Galway Seagull Flying Manual

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I. Be a seagull in Galway.

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II. Place your self in the bridge in front of the Spanish Arch on a Sunday afternoon in November after the rain, not before sunset.

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III. Spread your wings.

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IV. Fly.

V. Land on the bridge.

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VI. Eat the breadcrumbs that an old man will offer you.

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VII. Repeat exercises III, IV , V and VI until you feel confident.




















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VIII. Stop and rest once it is dark or breadcrumbs are gone.

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Cormorant in the sun

A black arrow in the cold depths, terrorizing small fish.

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Mussels lay dark amongst the brown seaweed and the green moss of the stones.

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Men pick shells from the Galway bay shore. Awry shadows reflecting on a sea mirror.

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The cormorant resurfaces, stands on a rock, spreads its wings to the sun.

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Definitely prefers the sun.

Instructions for a walk on Galway bay (bad weather)

1. The Galway promenade swept by a silver wind full of salt and dead sea weed.

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2. Walk towards the northern wall. The seagulls will fly close to the water, fall down on the waves to catch small fish and be back on the air again.

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3. In the distance something black will rise and dive again. Nail your eyes in the water surface to see whether a delphin or a shark show up. Its the usual cormorant.

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4. Continue walking until you kick the wall at the northern end before turning around (that is the custom). In the way back you may be chased by hale (not by Hale Berry -who many dream of- just hale).

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5. Time to go home and have a hot sunday soup.

Tromost u Beogradu

I spend a morning of full irresponsible undeserved laziness in a sunny Novemberish Belgrade.

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It is hot. Perhaps its the Obama effect. Or global warming (Jose Maria Aznar would not agree here).

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People are wandering around Kalimegdan. My friend and I join a circle of middle aged dancers surround an Achordeon player. Folk dances in the Balkans are almost identical, and still Serbs, Croats, Albanians and others often claim their national authenticity. I've seen dancers in Budva, Pristina, Belgrade and other places which follow the very same steps with very similar clothes (save the egg-shaped Albanian hat, which definitely has a lot of personality). They are all 'nice'.

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Pity the world is not big or rich enough to allow a 'fatherland a la carte' for everybody. I continue the walk and pass by a monument to the partisans who fought the nazis. Smrt fazismu, sloboda narody. Death to fascism and freedom to the people. At that time, a common enemy united different people? Maybe.

Small kiosks sell Yugoslav parafernalia, key rings and popcorn. I buy a movie about the First World War in Serbian which am sure won't understand, but want to keep my faith on learning to speak the language without sounding like Chief Sitting Bull on a Balkan tour. I buy a red star, for the sake of nostalgy.

Later on, a walk on Ada Ciganlija with my Serbian host. The summer kiosks lay empty by the river side. I sit in the artificial beach made of small stones. It is a perfectly defined beach. Metal columns stick out from the water. They are lifts for water skiing. On the other side some people are swimming naked.

My Serbian friend and I can't find anything to eat but a kukuruc (boiled corn). We sit by the water, eat the kukuruc and engage in a perfectly unproductive activity: throwing stones to the corn cob. Whoever hits the corncob, which is floating in the water, wins.

I lay in the sun analysing the importance of laziness, its lessons, properties and probably very healthy effects on mind, body and soul. Unfortunately it is time to go.