Of lice and men

   Sometimes, some people just pop into your head for no apparent reason.I am sure there is one, I just don't think we can grasp it when we happen to glimpse these faces again in our mind unexpectedly.
   Today I thought of Chefchaoen in the Rif mountains, in Morocco.A place which is basically famous for its hashish, grown on the steep sides of the hills, and its indigo blue picturesque houses.Both attract herds of tourists every year.
  A blistering cold winter I happened to be stuck there on my way to Sahara, where I was meant to meet Hassan, a true friend.It was almost dusk and we were strolling and marvelling at the amazing hues of blues and the effect of the light and the shadows, when we met Asaf, or rather he met us.He was so excited about us being spanish!Before we could utter a word he told us the whole story of his life.Not a very long story though.
   In music we call a "one hit band" a group which is very popular  for a particular song but then fades away and evrybody wonders where they might have gone- after a karaoke session usually.Asaf was a "one hit man".He had appeared for about two minutes in one of the first Almodovar films, "Bajarse al moro" ten years ago.
    He was so used to not being believed by people that he had a VCR ready in a nearby shop where we could see the entire sequence.Although he had aged, it was undoubtedly him.
   He played the part of some guide for Antonio Banderas when he came down to buy dope.Unfortunately we didn't need a guide, sadly we didn't need anything from him.
   We walked together back to the main square, which was not very main or very square where we were to meet his friend Jean Paul Belmondo or a very likely lookalike.We couldn't believe our eyes.He was his spitting image.We spotted him among dozens of Arabs who were either sipping tea, chatting or smoking cheap tobacco.He insisted on showing us his home, his wife and his newborn baby.We couldn't refuse the third.
  His wife was 18 at most, and she had the saddest grey eyes in a beautiful face I had ever seen.You could tell she'd had enough of this life.Enough of fairy tales about actors and movies, of lies, high hopes and unfaithfulness.But she was very used to tourists like us, because a tourist always goes on a tour, no mater how far or how long.A tourist always buys a return ticket whereas a traveller only thinks of the next stage.Jean Paul and Asaf were far more travellers than us.They only thought of today.

From Istambul, a most inspiring stage.