviti u drugom kafiću.

U Italiji espresso se pije na sanku brzinom metka.

Vrativši se u grad zvala sam Caterinu na kavu, skuterom je prešla cijeli Rim da stigne na Via del Pelegrini, I naruči kavu koju je ispila u ravno 3 minute. Ponudila sam još jednu. Čak uz rastezanje s cigretama pre kratko je sve to bilo gotovo prije nego što je skuter zajašila I odjašila.

Funkcija

U Splitu kava na rivi se upotrebljava da bi se gledali I komentirali drugi ljudi.

U Zagrebu kava se korsiti da bi bili viđeni.

Za prozorom ateljea s prijateljicom dok gledamo more kako iskače iz porta na južini,gatamo I šaljemo neprikladne porukice vjerojatno je jedan od naj ljepih načina za ispijanje turske otkada sam prekuvala I rastopila espresso potič poklonjen od Ivane za takve prilike.

Kava I alkhol

Stari rimski kafići nude tučeni šlag od kave I šecera koji dodaju espresu umjesto vrečica sečera. Ukusnisimo. Takoder nude s kavom I grappu.

U Dalmaciji poslje prve kave u 4 ujutro ribari navale na Šibensku travaricu sve do ručka kada predu na vino.

Hirarhija espressa

Talijanksi espresso je najbolji.

Hrvatski espresso je drugi najbolji.

Poslje toga je tesko, Engleska, Francuska,Njemačka kava je užasna takoder je I Meksička.Valjda je Španjolska na trečem mjestu.

4ta Becka kava nije užasna.

5ti BiH espresso.

U nekim državama espresso ne postoji.

Kada na divljem zapadu Evrope I Amerike nađete se u potrebi za dobrom kavom, potražite decentni talijanski restoran ili bar.

Divlji zapad

U Francuskoj najukusnija kava je Noisette.Mala kava s malo toplog mlika.Francuzi imaju odvratnu kavu. Začine ju s previše vode . Sigurna sam da su oni izumili Cafeetiere.Kad se čovjek nauči biti snob o podrjetlu ekstra van zemaljskog organskog zrnja, kao što to rade večina mojih londonskih prijatelja, moze biti ok, ali je i dalje suviše vodenasta.

U Engleskoj zaposlenici ureda ispijaju 12 čikara vodenaste neskafe dnevno, umakajuči kekse od vanilije I čokolade. Kada Englezi žele piti dobru kavu kupuju francuske kafetiere.

U Brick Lane indiskim restoranima serviraju neskafe s gustim vrhnjem za čudo ukusno I začudo brzinksi deblja.

Njemci kuvaju kavu kao da je juha, nekoliko litara svaki put, zatim tankaju svoje velike unutrašnje Mercedes motore.

Amerikanci kuvaju kavu slično njemcima, kavu pripremaju u mačo časama od po ili litre, te pune količinom mljeka I vode koja prati veličinu njihovih mačo truckova.

U Meksiku najbolja kava je Starbucks u Monterrayu, što je veoma tužno s obzirom da kavu proizvode u državi. Bez instinkta za dobru kavu ispijaju Neskafe.

Neskafe je smrt kave.

Betty Hrvatski&English versions

Betty (Hr & English)

Sjela sam na stoti bus preko države od Splita k sjeveru ove godine I čitala Jaka Keouracka ”Na cesti” u originalnom izdanju posuđenom iz Hvarske knjižnice. Knjiga miriše kao da ju se treba udahnuti a moljceva krila stranice se gule dok se okreču. Putnik Jack je prefektni drug za dugo putvoanje. Prekinula sam ga samo da upijem žuto nebo s pistachio rgiama preko , koje su se mjenjale u crveno pa ljubičasto pričajući domorodski jezik koji nisam bila sposobna razumjeti.

Kada se upalila noć bus se zaustavio na uzcestnom kaficu, kupila sam Tvix, smoki I kapučino za šankom, gdje bez uvoda počme pričat engleksa bakica .

Ime joj je Betty.

Betty ima 80 godina I inter-rail kartu.

Dali ju je strah,ne, dapaće putovanje nju jako opušta. Betty je iz Yorkshire. Bila je u Sirakuzi, Siciliji prekjucer.Bila bi uzela nocni vlak al ovo je brze. Jack Keourack koja stara knjiga! Ovo je 17put da je kupila interrail Evrope, a vec je američki interrail prešla 15 puta. Večeras će uzeti vlak za Strazburg ili Grac, ili možda Monako, trebala bi se vratiti kući već če se djeca zabrinuti, 17 dana je na vlaku osim sinoć kada je spavala u 5 zvjezdica palači u Dubrovniku, sretne van sezonske cjene vidis? Nezna dali ima dovljno novaca za jos jednu kafu? Dali ovaj bus ide do kolodvora za vlakove? I mislila je da ne. Gdje je wc molim?

Lebdjela sam do busa facinirana s Betty I zaboravila platiti kapučino .Nije se stvorila na busu. Na tren sam se zamislila pitanjem dali je uopče bila stvarna, I zadržala joj bus. Betty se stvorila ali izgleda da smo zaboravili u medvjed bogatoj Lici nekog momka odjeven kao ljubi-guz koji je čitao instrukcije kako postati političar, dovoljno glup da ga ostavi bus na auto cesti, duhovit ipak da riješi transport do sljedeceg kafića I dobije kontakte vozača da ga pokupi.

Stignevši u Zagreb shvatila sam da me Betty čeka dok izvlačim utorbu autobusa, mandarine, ružmarin, kufer,knjige i platno, dalmatinac putuje lagano kao uvjek. Ona je nosila sandale. Temperatura je bila minus 5 stupnjeva. Englezi na praznicima uvjek ista ododra. Objašnjavanje o tramvaju s mojim konjskim šapatom u oblacima pare iz usta nije baš prošlo pa sam signalizirala da ču je povesti do vlaka s takisejm na putu kući.

Muž joj je bio diagnoziran kao lud prošle godine, I proveo je po godine u ludnici, a sada je opet zdrav hvala Bogu ali ona se trebala malo razveseliti. On nevoli putovati vidiš. Oh ove zgrade izgledaju kao Beč. Betty I njen muz su posjetili Beč za medeni mjesec. Natjerao ju je da tri tjedna provedu studirajuči njemacki na fakultetu. To je njegova vrsta raznode, u svakom slučaju. On je akademik. Studirao je kemiju I pravo kao Margaret Thatcher. Ne ona zeli iči negdje slatko. Negdje maleno. Mozda ce se vratiti u Zagreb sljedeći put. Hvala. Ako slučajno dodeš u Yorkshire. Ma neču ti sada dati broj. Bog Sami, odlično govoriš engleski!

Betty English

I took the 100^th buss cross country from Split north of this year and read Jack Keourack On the road, in its original edition borrowed from Hvar island biblioteque. The book smells like it should be sniffed in, pealing apart as moth wing pages are turned. Jack travelling cross country is perfect company for a long driwe. I interrupted him only to drink in the yellow sun and blue green streaks across it, turing, red and purple talking indigenous I was not capable of interpereting.

When night flicked on bus stopped at a road side bar, I bought a Twix, peanut puffs and went for cappuchino at the bar where an English grandma started talking at me whilst chewing her sandwich.

Her name is Betty.

Betty is 80 and has an inter rail pass.

Is she worried no. Traveling by rail rather relaxes her.

Betty is from Yorkshire. She was in Siracusa Sicily day before yeasterday. She would have taken the train now but this was faster. Jack keurac what n old book she said. This is the 17^th time she has taken the inter rail in Europe not to mention 15 interails trough America. She is going to take a train tonghit, to strazbourg or to Graz, or mayby to Monaco, she should get home really her children will get worried she has been on a train last 17 days part from staying in Palazzo 5 stars in dubronik, luckey it was out of season see. Did she have enough money for aonther coffe? Did this bus go straigt to the train station? She thought not. Where is the loo please?

I hovered to the coach bemused by Betty forgot to pay for the capuchino. She did not appear on the bus . I wondered for moment was she even real, held the bus for her.Betty appeared. But aparantly in the bear filled country we had left some young chap dressed a bit like an ass kisser, reading all kinds of how to become a politician instructions, stupid enoguht to be left on a motorway bar, witty enough to auto-stop people on them to driwe him up to the bus and somehow get contacts and hold down the bus.

Arriving in Zagreb I realised Betty was waiting for me as I tugged at intrails of the bus, clementines, rosemary, books, suitcase and a cavass, Dalmatian travelling light per usal. She was in sandals. It was minus 5 degrees. English on holliday per usual. Explaining the tram affair with my raspy horse whisper in clouds of mouth steam did not go, and I signaled to take her to her next train on my way home with the taxi.

Her husband was diagnosed as mad last year, and spent half the year in an asylum and now his is healthey thank god but she just needed to cheer up a little. He doesent like to travel you see. Oh these buildings look like Vienna. Betty and her husband went to vienna for their honey moon. He made them take three weeks of german at the university. That was his kind of holliday any way. No she wants to go somewhere nice. Some where small. She might come back to Zagreb next time. Thank you. Well if you come near Yorkshire. I wont give you my number now. Bye Sammy, you speak wonderful English!

Virtual Sarajevo Tour, The Olympics

Olympics

Leaving the sources we climbed past country houses with farm animals running freely in the gardens, past, a ortodox church, catholic church and minarets up and high into the foeresty mountain of Bjelolasca.

The bus kicked-us off at the Olympic ski stadium. Sarajevo was the location for 1984 winter Olympics. It is a city closest to the skiing tracks of all other Olympic cities and those Olympics in particular where a success with a ice skating record made by a female skater who was the only in history to receive full points and earn her gold medal. The stadium is surrounded by a thick fir forest, cute snow huts, and the biggest hut off all with a fire, dead stuffed animals, horns and food.

Food.

The most eaten and recommended food in Sarajevo are Chewapchichi. Meatballs finger shaped, grilled, delicious. With something between butter and cheese ower them in a grilled oily bun and ognion. There id also Burek, pastry with meat, and Pita pastry with cheese, and spinjacusa pastry with spinach or potatoe. All of this you eat drinking yoghurt if one is in a muslim restourant, because there is no alcohol to be had, or with Sarajevsko Pivo, beer brewed ower a fresh spring water source in the heart of the old town. Than there is the Bosnian Pot, a broth made of faty meats, and vegetables, with okra. As for deserts

Virtual Sarajevo Tour, Water

We jumped into a horse driven carriage and clacked through one of the longest avenues in Europe whilst the old bag lady of a driver told perverted jokes about good little Muslim girls and their chickens, his metaphor for vaginas of course.

We arrived in the water park where his horse ate my apple whilst his fellow horse men where eating a duck,they had caught in the park and poked onto branches over a fire. “Feathers burn off” they explained.

River Bosnia has 42 sources which surge out of the ground and supply drinkable water to the city. It's a beautiful location with natural lakes, full of ducks and swans gliding about.

Virtual Sarajevo,The Guide

Our hotel was secured for us by a man who looked like he wanted to be Jhonny Depp but seagulls had ridden his head.

Together with circle sunglasses alike his idol, and cigarrete rabbit teeth, he despite not being a guide decided to take us to the ski mountain and source of river Bosna, riding the microphone of the coach in the most unholy way. His audience were proffesional guides, and managers of the biggest tourist agency in ex Yu who found it hard to remain polite to his monotone droning on at leanth on themes which he probably was discussing drunk in a pub the night before. All where gigeling and smirking meanley behind a seat, thus the guide manager snapped at us to quit and be polite in the imperative.

“Most people are welcome in Sarajevo, and we hope they will come back. But two people are not. Do you know who is not welcome to Sarajevo?

I mean they can come, they can walk around the city, but they will not survive more than 15 minutes.

Emir Kusturica and Goran Bregovic.”the guide threathened sounding like he was set to kill them himself in a quiet psychopathic voice.

“War is a funny place there is always a winning side. So they took the serbian side they thought would win. They even changed their religion. They turned against the city which nurtured them. Where they started to play and became known . They made huge statements against their city, against their people, during the war. They went with the enemy who paid for their work and made propaganda against Sarajevo”

“Put on the music”!

Hollered the same manager who snapped at guides to be polite earlier.

Not exactley politically correct her self. But seeing we spoke more or less the same language we got more than we paid for this time. People I know love Kusturica’s films and Bregovic gypsy orchestra, but the director and musician flourished under patronage of a regime which killed 11000 people from the city in which they grew up and the city and the survived do not forgive them.

Virtual Sarajevo Tour, The Hotel

The night ended in the morrnig some how some where and I awoke next day with marcara spiders on my cheeks . Did I tell you about the hotel? Coudnt heve been more apt. It was the Park hotel. Which one would understant is synonym for some grandeur, and we did find ourselfs owerlooking a park, precisely a football park 3o minutes of graveyards and houses away from the center .

Sarajevo is full of sparkely new graveyards. Thousands of white obelixes and turbans sticking out of green grass of the parks and gardens of the pre war metropola.

Our hotel also belonged to that socialist era as the tiles in the bathrooms where chocolate brown as was the minimal furniture, on a blue floor of a 60 watt dim rooms. I found clementine peels in the bed stands, and my room mate found out the toilet flushed once an hour, and the tap falls off if used.

The reason for this diversion from the hotel Europa in cities center, contrasting new and comfortable at whose glass walls we stared at like Oliver Twist did at family homes, was the fact Bosnia and Portugal where playing football that Saturday filling hotels which had to be pre payed. Yet, as people on the Balkans pay everything in installations because they do not trust that they will get exactly what is promised, my coligues payed half the trip in advance, and we where housed far from our expectations.

Our hotel was owned by a member of a minority mafia who wear extravagant 18 century cowboy mustaches. I assumed that the curl at, and length of mustache over lip ,signified their position in the hierearchy but I truly could not tell which was the boss. They smoked. And stared at me. And I stared back. And the group of them journeyed from one lounge corner to the next following time which is not out own but where ever present .

The hotel was hosting the youth football representation, who played a parallel game to the national team with portughese youth, and UFC football trainers and all those who came to Bosnia on a course to receive the qualification. Bosnia is known for sales of all kinds of false certificates,licenses, and university diplomas. So as we descended each morning and night the mustache mafia and footballers uniformed in blue tracksuits checked all the girls out.

I had a bit of a monopoly on whose hair was clean in the morning parade having brought the seemingly only hairdryer.

Virtual Sarajevo Tour, The Driver.

Branka’s volumptuous body dressed in leopard spots, pink lips, gel red nailes and long blond hair sung hearty tragic balakan lulabys to the accompaniment of a double bass, accordion, guitars and volines. “I loved you once” she sung and the young bus driwer mouthed looking in to my eyes kissing my hand across the table. She was the celbrity wife of the twice older and fatter owner, and we where thirty five filing all the seats in the restourant.

It was the driwer who started playing this dark Balkan tragedy on the bus a whole days driwe to baptize us into the atmosphere of Sarajevo. At first we could not understand why so many young girls filled the arena when the toad has concerts in the tv, but on passing the border into Bosnia every restaurant and bar in which we stopped played Halid Beslic. His voice deep, his words tragic, full of love lost and wanted and cheated off are the soundtrack to the only country in the world without a national anthem.

We where not going to eat again, and planed quite rigedley to escape into sarajevo night two, but seeing how the owners had awaited for us with salads on the tables, and treated us to soups and rakija it was far too rude to run away from ordering the famous broadway steaks, and when instruments walked in to the room and started playing the tunes we already knew all the words to, we simply put up our hands up, and let our bones and features groove to the tragedy.

The driver now inicated a ritual of placing money in between the grooves of the accordion and asking for a love song. Than the boy to my right bought me a little gypsy girl song. Than the boss bought his wife a song. And so each man felt obliged to not be tight and spent all the notes in their wallets on songs and alcohol until the rytham spun and players played at each corner of the room, for each woman, we where all on our feet, dancing, with hands in the air, pulling the hearts out, arms around each other, tables full of alcohol and food, feet hitting the wooden floor in rythm.

Part 2, Midday in Venice

We climbed the several tight polished wooden floors furnished with
exquisite antiques to ascend the roof terrace and spy at the stars and
sleeping Venice.

Whilst by day hoards of tourist colorfully congest
all walking spaces forcing every individual to osmose into a singular
slow moving blob, at night forced by some enchantment the people
vanish, white mists rise out of the black waters, the stone
passageways adopt yellow green shadows.

Venice the birthplace of Casanova is haunted by a warp which binds all
who enter it to some-kind of frivolous romance. Being respectful of
rules by nature, on arrival from Milan to spend the night with me, and
take me to his castle A had all intention of consummating the
romance. However whether because it was full moon a bad time for any
beginnings as every white witch knows, or as a result of previous five
days of overindulgence and exhaustion, when A leaned to kiss,
placed his lips upon mine, and i felt the gentle touch of skin upon
skin, I felt a volcanic urge to vomit.

I stopped in middle of a otherwise perfectly clishe’ moment and ran to
the bathroom to ga’losh as silently as I could. Feverishly washing out
my mouth with tooth paste I retuned in to his embrace. Yet the very
next attempt to kiss me , produced the same effect and I had to run to
the bathroom again. How could I explain in such a situation that I had
developed a sudden allergy to A, and we should stop kissing as
his each caress is making my stomach turn?
The whole situation was rather inappropriate. I woke up in the
morning alone in the house. On the table in the living room I found
,fresh yoghurt, two croissants and a loving note from A
announcing that he was awake and naturally beavering away in the
world.

Soon he returned and asked sweetly why had I not eaten his lovingly
left breakfast, yet alike the kisses the breakfast was impossible to
push in to tummy without it fireworking back .

Decidedley I dressed to look like an A's girlfriend should, in
a pristine white skirt and a silk pink top. He took me by the hand and
pulled trough the crowds to show me Venice. Perhaps not by chance, but
by intention we soon run onto his mother’s sister, to whom he
presented me as his fidanzata and lied how we have been together for
months. Charmed by him still to find this pleasantly amusing I helped
act up the story. He than pulled me trough the whole city , on to
spires and stone towers and into churches, even took me into monastery
where it was forbidden for women to enter, where by mishap I fell
asleep at a table in the liberary whilst he looked for a book. All the
stories where fascinating i am certain, but I was so sick that I could
not remember a thing the said all day. I felt tragic about the whole
affair. The harder he tired to please me the worse where the
consequences.

To crown the day A decided to treat me lunch at a restaurant on
the sunny Riviera and surprise me by ordering octopus feet cooked in
vine.

He remembered I loved all sea food quite correctly. However the
bulbous rubbery suckers squashed by my teeth in such a fragile state,
where quite the worst possible texture to test my volatility with and
of course resulted in my running to vomit pink octipous suckers in the
bathroom.

I attempted to act grateful and polite for the lunch by storing chewed
octopus in my mouth like a hamster, and dispensing of it deescreetley
in the loo which I visited far too frequently, until he accepted how
problematic lunch was and allowed me not to finish the plate.

Extreme seafoods are definitely not a way to win a girls quakey heart
I must conclude at this point . My once school-sweetheart brought me a
giant living crab for Valentine’s once I had already left him, hoping
to win me back. I put it in salt water hoping it would live for
symbol’s sake, but it just took long hours to die. Than we boiled it
until it was hollow, chewed on its legs and that was the end of our
multi-year affair.

When the hour came for A to return to Milan I was relived and
certainly, less sad than I was to leave him the previous day. Sitting
in a bar by station St Lucia drinking mineral water, I drew A’s
portrait from memory into the moleskine sketchbook, as pecisley as if
pinnig a butterfy, and concluded that if my body reacted so violently
to him, there was no future to us.

Part 1, Midnight in Venice

It is few minutes to midnight. The last trains are rolling in to stazione St. Lucia howling their goodnights. In front of me is the calm blackness of Canale Grande, a huge full moon sits in the sky above and I am sitting on steps of the train station. Venice is otherwise empty of people. More beautiful for its silence and the fact the architecture is not hidden by masses of tourists. It looks like a theatre setting.

I am a little nervous. Will it happen? I await.

This morning I woke up in Principe de Savoy hotel in Milan with Nina and Ernest asleep in the huge feather bed. We had danced all the artfair after-parites down to the last in some warehouse and left at 6am, than had our own. Over-believing the abilities of my stamina I had arranged the second date with A at 10 am.

Dropped into a boiling bath, creamed up with Acqua di Parma boubles trying to smell wholsome and classical. Painted a new halthey face on. Clad in a borrowed t-shirt over cocktail dress arrived in the park earley and sat in a outdoor bar selecting a spot hit by sunrays, trying not to shake noticeably form the cold or last night's votka lemons, sipped a squished orange .

Starting form afar, and sneaking from behind trees , A. took photographs, as if he neded evidence that i had been. He invited me to vine and cheese tasting in a quaint restaurant for our first date, and after splitting separate ways and had gone straight to bed in order to wake up for me this morning fresh. The obvious dedication of this tame patridge was furstrating to a hunting hound even if the geekeyness was rather exotic.

What had drawn me to A was sharp appreciation of aesthetic whith a specialization in boys necks, which succeeded in being amused indeed for whole hours with the fantasy of kissing his white marble neck, whilst he described the wonders of Michelangelos marble piece on my first trip to Milan and its castle.

It was hard to belive that this so very good boy had fallen for me. He still lived with his parents. Folowed in his fathers footsteps. Studied art histroy to a doctors degree. Is preparing to inherrit one of the bigest art museums in Milan from dady according to Nina. All very square and neat. I had left home to sudy in Lodnon years ago, moved to Rome after graduation, and had something of phantom romantic triangle going on in the eternal city, which consisted of artiees who of course where haunting in Milan at this very moment and where more than partially reason why I had stayed up so late dancing.

Yet apart form his beauty , A was a well spoken gentleman, who wore velvets and wool, and proper shoes the way good boys do in back in England , who opened doors, and I felt nostalgia for company in which I was the princess.

We walked trough the centre of Milan, every corner and street in had stories which he revealed ,I forgot being exhausted, and Milano gained a soul beyond its face of shops and art galleries. As a contrast to coolness of Romans wanting to be courted, or the madness they chase with once thy where ignored, it was almost unreal to experience open calm affection making me so very excited when he insisted I should meet him that same day, before I took the train to Budapest.

Returning to the hotel, I had to go trough whole procedure of waking up my friends again. I was high on the feeling of a new in-loveness and quite hysterical with laughter. To try tame me Ernest suggested I dance naked in the window. In such state of exhilaration I took the dare and off the cocktail dress, climbed into the window and waved to bewildered taxi driwers in front of the hotel. Slightly feeling outdone as naked was his trademark since he pranced so, at his cousins wedding, Ernest had to jumped into the window to show me how to naked it better, and whilst nina snobbed us attacking her laptop as usual, we pranced about like chimpanzees in a zoo until rashness took on a new logic, to put on bathrobes, hit the lift for the pool. Swimmers and their goggled eyes got a Sunday moring peep show in the water. After a calming, breakfast of everything buffay had to offer, washed by champagne, of course I had to see A again.

Wiping away all traces of mischief at our original apartment I dressed in the English way used to make believe female innocence compleate with pearls. Thus I met with A, and we idlicaly shared an ice cream on sun and daisy filled fields of his university, and kissed for the first time, goodbye.


On the train to Budampest I felt sick, and needed to get out for air, when the train drove off without me. Night was setting. There where no other trains for Budapest. Several hours to wait even before the next train for Venice.

He phoned, so, of course I challenged him, to choose the damn magic or not.


It is now 10 minutes past midnight and despite the warm weather I am beginning to shiver. The night is a dark place. I keep nervously scouting behind into the open train-station to see that no thieves or drunks will attack, but there aren’t even any. I am just another tourist with clished fears of the unknown.Venice is a crazy labyrinth where one must get lost to get anywhere, and the truth is at this hour I have no plan as where to sleep.

Realistically how can I expect a man to come all the way from Milano to Venice for me for the one night bound just by the obvious buring cupids arrow which pierced both this morning?

Determined to excuse him not taking a 5 hour train, and to slowly and solve my situation without panic I was too engrossed to notice movement .

Hands closed on my eyes.

Adrenalin plung a few strings in my chest and I jumped swiftly in defense,

to greet A’s eyes and mouth full of laughter.

” I am sorry to be late, I needed to go look for the key ” Immediately forgiven, he took my bags and lead me by the hand trough the moon lit cobbleled streets and bridges to a
beautiful venetian house.