Never look back

Thanks to his simple but highly educated style, Javier Reverte was a writer who managed to attract both readers who had not yet started travel reading and document seekers, thanks to the extensive bibliography he gave in each of his books. He always traveled alone because, in his own words, he remembered what he saw doing, the conversations he had with the locals in the cities he visited, their gastronomy, history and writers who were there before him. And all this is colored by humor-free traditions or unsupportive attitudes and a commercial cunning to criticize kata. As he clearly states on his pages, he designed the trip. invisible border, as an act of intellectual curiosity, as constant surprise and self-inquiry. In other words, for Reverte, travel is essential to have a clear vision of the world and life that reduces ignorance.

Javier Reverte was not the kind of man who was nostalgic for his past. Even when he finds out that his illness is incurable. He always said that the best journey is the next one. However, while describing Istanbul before going to Iran, he cannot help wondering if he will ever see the city that marks the border between East and West. What really needs to be asked is whether this limit really exists, given the numerous attacks both worlds have made on the other. Following in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, Reverte remembers that the king of Macedonia made the most important attempt to unite the two worlds in his conquest of the East, or at that time the most important attempt to unite Greek culture with Greek culture 2300 years ago. Persian. Alexander the Great, Aristotle’s teacher and reference book adventure Every time we read about his conquests, he reminds us to always look forward, never back.

As I said at the beginning, it took me long enough to read this last book by Javier Reverte, like a long hug, leaning against the Galata Bridge in Istanbul, watching the slow movement of a ship. far. From time to time he would stop reading, close it, reread the back cover, look at the photographs again and turn the pages. Under the gaze of Javier Reverte, Iran is a dictatorship whose population is trying to be happy in its own way in a harsh desert landscape.

Twenty years ago, I traveled through Greece and Turkey for a month searching for European roots and learning how, as Ryszard Kapuscinski said, lived the people I could see from my house on the other side of the mountains. The last three days of my trip were spent in Istanbul. I got up in the morning and started walking aimlessly around the neighborhoods. One afternoon, I docked at the piers on the west side, where ferries from the Bosphorus or to nearby islands depart. I watched how they put a few coins in some of the toll turnstiles and couldn’t resist. Seconds before take off, I jumped on the nearest ferry without thinking. I settled to one side, near the bow, and remembered as a creamy light slowly covered Istanbul, its wooden houses, the Hagia Sophia mosque, and a dozen minarets that seemed to trace the history of easternmost Europe. Before me the black waters sank the ships of all the empires who believed they would appropriate the world for themselves. I had no idea where that ship would take me. If it were up to me, he would have followed the old trade routes lost for years in a country of ancient Iran. Never look back. The best journey is the next one.