#mine

Adventures, are, by definition, accidents id est a random happening. To travel, on the other hand, has to do with the resources needed to initiate any road. To initiate any road, given this premise, means to be at the mercy of the unforseen, to put to good use any resource available in order to overcome it: to begin an avventurose travel. Every road is a mine full of new resources, every adventure a challenging impression.

Glitter, iron and salt

21 Jun 2020

Hormuz Island, January the 8th, 2020

I write this letter because at the moment I detached from the group. I am in a sort of desert, or at least what in the past was a salty river and now is what remains: wet sand, salt, scarse vegetation around. I am in Hormuz Island: tonight there is a possibility of bombings, of war.

Earlier today we went to the sacred salt mountain: the closest place to mars. We discovered the tomb of three forgotten jews, resting on top of a isolated hill, cover with shells and with view to the vasteness of the sea. We entered into a rainbow cave, and by the time the sun set we went for a cup of tea.

We listen music around the fire (Ebrahim Monsefi, Psychedelic Trance, Experimental, Traditional Sounds, Italian Bands). We try to communicate in all the language we know of, we laugh out loud when we don’t understand each other, we laught even louder when we do, we eat without stop until the early rays of the sun, without stop we also drink the darkest of the teas: we munch: sunflower seeds, zapron rock candy, raisins, dry fruit, chips, biscuits, yogurt, bread, etc.

We are all in a mystic state.

We avoid politics, however we are worry because what could happen, if war starts this young people is gonna be sent to combat: for nothing: a rich and arrogant nation, USA, againts another with pride rooted into a millenial past of cultural blooming and intense trade, conquers and defeats, Iran: both countries dominated by fanatics, by religion, by short sided politics, greed...

Here in this desert, side to the sea, side to valley: short mountains with the whites tops like covered in snow but instead is all layers of salt.

We hear the rumour of the waves, the air could not be fresher, over our dancing heads the stars, the reflection of the full moon, our shadows, the glittered sand.

We dance at the edge of the beach, swallowed by the sparkling sand, we laugh about everyone and everything, we celebrate life. Persian Baccanals.

I have found hospitality, good people, good words, good thoughts.

Persia is a tranquil place, but ardent place..now this inconvinience.

We have decided to stay.

Planes are departing and landing all night long.

Petrol cargos on the strait have their light off. They are still.

At this exact time in Baghdad the situation is close to the same: bombs, and bombs, people segregated into their houses: the destruction of the any will.