There is Always Hope

by Banksy

Requiem For a Year

We'll tak a cup o'kindness yet
For auld lang syne

The 2005 requiem, it was alcoholic and with an unexpected literary tint. The 2006 requiem, it was straight-to-the-point and madly in love. The 2007 and 2008 requiems, they were not written at all, probably because they would be confused and depressed respectively.

How should the 2009 requiem be?

2009 was surrounded by new friends who hugged it and loved it. It obtained a new piece of paper to display to all the shallow people who perceive said paper as a proof of knowledge and value. It fell in love, invested on its relationships, got obsessed, gave opportunities to people who no way deserved them, repeated the same mistakes and then regretted for the wrong choices. It cried, laughed, got fired, traveled, got drunk, quarreled and overslept.

Then, it woke up, made a cup of coffee and started thinking. Its brain cells, spinning round and round, made new connections, produced new hormones, linked experiences and dreams, balanced fears and hopes, re-discovered America, accepted the past, mourned the losses, counted the gains and cherished every single precious moment.

Finally, strong, confident and grateful for everything life brought, it put on its nice, festive clothes, sang Edith Piaf's "Je ne regrette rien" with its special accent and went to bed, accompanied by kisses, caresses and glances of love, like every good kid.

This is nothing but a lullaby, an optimistic, hopeful humming to help it sleep well.

Christmas time!

Every year, as Christmas is coming, I get all excited and happy. I suppose this is one of the things that I kept from my childhood and, frankly, I hope I will never lose. Usually, I behave like a 5-year-old, jumping all around, but sometimes I pretend that I am a mature grown-up strolling in the festive streets. At least, I have managed to supress my urge to write a letter to Santa and throw it in the post box.

This year, the first time I realized Christmas has actually arrived, I was in Bratislava, at Gorgeho, in front of the Opera. The not-yet-decorated Christmas tree was already in place and the first silver, blue and red lights hanged from the buildings. Someone played piano - I lit a cigarette and stood to listen to the music pouring from their open window.

Then, the Christmas Market opened and I went as often as the cold allowed me. The times I went alone, I spend my time people-watching: street musicians and their audience, parents taking photos of their children, couples holding hands, people rushing into the comforting heat of the nearby cafes and, mostly, people armed with coats, scarves and gloves standing around tall wooden tables, hands around plastic glasses of hot wine. The times I went with company, we just meddled in the crowd and focused on the hot wine and the grilled chicken.

With a glass of hot wine in hand (again), I saw oh-so-beautiful Prague all bright and Christmas-y too. It was a kind-of-Halloween celebration that day and, in Namesti Republiky, people disguised in angels and devils offered candies to children. I headed to Starometske, the Old Town Square, but it was so crowded I could barely walk. I climbed on a kind of stage and enjoyed a 360 view of it and then watched a fire juggling street performance next to the Astronomical Clock.

I even experienced White Christmas in Vienna. All night and all morning it was snowing, and when I arrived, the city was dressed in white. My original joy soon disappeared: the freezing cold made it impossible for me to stay still or my toes were in real pain. Nevertheless, I tried to make the most out of it and used the cold as an excuse to keep my fingers continuously wrapped around mugs of warm berry punch. I also tasted strawberries dipped in chocolate (it looked more delicious than it actually was), some warm apple pie and, for the first time, I ate half a candy apple (the other half fell on a man in the tram).

So, it was Christmas. I knew it, I could see it all around and I had tried to feel it in half the Christmas Markets of Central Europe. But still, something was missing: it didn't smell like Christmas.

Then, I took my flight back to Greece. The warm weather here reminds of spring, I do not even need a jacket and today, I woke up from the sunshine on my eyelids. It has nothing to do with the White Christmas of Vienna, nor the fairytale atmosphere of Prague. However, it was the moment I set foot on the airport of Athens that I realized that Christmas is actually here. Because, Christmas is meaningless unless you share it with the people you love. More than everything, Christmas is home.

Prague ♥ - Part 2

(photo by Robert Doisneau)

I don't want to write a pure diary-entry-style post, neither do I want to enumerate the sights in a travel-guide way (after all, there are more than enough decent travel guides out there for those who need official Prague info). All I want, is to express what Prague meant to me, it seems though that I lack the ability to transform my feelings into words.

Here is my best shot:

When, at my teens, I read the novels and saw the nostalgic photos of bohemic, intellectual Paris of the 50s-60s, something moved inside me. It was undefined, a peculiar feeling I could hardly discern but knew it was lying there, sleeping. I felt it some more times moving, but even Paris itself didn't manage to wake it up. It was in Prague that it woke up; it was magic, felt like love and overwhelmed me. Prague is all they had told me Paris was.

One evening, after the too crowded Christmas Market of the Main Square, where I could hardly walk (it took my breath away, even under those circumstances), I spent 15 minutes on Charles Bridge, watching the efforts of a French couple to take a specific photo: the girl, on her toes and leaning over the bridge, was trying to attract the seagulls with a cookie, whereas the boy waited, camera on hand, to capture the moment a seagull would eat it. For some moments, a seagull hovered above the girl's head, looking at the cookie and figuring out if he should go for it, finally, decided to pass. It is a pity they missed it, they were too focused on their original plan.

All my week there, I felt like the seagull, those few specific moments he hovered above the girl's head - he was there, still and moving at the same time, free to move towards any direction, each of them offering him something. He could fly higher in the air, dive into the river, land proud and alone on some statue's head, crash into the pavement, eat the cookie, refuse the cookie, join the strange creatures on the bridge or return to his peers: all options open, everything possible, able to do whatever he desired and whatever he imagined. What he chose, never mind: the only thing that counts, is this moment of sublime freedom.

Prague ♥

It was love at first sight.

I slept all 4 hours the bus drove from Bratislava to Prague; I opened my eyes about 10 minutes before arriving to the bus station. We were crossing a bridge; I got the first glimpse of Prague and thought I had woken up in a fairy tale.

The time gap between deciding to go and my actual going was 3 days. It is the most unorganized trip I've ever done and, more than any other before, it was based on the kindness of strangers: someone lent me a map, someone shared tips, someone drove me around, someone took me to his favorite spots... So, I did find my way around but, not having expectations and not rushing to museums and landmarks, allowed me to feel every single moment and see it all through a child's eyes, totally unprepared, innocent, amazed.

I wandered in a misty park overlooking Prague and the river, talking about scripts and meanings, listening to strange stories, searching in tree trunks for lost treasures - that wasn't real life, I was in one of those movies you see, love and forget as time goes by but remain stored somewhere in the memory.

I also attended New Europe 2009, a Contemporary Dance Festival. I must admit, after a few bad experiences, these new forms of art scare me and I tend to avoid them, thank god they persuaded me to go! Some of it made me think, some of it made me laugh, some of it made me sleepy but nothing moved me as much as the last performance - it started funny and, gradually and powerfully, moved to the tragic ending; it was out of pure embarrassment I managed not to cry my eyes out. It took me some 20 minutes to recover and say a few words about it, and still, my eyes filled with tears.

Some other special things I did:

• Went to a Mongolian restaurant and cried over a spicy shrimp soup.
• Drank tequila shots with salt and lemon, sitting with a Czech and a black Russian around a half-lit kitchen table.
• Went to an Erasmus party and, surprisingly enough, met a Polish whose first degree was on Greek Philology.
• Read Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls.
• Drank buckets of tea.
• Cursed the incompetence of my camera.
• Went for 3 days, stayed almost one week.