
MEDITERRANEAN SEA Mare Nostrum 2,000 years after by Alex bi. A journey through time and space Travelling around the Mediterranean Sea does not only mean moving through different countries but also going from one era to another; sometimes it happens abruptly, but the passages are always pleasant and stirring experiences. A few days spent on these shores are enough to bring you from the 21st Century back to the Middle Ages. From the modern buildings in Cairo to the villages on the Moroccan Rif without running water and electricity, from resorts packed with tourists to other places where the foreigner still stirs people's curiosity. The past and the present live together like the peoples and the cultures that through the millennia have been meeting and fighting, with a continuous exchange of goods and ideas. This seamless exchange has always bought forth a unique world where everything melts together and takes new shapes in a particular and original way. From the south, a crowd of helpless people migrate in search of work and well-being. From the north the devotees of mass-tourism, the ambassadors of consumerism come down to reach those places that were inaccessible to the masses yesterday. Once again the ancient equilibrium will be broken and a new on will be created according to the millenary gift of this internal Sea. Step by step The journey starts exactly form here, from that Greece that gave birth to philosophy, to the Western civilization and to certain kind of architecture and town planning that are still present today in the Muslim villages of the Middle East and Maghreb, such as for example house build around an internal courtyard. Obviously, Athens is not fascinating as we expect to find it; of all its famous monuments, fist of all the Acropolis, is not that much left. It is exactly the same situation that I will find in Cairo or Tunis. The archaeological site lacks its context, while the finds that you can see in the museum look like any other stone that has lost its historical, cultural and social meaning. As a consequence of all that the best thing to do is visiting the several markets of Athens that are far more unique and traditional, where you can still taste the air and the smells of the East. Thousands of lit lamps, and the meat, victim of the sun and hot weather, on show out on the balconies and the small taverns in the cellars, where you can easily taste the "retsina", a resinous wine, kept in earthenware jars covered with resin. This is a use that has been traditional though the millennia. The mysterious an mythical island of Crete has lost most of its charm that I was told you could still find thirty years ago, especially in the northern part. Slabs of concrete have given life to endless hotels, houses and restaurants along its coasts. The island lives mostly on tourism and the price paid here for the well-being is extremely high. Thus I have no regrets in moving to Rhodes where I was welcomed by the spectacular walls and bastions of the old Medieval town. The city of Rhodes is a wonderful example of conservation and coexistence of history and economy. Even here sometimes tourism is oppressive, but its frame still retains all its beauty. The ongoing restorations and the cosmopolitan atmosphere that have characterized the island for centuries make the city a thriving and interesting centre of ideas and human experience. The curiosity of moving to Turkey is great. I had been told by everybody that it is a fascinating place with a friendly and welcoming people. And so it is. You can find the generosity of the Turkish people in almost everything, from the offer of a glass of tea to the food I was offered by the Turkish families during their traditional and widespread Sunday picnic, from the offer of accommodation to the invitation to enter a mosque by some elderlies. This last experience seems to me the most unique, especially for a curious "infidel" like me to be allowed to take part in a religious function undisturbed and to experience its holiness. The practising Muslims are happy of my presence and they greet me with broad smiles and bowing slightly, while placing their right hand on their heart in sign of gratitude. Maybe because I show interest towards their culture. In most Islamic countries, entering a mosque is strictly forbidden to non-Muslims. From Marmaris to Antalya, and on to Anamur, I admire the breath-taking landscape - corners where unfortunately the equilibrium between the beauty of the places and the number of hotels is broken. A concrete jungle that spoils the natural environment irreparably. Unfortunately this a tendency that is picking up along all the Mediterranean coasts. The passage from the city of Antioch (Antakya) in Turkey, a city of past splendours, to Aleppo in Syria is a lesson on middle eastern economy. The Turkish bus drivers that work on this route try desperately to find customers in order to be able to justify the journey to Aleppo. They are so desperate for customers that to have someone on their bus they offer huge discounts on the price of the ticket. At the border just a few minutes are needed to go through the bureaucratic formalities. But, as often happens, in the boot of the bus the custom's officers find empty fuel tanks and ask the bus driver for explanations. In actual fact, it seems to me that they are trying to reach an agreement on the percentage owed to the officer when the bus comes back to Turkey where petrol is much more expensive than in Syria. The black market on which most of the people of the area survive, involves a wide range of goods and can easily be considered a characteristic trait of the Mediterranean economy. In a typical middle eastern way, it is already arranged that a collective taxi waits on the other side of the border. As expected it is packed with people and goods, and for "only" 2 US dollars it drives you to Aleppo. Without any doubt, Aleppo of all cities, is the city that most recalls bygone eras to the mind. All you need to do is enter it's suq to discover a unique humanity and way of life, whose traits have not changed much from when it was built in 1200. Christian, Armenian, Orthodox and Muslim merchants crowd the market, today as in the past, in the labyrinth of passages that cover various hectares. The smell, the cries of the sellers and carters that pass through the narrow streets with their donkeys, the pieces of meat hanging in the doorways, the tiny shops that sell all kinds of goods... everything preserves the atmosphere of the past. With its caravanserais and its Turkish baths, Aleppo's suq is considered one of the most beautiful suqs of the Middle East, and this reputation seems well deserved. In the "suq" there are no shop-signs or entrances, all goods on show can be sold and prices are not listed or fixed. Bargaining and the passion to haggle are amongst those pleasures that cannot be given up for those working here, and at the same time are suq's characteristic traits. From Aleppo I reach the town of Hama, considered one of the most integralist towns in Syria where, instead, I find friendly people and not at all aggressive. It is impossible not to cross the oasis of Palmyra, ancient and flourishing treading centre since 2000 B.C., on the caravan route from the Mediterranean to the countries of the gulf. Today, due to the size of its archaeological site, one of the most important in the world, it is Syria's major attraction. So much so that even the Bedouins have surrendered to tourism selling traditional clothes and objects, and transforming their gardens in a vast palm-grove, to tourist residences. From the oasis I go back to the Mediterranean cost, to Tartus, and it is impossible not to notice that something strongly contrasts with the past and the History of this area. This stretch of coast, like the area around the Lebanese cities of Tripoli and Beirut further south, has its roots in the Phoenician civilisation that inhabited these coasts and from here travelled the Mediterranean Basin finding ports and cities as far as Cadiz in Spain overlooking the Atlantic. This natural feel towards the sea and merchandizing, this millenary vocation to the sea no longer exists. It is as though on this coastline, stretching from Tartus in Syria to Beirut in Lebanon, there was an invisible wall preventing these people to look towards the west. Regular sea communication routes for the transport of passengers do not exist and even merely looking at the sea from these coasts creates a sense of claustrophobia. The same uneasiness can be felt among the young people of Tripoli, a lack of hope for the future. Instead in Beirut, where the civil war from 1975 to 1991 had been harsher, young people seem to have found hope, also due to the post-war reconstruction works. This is not the case among the Shiite Muslims in the poorer southern suburbs. Relationships between the two communities are still rare and, although the reconstruction of the city proceeds at a fast pace, the coexistence of the two cultures, this is the issue, is still all to be rebuilt. For the time being the two sides seem to ignore each other and both keep to their own areas, patrolled also by the Syrian army that continues considering Lebanon part of its territory. Civil war and the heterogeneous religious realities of the Lebanese population and the hegemonic aims of powerful neighbouring countries have stunted the heirs of the Phoenician seafaring and trading tradition. Lebanon is one of the case where the ceaseless conflict between the Christians and the Muslim communities arises, frictions that periodically return on this sea when the two communities fail to communicate. From one city which is going through a period of reconciliation to another in which division is more evident than ever with its partition wall symbolizing once again man's intolerance. I speak of Nicosia or Lefkosia, capital of Cyprus, half Greek and half Turkish. Not being able to exploit beaches and the sea for tourist uses, being in the middle of the island has made an attraction of being a divided city. Through a street full of souvenir shops and small restaurants, I reach the extremely popular "tourist look out post" from where you can see the enemy side. A "buffer zone" more or less thirty metres wide separates the two walls, which in turn separate the two communities. Soldiers bored by guarding, a small museum where you can see the atrocities committed by the Turkish and a sign reminding that Nicosia is the only capital in the world still divided by a wall, complete the scene. Follow the "green line" the line of division, one meets military posts, apparently almost abandoned, where UN soldiers are intent with jogging, some are coming back to the barracks with their shopping and where there are huge panels with photos of Greek -Cypriot patriots killed by Turkish-Cypriots only just four years before. Seeing these things you get the natural curiosity of seeing how things are on the other side, the side of the "enemy". So I decided to visit the Northern side of the city and of the island and to reach Famagosta in the Northeast. Crossing the border is possible but I must return by five p.m. for security reasons, my own, say the Greek-Cypriot policeman. The north side appear to be quieter and more relaxed than the South, contradicting, once again, the official version doled out to me by the authorities. Here, anyhow, the wish to remain separate from the south prevails. The driver that gives me a lift tells me "the communities are just too different to be able to live together", " it is better like this" he adds, even though he suffers having had to leave some of his friends in the southern part of Nicosia. After having felt the Muslim-Christian tensions in Lebanon, the Muslim-Orthodox tensions in Cyprus, I can't ignore the Israeli-Muslim tensions in Israel. The idea I had of Israel was cinema-based. With great surprise I found that Palestine had nothing to do with the scenes in History films, most of them of religious content, that, in reality are often filmed in Tunisia or Morocco. Saving the coastal cities of Haifa and Tel Aviv, modern western-seeming cities with all their skyscrapers, most of this land is arid, a vast desert of stone. Water is richness here and the tension with Syria in the north to hold the Golan Heights is always there to reminds this. Israel seems to be a territory from which all that could be taken away has been. A modern state set, and it is difficult to understand how, in an area of ancient tradition where all contradictions and contrasts are clearly visible. Jerusalem is a city that cannot leave you indifferent. Personally I saw enormous and unsolvable differences between the communities that share this city and I felt a level of tension so high it almost completely covered the spirituality that this place has had for centuries. The people here, Jews, Christians, Arabs and Armenians rarely leave their quarters and young Israeli soldiers with the inevitable machine gun slung on the shoulder, keep an eye on the peace of the city to avoid anyone violating these unwritten laws. This region is one of the most fascinating and full of mystery that I visited. It was impossible not to pay a visit to places of great historic interest, like Masada near the Dead Sea or Lake Tiberias, the pearl of Galilee, probably more in the past than today. Near this lake, once considered a sea, is the Degania Kibbutz, the oldest in Israel. The kibbutz is a community, a small village that survives on its own agricultural and industrial resources. In it live about 650 people, and it is founded on principles of equality, liberty and democracy. The community as a whole has the task of paying for electricity, water, food and housing. The community also gives to each member a small salary, for personal expenses, for work done. The kibbutz has always been seen as the symbol of Zionism, and of Israel, and has spread all over the country transforming a once arid and poor land into a lush and fertile reality. Today, as one of the leaders of Degania tells me, the future of the Kibbutz is uncertain. The contract for the use of the state-owned land will expire in a few years and its renewal is not automatic or certain. The water shortage, considering the amount of water necessary to irrigate the fields, is becoming a serious problem, also due to the uncertainty of holding the Golan Heights, near Syria, from where most of the water used in Israel is drawn. Most of the young people are not attracted to this style of life and prefer going to Tel Aviv or to study in the States. The people of Degania have grown used to the Katyusha rockets launched by the Lebanese Hezbollah that threaten the area, and that often fall near-by. Some kibbutzes have even been completely transformed to tourist residences for Jewish families' weekends from the cities. This characteristic aspect of the Israeli society lives side by side, and not without bitter contrasts, with quarters like Méa She'arim in Jerusalem or villages like Safed, in Galilee, where the orthodox community does not acknowledge the authority and laws of the State of Israel and lives following their millenary culture and tradition. Continuing North to Metulla, the only open checkpoint on the border to Lebanon, one can see how hundreds of Lebanese Arabs are forced to live, having to cross the border every day to work In Israel in the fields and factories, or cleaners. My visit of Galilee ends on the Mediterranean, at Akko, an ancient city whose mighty walls were built by the Crusaders that named this city Saint John of Acri. Today it seems to be the city in which Jews, Muslims and Christians manage to live together better, in relative peace. The atmosphere is calm and I even end up sharing the tobacco of a narghileh with three Israeli soldiers in the shade of an Arab bar: something truly unimaginable elsewhere. Going South, in Haifa, I find another page of Israeli history to me unknown. I visit a very particular museum with documents on the clandestine immigration of Jews to Palestine from 1934 to 1948, a phenomenon that grew progressively from few individuals to whole organized groups from every corner of the world. It is incredible to learn that in this arc of time 120000 Jews were deported to Cyprus by the British authorities, that at that time had a Protectorate in Palestine. Even more interesting is that in 1940, 2000 Jews that had escaped Nazi Germany were then deported by the British. An exceptional page of history. I carry on my journey going south and reaching Ashquelon with the intention of entering the Gaza Strip. The tension is highly strung in these parts where hundreds of young Israeli soldiers wait for the bus that will take them to their barracks on the borderline or actually in Gaza, "in Arafat's house", as a not even twenty year old soldier tells me while getting on a bus with protective grates on all the windows. When I reach the checkpoint I cross the border with hundreds or perhaps thousands of Palestinians returning home after the day's work in Israeli territory. They are literally loaded with televisions, household goods, blankets, clothes, computers, chickens and lambs, most of these goods being hard to find in Gaza if not at impossibly high prices. Thus I dive back, suddenly, into Arab culture and society. Finding hospitality in the house of a Palestinian family I met by chance in the street I get a good chance of knowing more of their world, and at the same time, for them, I am something completely new and we find ourselves in a situation of mutual exchange. I am the first "tourist" that the children have ever met, but it is from them that I learn more than I am able to give. Firstly, hospitality, but also answers to my many questions. During the Intifada an Israeli soldier shot one of the children, only 16 years old, in the head. The boy was killed in front of his younger brothers. When I ask the father "Why? What had he done?" he thinks about it for a few seconds, then he give me an answer that holds all the meaning of this war: "Because he wanted to kill them", he replies unflinchingly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In these parts of the world it is. I leave Gaza for Egypt, crossing the border at Rafah: you cannot cross on foot, it is not allowed, and I am forced to catch a collective-taxi to cross the thirty metres that separate Gaza from the border and the joint Israeli-Palestinian checkpoint where, after the routine check, I get on a bus that will take me less than a kilometre to the Egyptian checkpoint where another collective-taxi waits to fill up before leaving. In my case, I wait for three hours accepting the traditional glass of tea offered by two Bedouin women, waiting, like me for the departure of the taxi. From El-Arish on the Mediterranean coast I reach Cairo after having crossed the Suez Canal. Cairo with its 16 million people is a city that does not leave one indifferent. Its quarters and modern buildings have blended into the old city, like in the quarter of Khan el-Kalili where the past is present more than anywhere else. A way of life and style of thought and belief that has remained unchanged through the centuries and given the place its unique character. It is the merchants' and artisans' quarter, and it is bustling and alive as it has been for centuries. Even here it is possible to enter a mosque to escape the sound of the chaotic city. To learn about ancient Egypt though, the historic and fascinating one, the Museum and the Pyramids at Giza are not enough; It is necessary to follow the course of the Nile, spine of this country that still finds a useful resource in agriculture. At Luxor there are some of the most impressive and interesting monuments and it remains a place of great tourist attraction. Except for the temple, extremely suggestive if visited in the evening with all the lighting on, the rest I found without soul: a place completely devoted to mass tourism as its only resource. After the attempt by the "Muslim integralists" that here killed a group of tourists, the police guards all buses, hotels and tourist attractions. I get a chance to talk to a young man, and he proudly tells me that he is "the second captain" of a two-man crew felucca, the typical boat on the Nile. Merely for having talked briefly to me, a non-Egyptian, he risks arrest for having disturbed a tourist. In Egypt the separation between mass tourism and the local daily life is more strongly felt than in any other place I visited, but at the same time it is possible to tangibly feel here the tie between peoples, ties that governments and religions try today as in the past to hinder. When in Alexandria, together with some Egyptians, I have to stop at a crossroad because a tourist bus, escorted by the police as if it was the car of a diplomatic official, I am happy not to be on that bus, and at the same time I feel bad seeing the peaceful and slightly bewildered eyes of those beside me. Bureaucratic difficulties make my crossing of Libya a problem and my journey in the African continent continues in Tunisia, among the Arab countries the most westernised. This is clearly visible in reaching the capital where European culture has not only influenced the architecture. The opening of its leaders towards the West, and the acceptance of the western way of life had created even in the past a surprising overlapping of two cultures: the Roman and the Islamic. It also led to almost imperceptible differences in society. The overlapping of cultures leads to intransigence from the part of society feeling the opening towards the West and it influence as a threat to its own future. I find myself "attacked" by a young man at the entrance of a mosque, with a inhospitable "no macaroni". In reality, entrance to the mosque is possible but only up to end of the garden in front of the actual mosque, and this paying a ticket too, which really makes the visit seem absurd. This sort of religious integralism in Tunisia, where you find yourself still to be seen as an "infidel", is probably also a reaction to unaccepted impositions by the Government and the West. It is interesting to note that, though, among the other Muslim countries of the Maghreb, Tunisia is the country where religion is least followed. The need for foreign currency though tourism, the major resource for this country, is more a matter of mere survival than anything else, and so it happens that often those who live off tourism are more intransigent and closed towards foreigners. It must be said that tourists' attitude is often improper and their invasion, most of the times, is anything but innocent. Firstly in the way they dress. The Muslim feeling towards "nakedness" is well known, and it is offensive to see men in shorts, or bare-chested (Douz), or women in mini-skirts (Tozeur). On the other hand, Tunisians not working with tourism, and that, we could say, have not lost their souls, greet you with open arms, always eager to tell you of their lives of emigration to the near-by Sicily as fishermen in Mazzara del Vallo, or to pick grapes in Marsala. From here, passing to Italy, through Sicily, is natural and logical in my journey around the Mediterranean. Due to position and history, everything has left a deep mark on this land. Proud people and the feeling of uneasiness towards outsiders is a typical trait of islanders in general, and all the more so in the tiny island of Favignana where the islanders live in a socially and traditionally close-knit community. Fishing tuna, the "mattanza",is a perfect example. It is an event that calls on the whole community, even though it is not as profitable as it used to be in the past. The fishing is done close to the coast where the "tonnaroti", the tuna fishermen, have worked for months, laying up to 84 kilometres of fishing-nets so as to direct the migrating tuna and trap them, through a series of communicating cages, in what is called the "death chamber" where they are actually fished. On the same island it is possible to see the remains of huge tuff stone quarries, from where blocks of stone have been quarried for centuries to supply villages in Sicily, Tunisia and even Libya. Today only one of these quarries is still open and counts three miners. Because of the very hard, exhausting work, and the lack of new miners, this quarry is doomed to end its days soon. The people of the island refer to the miners as the "slaves of Favignana". On the coasts of Trapani, instead, exhausting hardships are endured on the saltworks by the workers, often for meagre wages, in some way confirming that living in poverty on this Sea is a common destiny that has remained unchanged through time. My journey continues through France. The multi-ethnic and Mediterranean Marseilles is must, and then I move south towards the Camargue. This area is one of the few where the view of the horizon and of the sea is not marred by tall buildings built along the coast. It is probably the only stretch of coast from Algesiras in Spain to the Liguria in Italy where cement and unauthorised constructing have not yet ruined the landscape. Strictly protected, let us hope also in the future, from speculation, it is a natural sanctuary for pink flamingos and horses. But I am here to learn more about the traditions of this area, like the "course camarguese" which has roots in the Roman era. It is a characteristic bullfight, typical of the town of Arlès, which takes place in the ancient Roman arena. A bull is freed into the arena with a red rosette and two short ropes between its horns. Ten young men, fast runners dressed in white, called "rasateurs" have to try to take these trophies from the bull's head trusting only on their skill, speed and naturally on their courage. There are prizes in money for those who gain the trophies. This recurring game of man against bull reminds of the painted vases from the Mycenaean period, and of the games in the arenas in Roman times. It is curious to see that these games have survived to this day but on different shores of the Mediterranean. An ancient tradition that survives today also through the "corrida", a tradition that from Spain has spread to the South of France. In Spain I reach Valencia, another city whose name alone makes you travel with mind and fantasy though history. It is not only a question of imagination though, and there are many places in this city that are incredibly fascinating. Two things intrigue me more than others, though, the Corpus Christi procession and the "Tribunal de las Aguas". The first takes place across the entire city centre and most of the people in traditional costumes with the priests and various religious orders move in procession during the afternoon. The procession is at its most popular and picturesque during the late morning. The "pueblo" enacts an allegoric play on the murder of the children ordered by Herod in Palestine. A group of men play the Roman legion, masked with sacks they march through the quarters "hitting" children on the head with plastic clubs. While they march people from the houses along the streets throw water on them. This probably symbolises purification, and when the men finish their parade they thank the children giving them cakes. This is a good example of how historic facts can be kept alive in the memory of a people. The "Tribunal de las Aguas" is one of the most interesting things I found on my journey. At the same time, on the same day since the Middle Ages, a people's court gathers in front of the Door of the Apostles of the cathedral of Valencia to discuss the distribution of water for irrigation. Eight mayors, one for each of the eight canals that irrigate the Huerta (the fields surrounding the city), meet to solve problems that any citizen among those gathered, both judges and common people, can raise against any one of them. After assessing the accusations, if a mayor is found guilty of "stealing" water he must pay a fine on the spot. In times of drought quarrels are frequent. This unwritten justice, carried out among equals without the interference of the official justice, is the best example I found of popular justice along the shores of the Mediterranean. It shows that water is precious and is considered as belonging to everyone, something that is not common to all the Mediterranean where often water is privately owed and expensive for those who need it. With a small movement in space yet an enormous jump back in time I move from Europe and return to Africa to one, with Algeria, of the most religious Muslim countries. From Oujida near the border to Algeria, a town that thrives on smuggling black market goods with Spain and Algeria, I move to the ancient Imperial town of Fez. From here I manage to reach the Rif mountain region known for its revolutionary inhabitants and for being the centre for the production of Kif, or cannabis, from which hashish is extracted. The Moroccan authorities, well aware of the fact that from this region hashish is exported to all Europe, unofficially tolerate the production of Kif. The Rif, with the cultivation of cannabis and the production of hashish, is often compared to the Golden Triangle in South-east Asia where opium and heroin are produced. The people of this region with whom I spent a few days are the very essence of Moroccan cordiality and hospitality known all round the world. They live without running water or electricity. To have water they must walk for many kilometres to the river, while for light they use gas lamps. In this area the farmers mainly cultivate wheat and tobacco for US multinationals. This economy is totally legal, however the farmers do not give up smoking some Kif with a glass of tea, as is their tradition. It must be pointed out that the people of this region smoke only the best and more natural part of the plant, cutting the seeds in tiny pieces following a precise ritual about an hour long. They leave hashish produced from Kif for "the Europeans" because, they tell me, "It gives you headaches". In Chefchaouen, which is in the Rif region, one can see the richness deriving from the Kif economy. This city enjoys higher living standards than the rest of Morocco probably, we could say, because of skilful marketing operations. "There is no logic in this country, so don't bother looking for it. The only certainty Muslims have is death", explains Jorge, a professor of the Barcelona University that has been living and working here, in Morocco, for eight years. In this short phrase he summarises all the philosophy of this land. From Chefchaouen I reach Tangiers. Simply hearing the name of this town has made travellers in the past dream, but its charm has now faded, leaving it "dirty and ragged", according to Truman Capote, and a bit "rascal" as Jorge put it before saying goodbye with a smile. Travels and travelers Today people travel northbound following the dream of a better life far from war and famine, and others travel southbound looking for knowledge, trying to understand people and differences and perhaps also to feel a bit more citizens of the world upon returning home. To speak of the continuous northbound migration from the poorer to the richer shores of this Sea one must have undergone the southbound journey. All I can say is that the myth of "civil" Europe is present all round the Mediterranean and many people dream a chance of moving there, not only for mere survival, but mainly for the hunger of civil and human rights. I was lucky to have had a chance to travel in the opposite direction and to go where I pleased, always greeted and accepted with warmth. "Those who travel a lot in this world perceive with the heart the things they must understand", says a sura (verse) of the Koran, and I like to think it is true. Of my journey I will never forget the beautiful faces of the people I have met and the many children that live on these shores and when they do not work play football dreaming of Roberto Baggio. Copyleft: Alex bi. - february/july 2000

MEDITERRANEAN SEA
Mare Nostrum 2,000 years after

by Alex bi.

A journey through time and space

Travelling around the Mediterranean Sea does not only mean moving through different countries but also going from one era to another; sometimes it happens abruptly, but the passages are always pleasant and stirring experiences.
A few days spent on these shores are enough to bring you from the 21st Century back to the Middle Ages.
From the modern buildings in Cairo to the villages on the Moroccan Rif without running water and electricity, from resorts packed with tourists to other places where the foreigner still stirs people's curiosity.
The past and the present live together like the peoples and the cultures that through the millennia have been meeting and fighting, with a continuous exchange of goods and ideas. This seamless exchange has always bought forth a unique world where everything melts together and takes new shapes in a particular and original way.
From the south, a crowd of helpless people migrate in search of work and well-being. From the north the devotees of mass-tourism, the ambassadors of consumerism come down to reach those places that were inaccessible to the masses yesterday.
Once again the ancient equilibrium will be broken and a new on will be created according to the millenary gift of this internal Sea.

Step by step

The journey starts exactly form here, from that Greece that gave birth to philosophy, to the Western civilization and to certain kind of architecture and town planning that are still present today in the Muslim villages of the Middle East and Maghreb, such as for example house build around an internal courtyard.
Obviously, Athens is not fascinating as we expect to find it; of all its famous monuments, fist of all the Acropolis, is not that much left.
It is exactly the same situation that I will find in Cairo or Tunis. The archaeological site lacks its context, while the finds that you can see in the museum look like any other stone that has lost its historical, cultural and social meaning.
As a consequence of all that the best thing to do is visiting the several markets of Athens that are far more unique and traditional, where you can still taste the air and the smells of the East. Thousands of lit lamps, and the meat, victim of the sun and hot weather, on show out on the balconies and the small taverns in the cellars, where you can easily taste the "retsina", a resinous wine, kept in earthenware jars covered with resin. This is a use that has been traditional though the millennia.

The mysterious an mythical island of Crete has lost most of its charm that I was told you could still find thirty years ago, especially in the northern part. Slabs of concrete have given life to endless hotels, houses and restaurants along its coasts. The island lives mostly on tourism and the price paid here for the well-being is extremely high.

Thus I have no regrets in moving to Rhodes where I was welcomed by the spectacular walls and bastions of the old Medieval town. The city of Rhodes is a wonderful example of conservation and coexistence of history and economy. Even here sometimes tourism is oppressive, but its frame still retains all its beauty. The ongoing restorations and the cosmopolitan atmosphere that have characterized the island for centuries make the city a thriving and interesting centre of ideas and human experience.

The curiosity of moving to Turkey is great. I had been told by everybody that it is a fascinating place with a friendly and welcoming people. And so it is. You can find the generosity of the Turkish people in almost everything, from the offer of a glass of tea to the food I was offered by the Turkish families during their traditional and widespread Sunday picnic, from the offer of accommodation to the invitation to enter a mosque by some elderlies. This last experience seems to me the most unique, especially for a curious "infidel" like me to be allowed to take part in a religious function undisturbed and to experience its holiness.
The practising Muslims are happy of my presence and they greet me with broad smiles and bowing slightly, while placing their right hand on their heart in sign of gratitude. Maybe because I show interest towards their culture. In most Islamic countries, entering a mosque is strictly forbidden to non-Muslims.

From Marmaris to Antalya, and on to Anamur, I admire the breath-taking landscape - corners where unfortunately the equilibrium between the beauty of the places and the number of hotels is broken. A concrete jungle that spoils the natural environment irreparably. Unfortunately this a tendency that is picking up along all the Mediterranean coasts.

The passage from the city of Antioch (Antakya) in Turkey, a city of past splendours, to Aleppo in Syria is a lesson on middle eastern economy.
The Turkish bus drivers that work on this route try desperately to find customers in order to be able to justify the journey to Aleppo. They are so desperate for customers that to have someone on their bus they offer huge discounts on the price of the ticket.
At the border just a few minutes are needed to go through the bureaucratic formalities. But, as often happens, in the boot of the bus the custom's officers find empty fuel tanks and ask the bus driver for explanations. In actual fact, it seems to me that they are trying to reach an agreement on the percentage owed to the officer when the bus comes back to Turkey where petrol is much more expensive than in Syria. The black market on which most of the people of the area survive, involves a wide range of goods and can easily be considered a characteristic trait of the Mediterranean economy. In a typical middle eastern way, it is already arranged that a collective taxi waits on the other side of the border. As expected it is packed with people and goods, and for "only" 2 US dollars it drives you to Aleppo.

Without any doubt, Aleppo of all cities, is the city that most recalls bygone eras to the mind. All you need to do is enter it's suq to discover a unique humanity and way of life, whose traits have not changed much from when it was built in 1200. Christian, Armenian, Orthodox and Muslim merchants crowd the market, today as in the past, in the labyrinth of passages that cover various hectares. The smell, the cries of the sellers and carters that pass through the narrow streets with their donkeys, the pieces of meat hanging in the doorways, the tiny shops that sell all kinds of goods... everything preserves the atmosphere of the past. With its caravanserais and its Turkish baths, Aleppo's suq is considered one of the most beautiful suqs of the Middle East, and this reputation seems well deserved.

In the "suq" there are no shop-signs or entrances, all goods on show can be sold and prices are not listed or fixed. Bargaining and the passion to haggle are amongst those pleasures that cannot be given up for those working here, and at the same time are suq's characteristic traits.

From Aleppo I reach the town of Hama, considered one of the most integralist towns in Syria where, instead, I find friendly people and not at all aggressive. It is impossible not to cross the oasis of Palmyra, ancient and flourishing treading centre since 2000 B.C., on the caravan route from the Mediterranean to the countries of the gulf. Today, due to the size of its archaeological site, one of the most important in the world, it is Syria's major attraction. So much so that even the Bedouins have surrendered to tourism selling traditional clothes and objects, and transforming their gardens in a vast palm-grove, to tourist residences.

From the oasis I go back to the Mediterranean cost, to Tartus, and it is impossible not to notice that something strongly contrasts with the past and the History of this area. This stretch of coast, like the area around the Lebanese cities of Tripoli and Beirut further south, has its roots in the Phoenician civilisation that inhabited these coasts and from here travelled the Mediterranean Basin finding ports and cities as far as Cadiz in Spain overlooking the Atlantic.

This natural feel towards the sea and merchandizing, this millenary vocation to the sea no longer exists. It is as though on this coastline, stretching from Tartus in Syria to Beirut in Lebanon, there was an invisible wall preventing these people to look towards the west. Regular sea communication routes for the transport of passengers do not exist and even merely looking at the sea from these coasts creates a sense of claustrophobia.
The same uneasiness can be felt among the young people of Tripoli, a lack of hope for the future. Instead in Beirut, where the civil war from 1975 to 1991 had been harsher, young people seem to have found hope, also due to the post-war reconstruction works. This is not the case among the Shiite Muslims in the poorer southern suburbs. Relationships between the two communities are still rare and, although the reconstruction of the city proceeds at a fast pace, the coexistence of the two cultures, this is the issue, is still all to be rebuilt. For the time being the two sides seem to ignore each other and both keep to their own areas, patrolled also by the Syrian army that continues considering Lebanon part of its territory. Civil war and the heterogeneous religious realities of the Lebanese population and the hegemonic aims of powerful neighbouring countries have stunted the heirs of the Phoenician seafaring and trading tradition.
Lebanon is one of the case where the ceaseless conflict between the Christians and the Muslim communities arises, frictions that periodically return on this sea when the two communities fail to communicate.

From one city which is going through a period of reconciliation to another in which division is more evident than ever with its partition wall symbolizing once again man's intolerance. I speak of Nicosia or Lefkosia, capital of Cyprus, half Greek and half Turkish.
Not being able to exploit beaches and the sea for tourist uses, being in the middle of the island has made an attraction of being a divided city. Through a street full of souvenir shops and small restaurants, I reach the extremely popular "tourist look out post" from where you can see the enemy side. A "buffer zone" more or less thirty metres wide separates the two walls, which in turn separate the two communities. Soldiers bored by guarding, a small museum where you can see the atrocities committed by the Turkish and a sign reminding that Nicosia is the only capital in the world still divided by a wall, complete the scene.
Follow the "green line" the line of division, one meets military posts, apparently almost abandoned, where UN soldiers are intent with jogging, some are coming back to the barracks with their shopping and where there are huge panels with photos of Greek -Cypriot patriots killed by Turkish-Cypriots only just four years before.

Seeing these things you get the natural curiosity of seeing how things are on the other side, the side of the "enemy". So I decided to visit the Northern side of the city and of the island and to reach Famagosta in the Northeast. Crossing the border is possible but I must return by five p.m. for security reasons, my own, say the Greek-Cypriot policeman. The north side appear to be quieter and more relaxed than the South, contradicting, once again, the official version doled out to me by the authorities. Here, anyhow, the wish to remain separate from the south prevails. The driver that gives me a lift tells me "the communities are just too different to be able to live together", " it is better like this" he adds, even though he suffers having had to leave some of his friends in the southern part of Nicosia.
After having felt the Muslim-Christian tensions in Lebanon, the Muslim-Orthodox tensions in Cyprus, I can't ignore the Israeli-Muslim tensions in Israel.

The idea I had of Israel was cinema-based. With great surprise I found that Palestine had nothing to do with the scenes in History films, most of them of religious content, that, in reality are often filmed in Tunisia or Morocco.
Saving the coastal cities of Haifa and Tel Aviv, modern western-seeming cities with all their skyscrapers, most of this land is arid, a vast desert of stone. Water is richness here and the tension with Syria in the north to hold the Golan Heights is always there to reminds this.
Israel seems to be a territory from which all that could be taken away has been. A modern state set, and it is difficult to understand how, in an area of ancient tradition where all contradictions and contrasts are clearly visible.

Jerusalem is a city that cannot leave you indifferent. Personally I saw enormous and unsolvable differences between the communities that share this city and I felt a level of tension so high it almost completely covered the spirituality that this place has had for centuries. The people here, Jews, Christians, Arabs and Armenians rarely leave their quarters and young Israeli soldiers with the inevitable machine gun slung on the shoulder, keep an eye on the peace of the city to avoid anyone violating these unwritten laws.

This region is one of the most fascinating and full of mystery that I visited. It was impossible not to pay a visit to places of great historic interest, like Masada near the Dead Sea or Lake Tiberias, the pearl of Galilee, probably more in the past than today.
Near this lake, once considered a sea, is the Degania Kibbutz, the oldest in Israel.
The kibbutz is a community, a small village that survives on its own agricultural and industrial resources.
In it live about 650 people, and it is founded on principles of equality, liberty and democracy. The community as a whole has the task of paying for electricity, water, food and housing. The community also gives to each member a small salary, for personal expenses, for work done. The kibbutz has always been seen as the symbol of Zionism, and of Israel, and has spread all over the country transforming a once arid and poor land into a lush and fertile reality. Today, as one of the leaders of Degania tells me, the future of the Kibbutz is uncertain. The contract for the use of the state-owned land will expire in a few years and its renewal is not automatic or certain. The water shortage, considering the amount of water necessary to irrigate the fields, is becoming a serious problem, also due to the uncertainty of holding the Golan Heights, near Syria, from where most of the water used in Israel is drawn. Most of the young people are not attracted to this style of life and prefer going to Tel Aviv or to study in the States.
The people of Degania have grown used to the Katyusha rockets launched by the Lebanese Hezbollah that threaten the area, and that often fall near-by. Some kibbutzes have even been completely transformed to tourist residences for Jewish families' weekends from the cities.
This characteristic aspect of the Israeli society lives side by side, and not without bitter contrasts, with quarters like Méa She'arim in Jerusalem or villages like Safed, in Galilee, where the orthodox community does not acknowledge the authority and laws of the State of Israel and lives following their millenary culture and tradition.

Continuing North to Metulla, the only open checkpoint on the border to Lebanon, one can see how hundreds of Lebanese Arabs are forced to live, having to cross the border every day to work In Israel in the fields and factories, or cleaners.

My visit of Galilee ends on the Mediterranean, at Akko, an ancient city whose mighty walls were built by the Crusaders that named this city Saint John of Acri. Today it seems to be the city in which Jews, Muslims and Christians manage to live together better, in relative peace. The atmosphere is calm and I even end up sharing the tobacco of a narghileh with three Israeli soldiers in the shade of an Arab bar: something truly unimaginable elsewhere.

Going South, in Haifa, I find another page of Israeli history to me unknown. I visit a very particular museum with documents on the clandestine immigration of Jews to Palestine from 1934 to 1948, a phenomenon that grew progressively from few individuals to whole organized groups from every corner of the world.
It is incredible to learn that in this arc of time 120000 Jews were deported to Cyprus by the British authorities, that at that time had a Protectorate in Palestine. Even more interesting is that in 1940, 2000 Jews that had escaped Nazi Germany were then deported by the British. An exceptional page of history.

I carry on my journey going south and reaching Ashquelon with the intention of entering the Gaza Strip. The tension is highly strung in these parts where hundreds of young Israeli soldiers wait for the bus that will take them to their barracks on the borderline or actually in Gaza, "in Arafat's house", as a not even twenty year old soldier tells me while getting on a bus with protective grates on all the windows.
When I reach the checkpoint I cross the border with hundreds or perhaps thousands of Palestinians returning home after the day's work in Israeli territory. They are literally loaded with televisions, household goods, blankets, clothes, computers, chickens and lambs, most of these goods being hard to find in Gaza if not at impossibly high prices. Thus I dive back, suddenly, into Arab culture and society.
Finding hospitality in the house of a Palestinian family I met by chance in the street I get a good chance of knowing more of their world, and at the same time, for them, I am something completely new and we find ourselves in a situation of mutual exchange. I am the first "tourist" that the children have ever met, but it is from them that I learn more than I am able to give. Firstly, hospitality, but also answers to my many questions. During the Intifada an Israeli soldier shot one of the children, only 16 years old, in the head. The boy was killed in front of his younger brothers. When I ask the father "Why? What had he done?" he thinks about it for a few seconds, then he give me an answer that holds all the meaning of this war: "Because he wanted to kill them", he replies unflinchingly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In these parts of the world it is.

I leave Gaza for Egypt, crossing the border at Rafah: you cannot cross on foot, it is not allowed, and I am forced to catch a collective-taxi to cross the thirty metres that separate Gaza from the border and the joint Israeli-Palestinian checkpoint where, after the routine check, I get on a bus that will take me less than a kilometre to the Egyptian checkpoint where another collective-taxi waits to fill up before leaving. In my case, I wait for three hours accepting the traditional glass of tea offered by two Bedouin women, waiting, like me for the departure of the taxi.

From El-Arish on the Mediterranean coast I reach Cairo after having crossed the Suez Canal. Cairo with its 16 million people is a city that does not leave one indifferent. Its quarters and modern buildings have blended into the old city, like in the quarter of Khan el-Kalili where the past is present more than anywhere else. A way of life and style of thought and belief that has remained unchanged through the centuries and given the place its unique character. It is the merchants' and artisans' quarter, and it is bustling and alive as it has been for centuries. Even here it is possible to enter a mosque to escape the sound of the chaotic city.
To learn about ancient Egypt though, the historic and fascinating one, the Museum and the Pyramids at Giza are not enough; It is necessary to follow the course of the Nile, spine of this country that still finds a useful resource in agriculture.

At Luxor there are some of the most impressive and interesting monuments and it remains a place of great tourist attraction. Except for the temple, extremely suggestive if visited in the evening with all the lighting on, the rest I found without soul: a place completely devoted to mass tourism as its only resource.
After the attempt by the "Muslim integralists" that here killed a group of tourists, the police guards all buses, hotels and tourist attractions.
I get a chance to talk to a young man, and he proudly tells me that he is "the second captain" of a two-man crew felucca, the typical boat on the Nile. Merely for having talked briefly to me, a non-Egyptian, he risks arrest for having disturbed a tourist.
In Egypt the separation between mass tourism and the local daily life is more strongly felt than in any other place I visited, but at the same time it is possible to tangibly feel here the tie between peoples, ties that governments and religions try today as in the past to hinder.

When in Alexandria, together with some Egyptians, I have to stop at a crossroad because a tourist bus, escorted by the police as if it was the car of a diplomatic official, I am happy not to be on that bus, and at the same time I feel bad seeing the peaceful and slightly bewildered eyes of those beside me.

Bureaucratic difficulties make my crossing of Libya a problem and my journey in the African continent continues in Tunisia, among the Arab countries the most westernised. This is clearly visible in reaching the capital where European culture has not only influenced the architecture.
The opening of its leaders towards the West, and the acceptance of the western way of life had created even in the past a surprising overlapping of two cultures: the Roman and the Islamic. It also led to almost imperceptible differences in society. The overlapping of cultures leads to intransigence from the part of society feeling the opening towards the West and it influence as a threat to its own future.
I find myself "attacked" by a young man at the entrance of a mosque, with a inhospitable "no macaroni". In reality, entrance to the mosque is possible but only up to end of the garden in front of the actual mosque, and this paying a ticket too, which really makes the visit seem absurd. This sort of religious integralism in Tunisia, where you find yourself still to be seen as an "infidel", is probably also a reaction to unaccepted impositions by the Government and the West. It is interesting to note that, though, among the other Muslim countries of the Maghreb, Tunisia is the country where religion is least followed.
The need for foreign currency though tourism, the major resource for this country, is more a matter of mere survival than anything else, and so it happens that often those who live off tourism are more intransigent and closed towards foreigners.
It must be said that tourists' attitude is often improper and their invasion, most of the times, is anything but innocent. Firstly in the way they dress. The Muslim feeling towards "nakedness" is well known, and it is offensive to see men in shorts, or bare-chested (Douz), or women in mini-skirts (Tozeur).
On the other hand, Tunisians not working with tourism, and that, we could say, have not lost their souls, greet you with open arms, always eager to tell you of their lives of emigration to the near-by Sicily as fishermen in Mazzara del Vallo, or to pick grapes in Marsala.

From here, passing to Italy, through Sicily, is natural and logical in my journey around the Mediterranean. Due to position and history, everything has left a deep mark on this land. Proud people and the feeling of uneasiness towards outsiders is a typical trait of islanders in general, and all the more so in the tiny island of Favignana where the islanders live in a socially and traditionally close-knit community.
Fishing tuna, the "mattanza",is a perfect example. It is an event that calls on the whole community, even though it is not as profitable as it used to be in the past.
The fishing is done close to the coast where the "tonnaroti", the tuna fishermen, have worked for months, laying up to 84 kilometres of fishing-nets so as to direct the migrating tuna and trap them, through a series of communicating cages, in what is called the "death chamber" where they are actually fished.

On the same island it is possible to see the remains of huge tuff stone quarries, from where blocks of stone have been quarried for centuries to supply villages in Sicily, Tunisia and even Libya. Today only one of these quarries is still open and counts three miners. Because of the very hard, exhausting work, and the lack of new miners, this quarry is doomed to end its days soon. The people of the island refer to the miners as the "slaves of Favignana".
On the coasts of Trapani, instead, exhausting hardships are endured on the saltworks by the workers, often for meagre wages, in some way confirming that living in poverty on this Sea is a common destiny that has remained unchanged through time.

My journey continues through France. The multi-ethnic and Mediterranean Marseilles is must, and then I move south towards the Camargue.
This area is one of the few where the view of the horizon and of the sea is not marred by tall buildings built along the coast. It is probably the only stretch of coast from Algesiras in Spain to the Liguria in Italy where cement and unauthorised constructing have not yet ruined the landscape. Strictly protected, let us hope also in the future, from speculation, it is a natural sanctuary for pink flamingos and horses. But I am here to learn more about the traditions of this area, like the "course camarguese" which has roots in the Roman era. It is a characteristic bullfight, typical of the town of Arlès, which takes place in the ancient Roman arena. A bull is freed into the arena with a red rosette and two short ropes between its horns. Ten young men, fast runners dressed in white, called "rasateurs" have to try to take these trophies from the bull's head trusting only on their skill, speed and naturally on their courage. There are prizes in money for those who gain the trophies. This recurring game of man against bull reminds of the painted vases from the Mycenaean period, and of the games in the arenas in Roman times. It is curious to see that these games have survived to this day but on different shores of the Mediterranean.
An ancient tradition that survives today also through the "corrida", a tradition that from Spain has spread to the South of France.

In Spain I reach Valencia, another city whose name alone makes you travel with mind and fantasy though history. It is not only a question of imagination though, and there are many places in this city that are incredibly fascinating. Two things intrigue me more than others, though, the Corpus Christi procession and the "Tribunal de las Aguas".
The first takes place across the entire city centre and most of the people in traditional costumes with the priests and various religious orders move in procession during the afternoon. The procession is at its most popular and picturesque during the late morning. The "pueblo" enacts an allegoric play on the murder of the children ordered by Herod in Palestine. A group of men play the Roman legion, masked with sacks they march through the quarters "hitting" children on the head with plastic clubs. While they march people from the houses along the streets throw water on them. This probably symbolises purification, and when the men finish their parade they thank the children giving them cakes. This is a good example of how historic facts can be kept alive in the memory of a people.

The "Tribunal de las Aguas" is one of the most interesting things I found on my journey. At the same time, on the same day since the Middle Ages, a people's court gathers in front of the Door of the Apostles of the cathedral of Valencia to discuss the distribution of water for irrigation. Eight mayors, one for each of the eight canals that irrigate the Huerta (the fields surrounding the city), meet to solve problems that any citizen among those gathered, both judges and common people, can raise against any one of them. After assessing the accusations, if a mayor is found guilty of "stealing" water he must pay a fine on the spot. In times of drought quarrels are frequent. This unwritten justice, carried out among equals without the interference of the official justice, is the best example I found of popular justice along the shores of the Mediterranean. It shows that water is precious and is considered as belonging to everyone, something that is not common to all the Mediterranean where often water is privately owed and expensive for those who need it.

With a small movement in space yet an enormous jump back in time I move from Europe and return to Africa to one, with Algeria, of the most religious Muslim countries. From Oujida near the border to Algeria, a town that thrives on smuggling black market goods with Spain and Algeria, I move to the ancient Imperial town of Fez.

From here I manage to reach the Rif mountain region known for its revolutionary inhabitants and for being the centre for the production of Kif, or cannabis, from which hashish is extracted. The Moroccan authorities, well aware of the fact that from this region hashish is exported to all Europe, unofficially tolerate the production of Kif. The Rif, with the cultivation of cannabis and the production of hashish, is often compared to the Golden Triangle in South-east Asia where opium and heroin are produced.
The people of this region with whom I spent a few days are the very essence of Moroccan cordiality and hospitality known all round the world. They live without running water or electricity. To have water they must walk for many kilometres to the river, while for light they use gas lamps.
In this area the farmers mainly cultivate wheat and tobacco for US multinationals. This economy is totally legal, however the farmers do not give up smoking some Kif with a glass of tea, as is their tradition. It must be pointed out that the people of this region smoke only the best and more natural part of the plant, cutting the seeds in tiny pieces following a precise ritual about an hour long. They leave hashish produced from Kif for "the Europeans" because, they tell me, "It gives you headaches".

In Chefchaouen, which is in the Rif region, one can see the richness deriving from the Kif economy. This city enjoys higher living standards than the rest of Morocco probably, we could say, because of skilful marketing operations.
"There is no logic in this country, so don't bother looking for it. The only certainty Muslims have is death", explains Jorge, a professor of the Barcelona University that has been living and working here, in Morocco, for eight years. In this short phrase he summarises all the philosophy of this land.

From Chefchaouen I reach Tangiers. Simply hearing the name of this town has made travellers in the past dream, but its charm has now faded, leaving it "dirty and ragged", according to Truman Capote, and a bit "rascal" as Jorge put it before saying goodbye with a smile.

Travels and travelers

Today people travel northbound following the dream of a better life far from war and famine, and others travel southbound looking for knowledge, trying to understand people and differences and perhaps also to feel a bit more citizens of the world upon returning home.
To speak of the continuous northbound migration from the poorer to the richer shores of this Sea one must have undergone the southbound journey. All I can say is that the myth of "civil" Europe is present all round the Mediterranean and many people dream a chance of moving there, not only for mere survival, but mainly for the hunger of civil and human rights.
I was lucky to have had a chance to travel in the opposite direction and to go where I pleased, always greeted and accepted with warmth.
"Those who travel a lot in this world perceive with the heart the things they must understand", says a sura (verse) of the Koran, and I like to think it is true. Of my journey I will never forget the beautiful faces of the people I have met and the many children that live on these shores and when they do not work play football dreaming of Roberto Baggio.