Do Chico

How did I end up in here?...

In Portugal, making my way to Algarve, say, the Portuguese equivalent to Balaton, I can`t help to remember, my friends and our lifestyle and what we were all able to build. On a stop on this fancy highway, I have to enjoy the time my friends used to go to the toilet to quickly some a cigarette I stole from my mom before this unaware people arrive.
Riding in a not by any means special Opel Megan, I tune in my headphones to find out a Manu Chao playlist. Quite redundant compared to the environment of our van which crossed way more than just one country…

So where was I? Screaming shotgun on top of my lungs? Maybe…Maybe we were leaving for Pogdorica and we were all annoyed with each other. João would be explaining again why we shouldn't leave bags in the van, Marta re-affirming how we must cover her camera lens after using it, Pedro could be rolling a cigarette, Mathilde quietly annoyed by yet another stop, Despina furiously aiming apples at people`s heads, and Daniel sliding unnecessary jokes out of his mouth. Despite all the negativity, it would keep me entertained. Maybe not, yet I can`t help but to feel nostalgic about such moments.
It was hard to separate from this people. After giving up the van, there was nothing left to do. People shouldn't have to separate. Some of us try to avoid, but I still wonder if will it ever work. So there is the need to change perspective. Maybe we are not all apart. I mean…if we were together in the same place, but didn't see each other for if only some minutes, hours, or days, then we were apart… But never did any of us thought that we weren't together.

There was that Manu Chao radio to substitute that random car radio. Such amazing sounds. And what a soundtrack: “Welcome to Tijuana” fuelled the van`s speed and the lyrics kept the motor running. If we were clandestine in the van, we were clearly illegal outside.
Next to those high mountains, saying that I'm cured, trying to anaesthetize myself with this breathless moments.
But Montenegro cannot really be negro. It is not dark, but bright. In the middle of the sea… maybe it was a lake… a landscape with water where there were two churches that silenced us as we followed the bay, as we were reduced to amazement, looking through the window, next to the mountains, us and the ever long way to nowhere known.
And just like that, it was no longer the 21st of June. My friends, just like that, it was another day in another year. It was another day.