Happy, she, who like Ulysses...

Egypt: these beautiful boats called feluccas on the wide, bright sea, the sun rising through the porthole, and the vast sand dunes on the edge of the coast, resembling a herd of waves being pushed on by the wind. The holidays were supposed to be idyllic but from the cruise ship’s deck, I would only languish to explore local life, swarming in each and every of the cities we visited on our journey. I was dreaming of getting lost among market displays, of being carried away by the perfume of colored spices. One day though, we were offered a ride in a carriage to visit a poor village of the Luxor area. The Egyptian driver was only but a few years older than me, and invited me to sit in front, next to him. We drove away on a bumpy road, further into the beautiful countryside, far from the mumbling noises of the city.

Children surrounded the carriage as we reached the village, offering me flowers. Almost ashamed of getting so much attention at first, I stopped feeling like a European tourist thanks to my driver’s natural and warm behavior. He seemed almost proud of having me there, and I understood it was his own village. I suddenly felt home between the brick houses, men talking loudly, women on the threshold of their houses, and the beautiful faces of all these children in rags.

At that time, I was suffering from anorexia, and I still remember this day as the one that helped me take a new step in life. I still don’t exactly know what it was, but the fact remains that, as the carriage was going forward on our way back, the weight I seemed to carry on my shoulders went away. And when the ride was over, when we were facing the boat and said goodbye, the malicious look in the eyes of this young Egyptian driver revived in me the zest for life I had lost.

I went back on board with a piece of sugarcane and a handful of pink flower petals, but most importantly, with an unutterable feeling in my heart.