It was the end, an entire world was collapsing, the suffering was intolerable and I finally understood what it meant to have a broken heart. The feeling that a bomb has destroyed your insides, that your whole existence has turned to dust. And yet... that was only the beginning, and this story began on 25 June 2016 in Zurich, Switzerland...
I'll skip the details of the previous event, (let's just say that a break-up in love can be incredibly painful and seem insurmountable) preferring to focus on what resulted, the unimaginable.
So I packed my bags, taking only a suitcase and a rucksack. Leaving behind a few suitcases and boxes in a cellar, I sold the last of my furniture and impersonal belongings, or useless items if you prefer.
So here I am at Zurich airport, ready to board the next flight to Valencia, Spain, to meet up with a few friends and try to take stock of the months ahead.
2 weeks in this city where I lived between 2010 and 2013, soaking up the scents of the sea, the magnificently bright streets and the delicious cuisine of my friend Peejee, an Italian exiled in Spain and owner of a real little culinary nugget in the old town called Tinto Fino Ultramarino. A memorable photo shoot in the streets of the Valencian city with... (my memory has failed me...) nonetheless some magnificent visual memories.
But keen to deepen this quest for self, I then left for Romania, to pay a surprise visit to Andreea. Alas, it was unsuccessful and we didn't get to see each other, but at least I would have discovered Constanta and had the wonderful surprise of changing my opinion of Romania, which had been distorted by a press and media that were deceitful and provocative. In fact, the mistakes we French speakers make in mixing up the names Roma and Romanians have the effect of reducing an entire people to the status of criminals, whereas in reality, the country has a remarkable cultural richness that is particularly interesting to those who take the time to get to know it.
My curiosity about the unknown led me to head for Istanbul, Turkey, for the simple reason that Constanta's small airport offers a direct connection.
And that's where the first real adventure began, on 15 July 2016, just a few hours (minutes even) after my flight landed at Istanbul airport, the army attempted a putsch and blocked the airport with tanks. That night, the city centre was the scene of a war, with Kalashnikov fire breaking the silence of my hotel room, not far from the great Blue Mosque...
But I'll tell you the rest later... that's also what a blog is for.
Thanks for coming all this way, and see you soon for the next episode...
