I write sitting on a nice sofa, in this beautiful Café Mozaic that smells of past although it’s placed in a modern building. A soprano sax lightly dances between cultures, while the muezzin softly calls the prayers from the minaret. Outside, I can see the heavy shape of the archaeological museum, Cuban houses ruined but still lived-in, empty roman sepulchres, gravestones, antiquarians laying on their bronzes, sweet and polite straw dogs. The wind blows strong. And homesick Ovid looks to the sea. In front od him, they’ve built a “Spizzico” pizzeria. I could die here, now, for this imperfectly perfect beauty.
Constanta already won my heart. How many hearts should I own to withstand this journey? When I think to the complaints and to the boredom of many travel companions, I wonder how it’s possible not to fall in love of this ever changing world. And smile.
Would it be just ignorance? Ignorance to me is a strange animal, it hangs on your back like a cat and never lets you go. (more…)