A short passage from Finding Eivissa, the scene inspired by the image below.
"An unexpected sight opens in front of my eyes, a
sight I cannot ignore. Instead of the calm waters in front of the
fortress, the rear side offers a view of a different sea—the sea of
small, dark streets and alleys—like an intricate puzzle. The
breathtaking scenery visible from the other side had been replaced by
the panorama of poverty–stricken streets, crumbling house walls, and
dilapidated facades that struggle to hide the building materials beneath
them. It reminds me of the ghettos in Barcelona, the ghettos I came to
know far too well. I take a deep breath and look for a sign of life—a
life not affected by its surroundings. Nothing.
Down, between the rows
of dirty dwellings stretches a clothesline. Heavy with the freshly
washed laundry it droops down, droplets of water trickling onto the
soiled pavement from its burden. Around the corner, a group of filthy
children plays with a semi–deflated soccer ball—it makes a funny sound
as it bounces off the wall—plunk, plunk. A man sitting on a staircase
puts out a cigarette; he coughs, spits phlegm on the sidewalk, and
lights a new one. A mucky dog wanders to a house, lifts his leg, and
pisses on it. His urine flows down the wall and onto the street, forming
a puddle on the pavement. The children run about, stepping in the piss,
unconcerned. An old woman watches from the window, her large breasts
hanging over the windowsill for the world to see. Une vie ordinaire, a
mundane life...life in its purest.
These streets bring me back to all
the places I had escaped when I sneaked onto the ferry. The same feeling
of conformity within despair, conformity with their destiny,
prearranged long before these people were born. Nothing ever changes,
nothing ever disturbs the gloomy corners of the underworld. Tucked away
from the bright lights, tucked away from the shiny pavers on the
promenade, hidden from the eyes of the tourists, the misery thrives. I
cannot help but think of myself—only a few weeks ago my life was not
much different from the view in front of my eyes. Yet, there is a
certain peace soaring from these streets, a peace embedded in each
cobblestone, in each rotten wall. The peace of men, unconcerned with the
rest of the world, disturbed neither by global issues, nor by the stock
market prices. A peace so ancient that it can only be found in the few
corners of the world that remain unchanged for centuries. This is one of
the places.
I miss the intricacy of the street, I miss the feeling of
excitement and danger melted together into one exceptional,
nonconforming emotion. There is the real—the street; and then there is
all the other—the removed. I am now on the other side of reality, unable
to reach out with my hand and touch the pure life. I miss the street."
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