beautiful things instantaneously

电话中 在2009年6月25日的外交部记者会上，有外媒记者问：“中国网民已经不能使用google服务，包括gmail邮箱，请问这是中国互联网管制的最新政策吗？”外交部发言人秦刚说：“我想先问你一个问题，你们小区没有邮局吗？邮局寄信难道不是很方便吗？”

中國的外交部長居然說這樣的話，真的是個混蛋！

Covered by a rainbow banner, a lush Shanghai garden played host to an all-day celebration of homosexuality. Here the joy and pride of Shanghai’s homos and friends came out, beckoning all bystanders outside to come in. Neighbours craned their necks to peek into the garden, migrant workers climbed up onto the fence to watch the drag queens dance, passers-by stopped to listen to the merry singing and an elderly lady wandered around the garden with curiosity about a world unknown.

With a rainbow painted on one side of my face, I walked around talking to onlookers and asking, “Do you know what’s going on in there?” The answer was mostly “no.” “It is a festival to celebrate homosexuality,” I told a middle-aged couple. “Would you be curious to go in and take a look?” With blank expressions on their faces, the couple said “yes” and walked in. Soon they disappeared in a sea of celebrants.

As the festivities went on, men with masculine bodies took off their shirts to display their muscles, cheerful, flaming drag queens danced and spread their stardust, beautiful models walked runway, and young men and women auctioned off their skills to raise money for an AIDS foundation. Fireworks started going off and the gay weddings began. At that moment, Cotton’s garden was full of magic.

As Shanghai, and China’s, first gay pride celebration comes to a close, we have to ask, what are we really celebrating? This “celebration of homosexuality” must have confused many passers-by that day.

There is nothing about homosexuality itself that is worth celebrating. Homosexuality is merely a sexual orientation. Think about it, heterosexual people don’t celebrate being straight. It wasn’t a celebration of who we are, but of what we do. In front of a camera documenting the event, a “newly wed” Chinese gay couple said, “It doesn’t matter whether we’re really married now. We’re happy there is such an opportunity for us to stand here and let everybody know that we love each other.”

Many of the people who attended this PRIDE event were not gay. A straight Chinese girl said “I’m proud of living in a city that is open enough to hold events like this.” Shanghai PRIDE was not a celebration of being gay, but a celebration of people being able to come out and to be who they are. It was to raise people’s awareness of homosexuality in this country, to present a positive image of the gay community and to promote a more tolerant attitude toward things that are different. The rainbow has seven colours; difference is what we embrace.

半夜睡不著，不禁想到這樣的句子。

夜半私語時，月落如金盆。總是在夏天的夜里，會想要說些什么，卻找不到可以訴說的人。

一整個禮拜忙著忙著，完全沒有時間去想些什么。頭一沾枕頭，便睡著了。睡眠中可以聽到自己打呼的聲音。只是太累了。

Sara Rowe在上海住了兩個月的時間。終于她今天早上還是回了愛丁堡去了。不能再打個電話便約出來吃午飯喝咖啡了。

不知道為什么，心里一點點的失落。總是都有離開的時候。曾經最親近的人，也總是有走了的時候。去年夏天越南的照片不敢去看，可是卻又忍不住的去看。有些人，雖然走了，卻仍舊住在你的心里。怎么辦呢。只是留下的人自己知道。

有沒有哪一個人是會留在身邊一生一世的呢？可不可以不要走呢？到頭來是不是還是自己一個人呢？我有一點的寂寞。

或者是自己一個人靜下來想一想的時候了。夜半無人私語時。

做了什么。接下來要做什么。做些什么才是可以讓知道開心的。幸福的掌握，咫尺天涯。

我不停的喝酒和party.我不停的看書和寫字。我不停的打掃房子和在跑步機上加速。我不停的愛和努力不去愛。我不停的尋找愛和損毀。我不停的旅行和想停下來。我不停的說話和靜默。我不停的笑和流淚。我究竟要的是什么呢？

為什么當時握著我現在覺得是幸福的東西仍舊覺得迷失呢？

惠安的夜色里，腳下好多的蚊子。我不停的涂tiger balm和喝著sugarcane juice. 他睡在身邊，呼吸清勻，仿如嬰兒。

可不可以再念一遍Alice in Wonderland給我聽呢？我親愛的大為。

夏天就這樣的又來了，千呼萬喚的。只是來時不過一閃的光陰便是立夏了。

在房間的陽臺上把窗戶大開著，在小園桌上坐著喝泛著綠色的薄荷葉茶，抽一根夏日的香煙。記得曾經在愛丁堡的公寓的夏日黃昏時的茉莉花茶和Mild Seven.那時窗外的樓下是大片翠綠的花園。遠處看到大海的一角。

如今的窗外仍可以看到些許的樹。聽著夏韶聲唱歌，窗簾在風中一蕩一蕩的，那些褶皺間可以看的到時光的腳。

昨天在叫做The Fat Olive的餐廳的露臺喝了一天的酒曬了一天的太陽。滿目的陽光和皮膚曬黑了的白種人。個個戴了大太陽眼鏡仿佛從GQ雜志上滑落出來的一般。紅色短褲，白色襯衫，Ray Ban太陽鏡。

天黑時，一起的人都走了。我留下來跟另一個人一起看高樓大廈間的一顆星星。

今天的下午把 頭靠著窗吹風聽著夏韶聲時，仿佛是要睡過去了。在夏日初上的熱浪之中，昏昏欲睡。

是怎樣的光陰，叫你我迷醉。

Olivier and my hand with a cigarette.

Anne and Olivier

My hand with a cigarette.

Vienna Cafe on Shaoxing Lu hosts its weekly film nights every Thursday night to bring the city a different film choice.

On Thursday 16 April, we would like to invite you and your friends to our Vienna Café Shanghai Documentary Film Night for the screening of Swedish independent filmmaker Peter Eldin’s documentary Building 173. Building 173 was originally the luxury apartment building the Cosmopolitan in downtown Shanghai. Built in the early twentieth century by the Tan family, the Cosmopolitan lived an international community; with the wars and political upheavals taking place in Shanghai, the residents changed to middle class and intellectual Chinese families, and to workers when the apartments were divided into smaller compartments after the Communist took over. The building witnessed three quarters of a century’s human history. Building 173 discovers the stories and secrets of one building, seven people and three generations, past and present. On the film night, we are very honoured to have the filmmaker Peter Eldin himself to be present to answer questions and to discuss the making of the documentary. For more information, check out the film’s official website: www.building173.com.

紹興路的維也納咖啡每周四推出電影之夜，為春暖花開的上海帶來不同的電影選擇和奧地利的咖啡文化。

4月16日的星期四晚，我們將推出一部在上海拍攝的記錄片Building 173. Cosmopolitan是一棟建于20世紀初的高級公寓樓，本片講述了七十幾年來圍繞這個公寓樓展開的歷史。一棟樓，七個人，三代。住過的洋人，中產階 級，只是分子，工人，歌劇演員。經歷二戰，內戰，風風雨雨，前世今生。制作人員專門赴加拿大采訪杜月笙的兒子與他妻子。

本片由生活在上海的瑞典電影人Peter Eldin等人編導，制作，多次獲得各類紀錄片獎。但是本次為首次在它的主要拍攝地上海公映。

當日導演Peter Eldin將到場與觀眾見面討論本片。

http://www.building173.com/

英文發音，無字幕。

時間：4月16日星期四，19：30

地點：Vienna Cafe, 紹興路，靠近陜西南路（陜西南路地鐵下）

位子有限，先打電話訂位子：021 021 644 52 131

他坐在他的旁邊，他坐在他的旁邊。出租車在暗夜緩行。流光夜色，他在抽一根煙，而他慢慢把頭靠在了他的肩上。此刻的溫柔無限，只盼是能長久。

一個夏天的愛恨交纏。電影中的人的眼神復雜，卻有太多的話沒有說出來。

自己也經過這樣的夏天。炎熱，不停的流汗。和愛的人在一起。讀到有些寫“男人的真愛一生是只有一次的”。若是真的，那樣我便不再可能愛上什么人了。已經把愛都一無保留的在無限夏天的炎熱中給了一個人了。

張國榮的錦繡年華都在電影的光影中記錄了下來了。穿梭如一尾寂寞的魚。光影燦爛都是身外的事情。眼睛大大的，只是要掉淚的樣子。

寂寞的如同阿根廷的南半球冬季一樣，干澀，有太多的眼淚流也流不出來。

兩個人的感情里，總是有一個是比較狠心的。只是狠心的那個，未必不傷。在張國容回去那個房子時，梁朝偉不在了，他抱著被子哭的好傷心。看的人心痛。

盼只盼，錦繡年華都不浪費。愛的人一段姻緣聚會。只是花自凋零，水自流。

四月即至。在這個城市變得無比炎熱之前的短短一個月的春光。

春光。乍泄。

明明還握在手中。

記得兩年前的四月，坐在愛丁堡的家的屋頂看傍晚流云，口中清唱的歌詞。迎風嘆歲月悠悠。

愛情最美麗的時候，都存在回憶之中。

華麗如綢緞觸摸，不冤枉年華錦繡。

藍天白云。我接著去了希臘旅行。從一個島到另一個島。

之后遇見那一個人。

現在想起他來時，記得的都是他的好。嘴角只是小小的微笑。記得他最美好的時候。記得他睡著時的樣子。記得在一起的最好時光。給他的愛，都還在。心，給他帶了去。乍泄如春光，怎樣捉的住呢。

所以，如此時四月的天光，美好的時候稍縱即逝。四月天的黃昏的微風時候，過去了便不再了。只是美好的記憶在。

小心的握在手中吧。

PS: I Love You

不是很努力的去避免這部電影了嗎。不知怎的又拿出來在Vienna Café放。

沒有太多的人來看。只是WJ帶了她新的女朋友來。很高很漂亮的年輕女孩子，青春又美麗著。

我吃著Gulasch，喝著橙汁坐在黑暗中看電影，卻是吃到哽咽。拼命的快快把東西吃下去。一場電影下來，仍是滿面都是濕的。

當初是和他一起看的。他看完后只是說，你干什么又讓我看這樣的電影，結果看到我落淚。我這想著，要是有天你死了，我該怎么辦。

我怎樣也想不到，當初說這話的人，此時已經不再了。

到最后那首ps: I Love You唱起來的時候，我已經是無力去克制了。只是快快跑到洗手間去。

春。夏。秋。冬。

要那么長的時間才可以不再感受到的一個人的存在。是生，是死，都好。究竟有沒有分別呢。

只是當時已惘然。

春

賣花擔上，買的一枝春欲放。淚染清勻，猶帶彤霞曉露痕。

春天了，天氣卻仍是冷。雨下那么久。病了兩個禮拜都不好。頭痛，四肢乏力。夜夜笙歌的日子是怎樣也支撐不下去了。只是穿了幾件的hoodie躲在空調房里仍是覺得冷。沒有暖氣片的冬天，難過到骨頭里去。

看了三個醫生了。每個說的都是差不多的話。只是吃得藥都不有效。

生病的時候，只是嘆若覺得正常該多好。

夜半醒來，忽冷忽熱的。汗流了許多。只是記起某人也曾是睡到半夜總在流汗。

仍是會夢見他。在半夜太冷或太熱醒來時。這輩子到現在沒有對一個人這么放不開的。于是又想到金庸小說里的人和事。起初遇見時也是想到金庸很多。

天上星，亮晶晶。永燦爛，長安寧。

四張機，鴛鴦織就欲雙飛。可憐未老頭先白。春波碧草，曉寒深處，相對浴紅衣。

我只盼自己的人生不是金庸小說里的人一般，不要為了誰了碎了心，白了頭。

病，不死的話，終究是有好的時候的吧。

There is someone I want to write a letter to, not only just one letter, but letters, like I used to write to him. Not just emails, but actually letters, on paper. I wrote to him, all the long letters, at kitchen tables with a cat on my lap, on my bed with candle lights, under dim lights in a wee cabin in Xinjiang. I wrote to him, and my letters travelled across mountains and oceans to get to him. I miss typing in his name and writing down about my day. “Tell each other how our days are… maybe nothing will be different, but everything will be different.”

The beauty of words; the beauty of the distant closeness. I miss this person, and I wish he could read about my life. The real loneliness is you cannot be heard by the one you want to be heard the most, isn’t it?

I miss writing to him. I wish I could write to him.

The days go on, and I become more faithless.

1997年看過的電影。

在哪里？在哪里見過你？

你的笑容這樣熟悉

我一時想不起

在時過境遷之后，在2009年2月14日的上海又看到。一個人靜靜的坐在黑暗中看。只是覺得人在時間中真的渺小，看過時間流去，事件發生。只是那個人最后的最后在你轉身時卻又在那里了。

在現實中，有幾個人是幸運的可以在回首時仍有當初愛的那個人在呢？

有時我懷疑去電影院的原因是不是可以在黑暗中哭一場呢？

2009年的2月14日，我在上海的電影院里看甜蜜蜜。終于是又一次的哭了。

只是這一次是為了自己的故事，還是電影里的故事，是無從知曉了。

在夢里。

When many people describe Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale as science fiction, I read it with my eyes wet, as an emotional journey. Indeed, it is a science fictional story set in a democratic United States of America-turned theocratic state when the nuclear, biological and chemical pollution rendered a large portion of the population sterile and a terrorist attack abolished the US constitution. Thus an imaginary state the Republic of Gilead was formed under the rule of a military dictatorship. It’s a state run by a government which degrades women’s status down to merely a means of reproduction under the name of God and the Bible. Comprising a few social critiques, including religious movements, feminism, the backlash against feminism, and terrorism, the novel presents a dystopian version of life in a country under a totalitarian regime.

Offred, the protagonist narrates the story of her life being a handmaid who along with other women, exists in a void-like world with no trust, love, or escape. She tells her story in fragments, with many flashbacks through which the readers slowly envision her life before and after she became Offred.  The story is quietly told in a not-much-happening atmosphere and it exists only because you are listening.

In a world without freedom, Offred has the unfilled amount of time. “Time as white sound”; “the long parentheses of nothing.” She travels through time in her memories to her rebellious lesbian friend Moira, her peculiar feminist mother, her lost daughter, and more often her husband Luke. In Atwood’s poetic descriptions, these passages of memories with Luke are lovingly tender but also heartbreaking to read.  

“We would lie in those afternoon beds, hands on each other, talking it over… How were we to know we were happy? But now it’s the rooms themselves I miss as well…I wanted to feel Luke lying beside me. I have them, these attacks of the past, like faintness, a wave sweeping over my head. Sometimes it can hardly be borne.

“Lying in bed, with Luke, his hand on my rounded belly. Thunderstorm outside the window… A flash of lightning, quite close, Luke’s eyes go white for an instant. I’m not frightened. We are wide awake, the rain hits now, we will be slow and careful. If I thought this would never happen again I would die…It’s the lack of love we die from. There’s nobody here I can love, all the people I love are dead or elsewhere.”  

As the story moves forward, the Commander starts to summon Offred to his office at nights. There is a possibility of an affair between them. However, she does not like him and he only wants to play Scrabble with her. She still takes in what he has to give to the emptiness of her life: moisturiser, a women’s magazine, a cheap lipstick, a costume-like dress with feathers, and a night out in the underground brothel.

Love happens in the very last part of the book, or it almost does. In order to have a baby, the Commander’s wife Serena Joy arranges Offred to meet Nick, the chauffeur. In Nick’s single room above the garage, sex isn’t a ritual anymore. Desire and love sparkle in Atwood’s again poetic but also fast-paced descriptions. “He begins to unbutton, then to stroke, kisses beside my ear.” The imaginary or real-existing thunderstorms, lightning and searchlight glow and flash. “His mouth is on me, his hands, I can’t wait and he’s moving, already, love, it’s been so long, I’m alive in my skin, again, arms around him, falling and water softly everywhere, never-ending. I knew it might only be once.” She herself isn’t sure how it happens either, “the way love feels is always only approximate”.

She then takes risks and goes back to him again and again. In the glow of the searchlight filtered through the white curtains she memorizes him, to save him up so she can live on the image. “The lines of his body, the texture of his flesh… I ought to have done that with Luke, paid more attention, to the details, the moles and scars, the singular crease; I didn’t and he’s fading. Day by day, night by night, he recedes, and I become more faithless.” She knows each time with him might be the last, and if more, that is a surprise, extra, a gift. Love is a spark, lost in the dark. Her momentary happiness bears as much hopelessness as love.

However, when the story is at its climax, it also abruptly ends. Offred is taken away by the authorities that are led to her room by Nick. He tells her to go with them and says “it’s alright.” So she sets off into “the darkness within; or else the light.” Her memories end here with an ambiguous ending of not knowing whether she escapes or dies, whether Nick has betrayed her or saved her.

In this beautifully written book, it looks like nothing much happens within pages of the poetic style of writing, but at the same time a lot happens intensely like waves one after another. Atwood imaginatively creates a dystopian society, but more importantly she weaves together one’s memories of the past and the feelings of love. Love and desire are sensually described with metaphors such as flowers and water, but moreover, are heartfully perceived. She tells the story with great compassion. It is not only a story that brings you the chill to rethink about society, but also a story that brings out your own memories till you are in tears.

The Handmaid's Tale, by Canadian author Margaret Atwood, is first published by McClelland and Stewart in 1985.

当许多人说Margaret Atwood的The Handmaid’s Tale是一部科幻小说时，我将其作为一次情感的旅程，读到双目泪湿。诚然，这是一个带着科幻色彩的故事。当生化污染使很大部分的人口失去生育能力以及恐怖分子袭击国会之后，一个民主的美国变为神主的政权，于是形成一个军事独裁的Gilead共和国。这是一个在神和圣经的名义下将女性的地位下降到单纯的生育工具的政权。小说包含了数个社会评论题材，从宗教运动到女权主义，女权主义的反作用以及恐怖主义，展现了一个在极权主义统治下的“反乌托邦”世界。

女主人公Offred叙述了自己同其他女人一道作为女仆(handmaid,出自圣经故事)的生活。她们生活在一个没有信任，没有爱，也无从逃遁的几乎真空的世界里。她的故事是片断的，如电影中的回忆片断。读者在这些记忆碎片中慢慢将她的前世今生拼接在一起。故事在很安静的氛围中叙述，仿佛没有太多事情发生。它的存在也只因为你的聆听。

在一个没有自由的世界里，Offred有着永远也填不满的时间。“时间如同白色的声音”；“空洞的无限长的插曲。”她于是穿越时空在漫长回忆中旅行，不断地回去与亲人的回忆之中：她的叛逆的女同性恋朋友Moira，她古怪的女权主义者母亲，她失散的女儿，且更多的是她的丈夫Luke.在Atwood的诗歌般的描述中，与Luke的那些片断温柔无限，却又读来让人心碎。

“我们躺在下午的床上，手握着对方，一再谈过…我们怎知道我们是幸福的呢？现在我连那些房间本身也是想念…我想要感觉Luke躺在身边。我拥有，那些来自过去的攻击，如同晕眩，波浪从我头上打过。有时我觉得无法承受。

躺在床上，同Luke一起，他的手在我拱起的腹部。窗外有雷鸣…一道闪电，很近，Luke的眼睛一下变白。我不害怕。我们大醒着，下雨了，我们会很慢会很小心。如果我想到这些再不会发生，我便会死去的…我们会因为没有爱而死去。这里没有我可以爱的人，我爱的人都已经死了或在他方。“

当故事继续推进，司令官开始在夜晚将Offred召唤到他的办公室。他们之间有着发生什么的可能性。然而，她不喜欢他，而他也只是想要和她玩Scrabble游戏。她仍然将他所能给的尽数拿过来填补她空虚的生活：润肤霜，一本女性杂志，一支廉价唇膏，一件戏服般带羽毛的裙子，以及一次地下妓院的夜游。

爱情在小说的最后部分发生，或者是几乎发生。为了让Offred怀上孩子，司令官的夫人Serena Joy安排了Offred与司令官的司机Nick幽会。在Nick那间车库上方的单人房里，性不再只是仪式性的。爱欲在Atwood诗意且快节奏的描述中如同电光石火。“他开始解钮扣，然后抚摸，在我耳边亲吻。”抑或想像抑或真实的雷鸣，闪电以及探照灯交错闪耀着。“他的嘴在我的嘴上，他的手，我等不及而他在动，已经是，爱，过了那么久了，我在我的肌肤上又是活的了，手臂缠绕着他，我在下落，周围都是温柔的水，永不止息。我知道这可能只是唯一一次。”她自己也不确定这是怎样发生的，“爱的感觉从来也只是大概。”

然后她不断的冒着风险一再去见他。窗外的探照灯经过白色窗帘照进来，微弱的灯光中，她用力去记住他的样子，用来保存起来。“他身体的线条，他皮肤的肌理…我应该对Luke也做同样的事，给更多的注意，那些细节，痣和伤疤，每一道的褶皱；我没有，于是他在淡去。一日一日，一夜一夜，他变的模糊，我变的意冷心灰。”她知道每一次与他都可能是最后一次，若有再多，便是惊喜，是多余，是天赐。爱是火花，失落暗处。她瞬间的幸福中承担的无望是与爱一样的多。

故事在它到达高潮时也截然而止。Offred被Nick引领到她房间的人带走。他告诉她跟他们走，且说“你会没事的。”于是她步入黑暗；抑或是光明。”她的回忆也在此中结束，留下一个模糊的结尾，不明生死，也不知Nick所为是背叛还是挽救。

书写的非常的美，诗歌般的写作风格中看似章节与章节之间没有太多发生，却又有着太多的发生，如同波澜，一浪一浪的相接。Atwood极具想像的创造了一个“反乌托邦”社会，但更重要的是她将一个人对于过去和对爱的感觉的记忆一针一线的织造出来。爱与欲的声色描绘用花朵与水来做比喻，且用心感知。她满是怜悯的讲述这个故事。这不仅仅是一个让你重新来思索所处的社会的故事，且是一个引出每一个人自己的记忆直至热泪的故事。

The Handmaid's Tale，加拿大作家Margaret Atwood作，最初由McClelland and Stewart于1985年出版。

Reviewed for Zing, Feb 2009, Shanghai.

霜花店

太陽暖暖的射進車窗，我靠著車窗睡著了。醒來時在某處的公路上。我在從首爾到蔚山的公路上。暖氣開的很足，有些許的熱。

汽車停在半路休息時我下車去買咖啡。山間在下小雪。

在蔚山，Yun Mi帶我去看電影。霜花店。在首爾時恩不停的提到的電影。

王讓自己愛的男人去使王后懷孕，結果他愛的人愛上了王后。最后兩個男人將對方用劍刺死了。死前，王問他，你有否愛過我？他說沒有。

霜花店。王抱著琴低吟著。兩人馬上狩獵，春光無限。

一句韓文不懂，結果仍是看到滿臉熱淚。

曾經也說過，看別人的故事總是來得輕易。難過之后也就算了，畢竟不是自己的故事。電影的好處也便在這里。只是自己的故事是怎樣也逃不開。難過的是，我什么也做不了。

冬日里，我一個人來到韓國。做什么，我自己也不知道。

我穿了黑色的圍裙粉紅條子的襯衫坐在Vienna Café的吧臺抽煙，音樂放了KT Tunstall的acoustic.沒有什么人在，只是在工作的小妹不停的跟我說柏拉圖的故事。

人本身是有兩個頭，四只手四條腿的。結果神把他們分開了。于是人花一生的時間來尋找那另外的一半。

我聽了呆了半響。是一定要有另外一個人我們才可以開心嗎？

雪峰進來，坐下在我旁邊。我一口一口的喝著冰水在那里聽他的煩惱。都是在我看來無需煩惱的煩惱。所以看別人的故事都是輕易太多。

我跑來跑去為客人安排位子。

In Search of a Midnight Kiss. 又是新的一年了。

JT來了。他穿了黑色的T Shirt和黑色圍巾。我把他和Peter, John放在一起坐。他笑的很謹慎。

人生若只如初見。假若以后有什么樣的故事，這個時候都只是最美好的吧，因為相互都還沒有太多的牽扯。

電影的中間，阿平拖著箱子從推門進來。

我從遙遠的地方來看你，要說許多的故事給你聽。

那扇門在黃色燈光里晃蕩著開開關關。

回家的計程車上看外面的世界，許多白人在努力的攔車。我在車里一陣興奮感，不知是否咖啡喝得太多了一點。

午夜到時我們在公園迷路。只是淡淡的和阿平互相說新年快樂。如此，便是又一年了。

不去回頭。No excuses, no regrets, no tears .

坐在床旁邊的沙發上聽夏韶聲唱歌。沙發是美國五十年代的花色樣子的，Rebecca家里拿過來的。

今日溫度零下。剛剛從一個Christmas party回來。燈光里跟許多的人攀談。認識的，不認識的。我感興趣的，我不感興趣的。穿梭人群。哪一個是日后還會再見的，哪一個是相熟的，哪一個是可以相濡以沫的。

阿平說，這樣子跟很多不認識的人講話，會不會很累？也許吧。有時我很喜歡。

我不注意時便聽不懂夏韶聲在唱什么。但仍是聽懂了他唱，命里有時終需有，命里無時莫強求。我同他，是不是也一樣呢？

在吧臺站著喝了許多杯冰水。一直覺得渴。酒保穿著黑色襯衫，眼睛亮亮的非常可愛。卻又是神情淡定。

Julien被諸多的女孩子吸引，按耐不住。我看得只是好笑。

在跟那么多人說過話之后是不是可以不寂寞一點呢？是不是可以少想念他一點呢？

我如潛游的魚，在人中穿梭，在光影中穿梭。光影與時光在一起，編織成記憶的部分，在我的腦子里刻畫。我記得的時光，忘記的時光，夢到的時光，以及其中的人事。記得多少,忘記多少？

越南的魔幻旅程

夏天開始的時候第二次去了越南，開始了一段瘋狂的魔幻旅程。丟失了相機的充電器，于是干脆停止拍照。所以照片為數不多。故事尚未成為文字，只是在記憶中存在。從五月夏初的開始，我愛的人從地球的另一邊來到，一起上路，開始瘋狂的魔幻一般的旅程。知道8月才又回到上海。慢慢的，要把這些文字寫出來。

......

...

I was in Santorini exactly this time last year. Within a year, many things changed, and I am no longer the same old Kapa traveling alone. Eventually I put my story of Santorini into words and images and have it published in the Zing Magazine in Shanghai. Here's the story:

Santorini：失心

 
Xing Zhao

当我透过埃及蓝木门间的玻璃向里张望时，一个男人正在做他的晨间运动。他是一个三十出头的男人，深色头发，身材瘦小。他戴了眼镜，穿了一件日本电影“圣战”的T Shirt.而他周身所围绕的，是满架满架的书。“我想问你几点开门？”我问道。

这是一间小小的英文书店，在希腊的火山岩小岛Santorini的小镇Oia上。小镇上布满了岩石建造的洞穴房子，一味的涂成了雪白的颜色，漂浮在蓝色的海洋上，挤的满满的，却都没有门牌号。亚特兰蒂斯书店就在其中的一间洞穴的地下室。几年前，Craig, Oliver还有Chris借了一笔钱，选了书，再将书运到岛上，便来到了Santorini.和其他人一起，他们从海边捡了漂流木，在那个洞穴里搭起了书架和床，将书店建了起来。从此，希腊的小岛上便成就了世界上的第二个莎士比亚书店：一个旅行者，作家与他们所爱的书的家园。

“那你今晚有地方住吗？”Luke问道，且带着伦敦北部的口音。我告诉他没有。于是他给了我一张书店最里面的木头床，在书架与书架的之间，我成为书店的宿客。在巴黎多年之后，Luke现在生活在意大利与希腊。作为一个三十几岁却未有分文的男人，他却熟悉书店里的每一本书，且在写作一本小说。

等我下午从海边游泳回来时，我认识了John,那个诗人。John是个英俊的年轻威尔士人，他有着浓重的牛津口音和略微神经质的表情，说话时微微的口吃。他在书店已经住了两个礼拜了，正要搬去柏林从事全职的写作。当Natalie爬上房顶时，我和John正在清扫最近的一场风暴给露台带来树枝与沙尘。Natalie大概25岁的样子，皮肤晒黑，加利福尼亚口音。她站在一旁跟我们说着话，巨大的太阳眼镜盖住她的大半张脸。她住在岛上已经一年半了。爱上了这个地方，于是从此便没有离开过。在她的旅游签证到期之后，她成为了希腊的非法居民。夏天她是一家餐馆的女招待，而其余没有游客的日子里，她便不工作，而只是过她的生活。

就这样，我开始了我的岛居生活。早上10点起床，给自己做早餐和咖啡；吃早餐时也看书店。总是听见好奇的游客从楼梯上走下来，说着“看，一家书店！”他们常常是美国人，有时是英国人或者欧洲人。我和他们聊天，帮他们找书。安静时我便在那里一边听爵士，一边读希腊神话。我坐在屋顶的露台吃午饭，在地中海的万丈日光里，脚下便是深蓝色的爱琴海。午后的时光总是沙滩，和一本书在一起。而沿路回家时吃一根Magnum的冰激淋。天黑前，我漫步到游客聚集的海边去看世界上最壮丽的日落之一。黄昏时对面小店的女孩子总是Luke Luke的唤着要我们将路灯点上；此刻店门口的金银花也开始散发甜香。晚上，我给书店里的人做饭，而晚饭之后则是更多的茶与诗歌的诵读。有一些夜晚的时光则是在星空下抽着烟喝着葡萄酒度过的。

有一夜我们在Natalie的洞穴房子里做希腊肉丸到凌晨3点。那一晚我们喝了很多酒，抽了很多烟，且抚拍了很多进来借宿的流浪狗。我问Natalie是否后悔当初的决定，如今成为非法岛民。她倚在半开的木门上，抽着一跟烟，在一天的工作后显得一脸疲累，但是笑容柔和甜美，“我觉得已经找到我的幸福，这便是我想要的人生。”

Santorini是一个夏天里的美丽乐园，但是冬天来时，却仿佛一个被遗弃的孤岛，只是雪白，难得见到人迹。它是个孤独的地方，只有流浪的猫狗。但是冬天对于Natalie，却是和渔夫一起打鱼的季节。在这样的岛屿，住着更多知道或者不知道自己到底要什么的人。但是Santorini对于热爱一切美好事物的人来说，有着自己的生活步调，缓慢而且美好。

当我离开Natalie的家时，渐渐已是黎明。走在这个火山小镇的边缘上，身边的大海正在初夏渐明的天光里醒来。我轻轻的将书店的门推开。Luke正睡的香甜。Raki,那只总是徘徊在书店的流浪小狗，静静的跟了我进来，跳上了一张床，便睡下了。

Santorini: the Lost Heart

 Xing Zhao

When I peeked through the glass window of the blue-framed door that morning, a man was doing his morning exercise. He was a man in his early thirties, dark hair, small and slim. He wore spectacles and a brown T-shirt from the Japanese film Battle Royal. He was surrounded by shelves of books.  “I was wondering what time you open?” I asked.

This was a small English language bookshop in the town of Oia, on the volcanic island of Santorini, of Greece. In a town without house numbers, Atlantis Books was located in the basement of one of the numerous whitewashed Mediterranean cave houses. A few years ago, Craig, Oliver and Chris settled a debt, found books, shipped them and came to Santorini. Together with some others, they collected driftwood from the beach, and built a bookshop with beds. From then on, Atlantis became a second Shakespeare and Co: a home to travellers, writers and their beloved books.

“Do you have a place to stay tonight then?” Luke spoke with a north London accent. I said, “Not really.” With his invitation, I was given a bed among the bookshelves, in the back room of the bookshop. After spending years in Paris, Luke was living and travelling between Italy and Greece. As a thirtysomething man with no money, Luke knew every single book in the shop and he was writing a novel.

When I came back from a swim in the cove, I met John, the poet. John was a good-looking young Welshman with an Oxford accent and a nervous look. He stuttered a wee bit when he spoke. He had been staying in the bookshop for a couple of weeks before moving to Berlin to write full-time. When Natalie came up to the terrace, John and I were sweeping off the remnants from a recent storm. Natalie was in her mid-twenties, tanned and spoke with a California accent. With half of her face covered under her novelty sunglasses, she stood, chatting with us while we were working. She had been on the island for a year and half. She fell in love with the place and decided not to leave, thus, she became an illegal resident after her tourist visa had expired. She worked as a waitress during the summer, and for the rest of the year, she just lived her life.

So it is, I began my island life in a bookshop. In the mornings, I’d get up at 10 am, make myself some breakfast and coffee; watched the shop while having breakfast. I’d hear curious tourists walking down the stairs with comments like “look, here is a bookshop!” Often they were Americans, sometimes British or Europeans. I’d talk to them, or help them find books. When it was quiet, I listened to Jazz and read Greek Mythology. I’d have my lunch in the glorious Mediterranean sun on the terrace, which overlooked the dark blue Aegean. My afternoons were often spent on the beach with a book, and a Magnum ice cream on the way home. Before the dusk, I’d go to where the tourists gathered to see the one most dramatic sunsets in the world. In the dusk, the Greek girl from the shop next door would call “Luke, Luke”, telling us to turn on the lamp outside the bookshop; and you start to smell the sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle flowers. In the evenings, I’d cook a dinner for whoever was there. More tea and poetry reading would follow after dinner, and some of the night time was spent smoking cigarettes and drinking wine under the stars.

One of my nights in Santorini was making Greek meatballs in Natalie’s cave house at 3 am. We drank lots of wine, smoked lots of cigarettes, and patted street dogs who came in for a shelter. I asked Natalie whether she regretted her decision, that she would never be able to leave this country. She was leaning on the half-opened wooden door and having a fag. Her face looked tired after a long-day’s work, but her smile was all soft and sweet, “No. I think I’ve found my happiness. This is what I want in life.”

Santorini is a wonderland in the summer, but when winter comes, it’d become a deserted island with only whiteness but little sign of people. It’d become a lonely place with street dogs and cats. However, winter for Natalie was for fishing with a local fisherman. On this island, live many other people who know or do not know what they want in life. Nevertheless, for people who love all beautiful things in life, Santorini has its own pace, nice and slow.

When I left Natalie’s flat, the dawn was already breaking. I walked on the edges of the volcanic town, and the ocean was just waking up in the early summer twilight. Quietly I opened the bookshop door. Luke was soundly asleep. Raki, the street dog who came to the shop all the time, quietly followed me in, jumped into one of the beds and went to sleep.

煮饭前的10分钟。刚洗完澡，是下午6点。

很想说下昨天做了什么。

吃过晚饭，开始啃cookies,接着是妈妈从中国带来的肉松，喝Irish Cream。Somebody got to stop me, or I'll just keep eating! 买了一瓶Chardonnay和一包花生去Ellen家。冰冷的夜里，提了酒和花生去朋友家取暖，这样的日子过去就不再了。月亮是满的。夜色冰凉。

花生吃的很快。Ebba的瑞典朋友来了。那个女生是给水产杂志写稿子的，在欧洲跑，写海鲜的品论。男生很高很瘦，Ellen说觉得他很好看。金发，典型的北欧人，她说。

去Chamber Street的Jazz Bar。好冷，一路颤颤的。每次进一个club都常担心被查身份证，虽然早已过了未成年人的年龄。在阿姆斯特丹买酒就被人问有没有到18岁。还好没被看门人刁难。Jazz Bar在地下。星期五的晚上挤满了人，灯光是红的。乐队还没开始唱。高个子瑞典男生看到他的朋友，先把我们介绍了给两个北欧人。Ellen开始在人群里寻找她的朋友Sara。Sara换了隐形眼镜，戴了一串长的珍珠项链。红色毛衣。身边是个理了平头的男生，看起来很年轻。

这是我的朋友Jay。她说。

当接过Ellen递过的Gin and Tonic时，Jay开始问中国的事情。问作为在英国的中国是何感受。说到希望成为作家，Jay说那也是他想做的事情。

Corinne来时已经醉了。去一个party喝了许多不要钱的酒，静静的，就像她每次喝醉的样子。

有人开始跟着音乐跳舞。又喝了一杯Vodka and Tonic。那么多的人。有个金发的瑞典人开始说和Napier Uni的学费贵，学校又不及Edinburgh Uni的好。他坐的很近，又开始问中国人的事情。常常觉得人们都很默然，根本不关心世界另一边的事情。常常又觉得人们很烦，问太多关于中国的事。

弹钢琴的男人百分百是gay,这是我猜的。后来换了个乐队，开始唱巴西的音乐。人们开始跳舞。在人堆里看到旧时的西班牙室友，在跟一个不是他女友的西班牙女生热舞。

有个苏格兰男人问我从哪里来。又问为什么要从共产主义的大陆移居到欧洲来。我说是因为不想成为共产主义者而已。说到一半去跳舞了。他开始和身边的女生搭讪。

一路跌跌撞撞的回家。到时已是凌晨4点了。如果是夏天，4 am天已大亮了，此时的天色黑的如同蛮荒的宇宙。忽然觉得有东西掉到我头发上，然后是大衣上。低头发现衣服上是白的。细小的雪片从空气中索索的落下来，满月还在当空。到家门口时抬头看路灯，从灯光下看到雪片。马路上安静的一个人也没有，只听见雪花落下的声音。

I don’t understand how things like this happen: before this moment, his whole world was all peaceful and quiet; there were no ups and downs of tides, but only a quiet blue ocean of small waves. They floated with the same pace and same rhythm. He was the little boy sitting before the peaceful ocean and its breezes. He was all by himself. The moment has happened within just minutes, or maybe seconds, before himself or anybody else has realized. Like a spark, lost in the dark, just like Billy Holiday would sing. After that moment, things are different. That is what life does to us: things can totally change within seconds, and they will never be the same again. The goods, the bads, we don’t know, we cannot predict, we cannot prevent, or prepare for.

Like a planet meets another planet, in the darkness of the universe. After light-years and light-years of travelling, unexpectedly, they met.

He probably thinks he doesn’t deserve to be happy, deep down in his subconscious. He doesn’t think he deserves to be with anyone, like everyone else. Walking down the streets, he imagines he might just be hit by a car, because he is happy. When making love, the sunlight comes in through the window. He smiles like he just sees a rose opens. He looks at his face, he is smiling too, and his eyes twinkle with the bright innocence full of happiness.

He still thinks he might get hit by a car, when crossing the street.

He has this dream: It was Jose, but in the appearance of Wang Leehong. Jose was saying “sorry, I didn’t realize it was your first year abroad”. Jose asked for his forgiveness. But he said no. “No, no, I can’t”, he then started crying. He wakes up. In the dark he realizes he is in his own bed instead of an island of Greece. He is holding him, and he is soundly asleep. He could hear him breathe and feel his warm body. He then starts sobbing. An unexplainable emotion from the dream and the surrounding darkness creeps up to him, like a tide, like a person’s breathing, in and out, in and out. It swallows him. He holds him and sobs. Tears wet his T-shirt.

 The original version of On A Midnight Express to Istanbul

5月。坐火车从爱丁堡到伦敦，在HEATHROW机场过夜，次日清晨飞法兰克福，再转机伊斯坦布尔。飞行时间短短4个小时，中间辗转36小时，也算是长途跋涉了，让人不禁想起1930年代从伊斯坦布尔跨越数国开往巴黎的东方快车(Express d'Orient)，以及阿嘉莎.克里斯蒂(Agatha Christie)的小说《东方快车谋杀案》(‘Murder on the Orient Express')。这个日光可以刺瞎双目的国度，对于欧洲人来说即是所谓的"东方"(the Orient)。横跨欧亚大陆，神秘如黑色宝石。

飞去土耳其前3天连忙去找70年代的美国电影《午夜快车》(Midnight Express)来 看。"午夜快车"为伊斯坦布尔狱中暗语，"搭乘午夜快车"意为"逃狱"，而电影中的那个地狱般迷离的疯狂牢狱则是逃无可逃，看过之后只觉毛骨悚然。同一时 代的日本作家泽木耕太郎同样写到土耳其的旅行文学《午夜快车》，则成为日本的旅行圣经，带动千百万日本青年去做横跨欧亚大陆的长途旅行。

飞机缓缓降落在伊斯坦布尔ATATURK机场，时间是下午5点半，室外温度摄氏25度，阳光毫无遮拦的铺满整个机场，我来不及担心前面未知的旅程，却只是为这个温度兴奋的雀跃起来。

大部分国家的公民到土耳其都需要事先拿签证，但是有些国家可以在机场拿落地签证。排队等过关时，我看到落地签证的窗口排了很长的队伍。过关后在机场换了小部分的里拉(Lira)，然后去坐地铁到老城的中心SULTANAHMET去。地铁票1.1里拉(合人民币6块钱)。我和同伴JOSIE在车厢后面的空位把大背包放好，于是就朝着旅途的第一站开去了。地铁开始很空，但是等人渐渐多起来时我发现大半个车厢里的人都在看我。知道自己经过36个小时的旅途已经脏的像个鬼一样了，现在还被人像外星人一样盯着看，于是不觉就自己先不自然起来了。

JOSIE一直在兴奋的看着窗外，不停的说，看，有西瓜卖耶。

我问她，你有没有发现他们都在看着我们。

当然有拉，所以我才一直看着窗外。她说。

因为很少亚洲人的缘故，亚洲人在土耳其都会受到明星一般的礼遇和过分热情的关注。这时那个站在窗边的男人靠了过来，很腼腆的问我是不是从日本来。我说是中国。他很高兴的说Çin，Çin。于是我第一次学会怎样用土耳其语说自己国家的名字。

下了地铁后我们去找有轨电车的车站。经过一个过街的地下通道，里面拥挤的布满了卖杂货的小店，廉价的衣服，香水，袜子，塑料水壶，打火机，盗版CD, 卖 零食的小贩在人群里穿梭。我背上是巨大的背包，胸前还有一个小背包，很久没有看过那么多的人和那么杂乱的场景，顿时感到窒息一般的兴奋起来。我们穿过那个 地下道，绕过一个清真寺，转到另一条大街时忽然看到两个土耳其男人在打架，那个战败的男人朝着我们的方向跑过来，而另一个则凶恶的追着跑过来，吓的我们拼 命的逃走。

SULTANAHMET的街道窄小，除去电车的轨道只剩下窄窄的两条人行过道。下车后我们照着Lonely Planet上所说的绕过Blue Mosque到苏丹旅馆(Sultan Hostel)去。快到Blue Mosque时，迎面走来一个染了金色头发面色昏黄的土耳其女孩。她照面就问，你们要去哪里。

苏丹旅馆。我说。

我可以带你们去。她语气坚定的说。

之前读过太多关于旅行者在土耳其被诈骗的文章，虽然我因为睡眠不足，长途劳顿，时差，语言不通而晕晕的，但是仍心存顾忌，不知道下一步会发生什么。但是我们还是决定让她带我们去，然后随机应变。做出这个决定只花了一秒钟而已。

金发女孩身材不高，面容瘦削，她没有戴头巾。她说自己在大学里念英文的课程，想要找外国人练习英文。经过Blue Mosque时是傍晚7点多，蓝颜色的巨大清真寺卧在满是绿色的花园里，身前是数排木头长凳，坐满了对着Blue Mosque发呆的人，休息的人，抽烟的人，磕瓜子的人，土耳其人，外国人。卖土耳其茶的男人嘴唇上蓄着浓密的暗色胡须，手托大圆盘子叫卖Çay Çay。玻璃的茶杯圆身细腰，郁金香花状，腰系金边，茶色暗雅。

正要离开时突然一群少年从长凳上跳起来，说要跟我们合照，并且不知从哪里一人拿出一个相机来。这样突如其来的举动让我们惊诧不已，连忙拒绝。

女孩将我们带到苏丹旅馆的门前。她说，明天下午5点半我会在Blue Mosque门口等你们，我可以带你们到处逛逛，再带你们去我表哥家喝茶，他就住在附近。我说明天再说，我们可以打电话给你。她说，我会在那里等你们的，不管你们来不来。

苏丹旅馆的大统铺18里拉一晚(人民币90块)，包括简单的早餐，男女是分开的。同一房间还住了一个做模特的澳洲人，一个没心没肺的美国学生，还有一个五十多岁的巴西籍日本人。旅馆的酒吧在房间下面的地下室，彻夜的闹，舞曲放到整座楼都在震动，我不知道自己是什么时候睡着的，醒来时耳朵嗡嗡响个不停。

第2天去看Blue Mosque和Aya Sofya，一路又不停的被人要求合照。学校组织出来的小孩子拼命的一个个跟我握手。我于是拍下他们的照片。

傍晚6点，我们从旅舍经过Blue Mosque去找饭馆吃饭。但是我们都忘记了有一个我们不想去的约会在那里等着我们。果然给那个金发女孩逮了个正着，她笑着说，你们如期赴约，真是好人。我脸上笑着说，对不起我们迟到了。心里却暗暗叫苦。

不 知怎地就跟去了她表哥家，刚一进门就心里暗暗一惊。是家地毯店。很多旅行书都会讲述旅行者在地毯店的遭遇。地毯商通常会什么也不说就先问你喝什么茶，然后 把一卷一卷的地毯摊开来给你看，会告诉你他可以给你打折，而信用卡也是可以接受的。而更恐怖的是关于外国女孩子在地毯店被强暴的传说。我的日本朋友打消了 去土耳其的念头就是因为害怕这个传说。我们虽然不相信强暴的传说，但是已经有过被地毯商缠着花美金去买奢侈品的经历，所以看到地毯店就想逃。

那个坐在写字桌后面的年轻男子伸出手来说，我是酷罕尔。我接过他的手握了一下，说我是KAPA。我们在他对面的椅子上坐下来，身后的墙上挂着颜色厚重的绚丽地毯。一个大胡子的年轻男子正在房间的另一角收拾散落在地上的毯子。金发女孩很快就用小杯子盛了两杯苹果茶出来给我和JOSIE。

酷罕尔坐在那里抽烟，喝一杯速溶的雀巢咖啡。土耳其虽然以其咖啡闻名，但是因为土耳其咖啡做起来太花时间的缘故，本国人却更偏爱雀巢咖啡，而雀巢的价格也远比土耳其咖啡要贵。

出乎我的意料，他讲很好英文。土耳其很少有英文讲的好的人，而他也是我整个旅途中遇见的英文最好的土耳其人。他嗓音低沉，慢慢的对我说，听说你是中国人，你的英文似乎太好了一些。

我反问他，难道中国人不可以讲好的英文吗。

他淡淡的笑了一下。当然可以，我女朋友就是中国人，她讲很好的英文。

这时候隔壁装修钻孔的巨大噪声又响了。酷罕尔皱着眉头说，我们去屋顶聊吧。说完就顾自上去了。我很好奇这个没向我推销地毯的地毯商，于是跟着上去。他有一个面朝大海的屋顶平台，黄昏时分，还可以清晰的看到不远处的海面。而身后则是巨大的Blue Mosque。这个小房子和它神秘的土耳其主人安静的隐匿在这个狂躁大都市里。

我们面朝着海的方向，他递给我当地产的香烟。

酷罕尔出生在首都安哥拉(Ankara)附近的一个小镇，少年时常有许多美国水兵光顾他母亲开的杂货店，他因此而迅速学会英文。去过欧洲，在英格兰住过，在土耳其教过两年英文，然后改行做地毯生意。31岁的酷罕尔深色短发，栗色眼睛，面容英俊。他的女朋友是澳大利亚籍的中国人，43岁的上海女人。

7点半，他要留我们吃饭。于是他去买材料，我们回旅馆拿暖一点的衣服穿。Lonely Planet上还说土耳其男人极具魅力，无数来旅行的欧洲女人都陷入情网。一路上JOSIE的话题都没有离开酷罕尔，显然不幸中招。我一直在考虑去吃这顿饭是对是错。回来时他已经在厨房准备烧烤的酱料，他让我们先去屋顶喝红酒等他。而这时候金发女孩已经不在了，他说她有事回家了。我看着他的背影想着如果这个神秘的陌生人在鸡肉里面下药，我们就是愿者上勾了。

但是我决定相信他。

夜晚的伊斯坦布尔很冷，我拿着冰啤酒在屋顶上瑟瑟发抖。黑暗中看不到马尔马拉海(Sea of Marmara)，身后的Blue Mosque还亮着耀眼的灯光，头顶上大群的海鸥绕着它打转，无数白色翅膀的振动如漫天繁星。土耳其茶在火炉上煮着，两只大圆肚子的水壶叠在一起煮，一只里面是茶，另一只里是水。这时候Blue Mosque里 的祈祷又开始了，领祷者高声吟唱《可兰经》里的经文。这个国家大部分人口是穆斯林，每天五次的祷告，祷告前洗脸，洗手，洗脚。虽然现世不是每个人都那么虔 诚了，但清真寺一天五次的祷告声还是占据着每个土耳其人的日常生活。清真寺里安着数只巨型喇叭，经文的高歌被数倍扩大后传向四面八方，仿佛天罗地网，无限 延伸，将整个城市覆盖住。

夜色冷了，于是进屋继续喝茶。酷罕尔拿下墙上挂的传统乐器"撒司"，开始弹唱。灯没开，他的大胡子弟弟拿了蜡烛上来，酷罕尔抱着琴在黑暗中低吟。土耳其民歌源自古代阿拉伯的怨曲，曲调幽怨，声色动人。

我们在凌晨2点告辞回旅舍。躺下睡觉时已3点了，地下室的音乐仍惊天动地的闹着。只觉得这一天过的无限漫长，仿佛一个没有边际的梦境。

打算坐第2天晚上7点的汽车离开伊斯坦布尔，转去爱琴海边上的小镇Selcuk。5点半，我们再去地毯店，向酷罕尔告别。我借了酷罕尔的电脑用来查我的EMAIL。正在处理邮箱里20几封的邮件时听到酷罕尔对JOSIE说，地毯是很深奥的文化，我来解释给你听。他铺了很多张地毯出来，耐心的一张张解释。然后说，我可以挑一张好的给你，我们现在是朋友，我会给很大的折扣。

我眼睛还盯着电脑屏幕，听到那句话时整个人都僵在了那里。而JOSIE更是惊讶到说不出话来。我装作没事继续处理EMAIL，等我再回过头时JOSIE和酷罕尔都不见了。大胡子弟弟告诉我说他们到楼上去了。我一听就紧张起来，赶紧也上楼去。楼上，酷罕尔坐在一张巨大的地毯上，JOSIE坐在另一端。他轻抚着地毯说，这张是好货色，可以用一百年也不会变样。他说的时候深色的眼睛定定的看着你的眼睛，有让人无从拒绝的力量。我坐下来，等他说完。我说，时间不早，我们该去赶车了。

我没有去看他的表情，但我想他是一脸失望的。但他还是不紧不慢的说，那好吧，等你们两个礼拜后回到伊斯坦布尔时，还有钱剩下的话再买吧。离开时我跟他握手，再像土耳其男人一样亲吻酷罕尔和他弟弟的脸颊，心却沉到马尔马拉的海底去了。

然后我们飞奔着去买电池，KEBAP, 赶回旅舍去坐车。上了车后我仍一脸茫然，困惑这两天里发生的事情。我知道自己是不会回去地毯店了。就这样连夜离开了伊斯坦布尔，仿佛是一次出逃，在计划之中，又有出乎意料的惊险。夜色中奔向前面的旅程。

 The magazine version of On A Midnight Express to Istanbul

After three weeks in Greece, two days ago I finally flew into Rome. Apart from being beautiful, religiously and historically overwhelming, Rome has been crazy and chaotic. I normally enjoy big cities, but after my time on the peaceful Greek islands, I only found Rome rough. After three days, I have basically been to most of the sites in Rome, including the glamorous Vatican Museum and at least ten of the thousands of the piazzas in the city. I hung out for a day with a girl from Panama, who was the best tour guide of mine. Amilia had the energy and discipline to keep pushing me to see many sites within just one day. Without her I wouldn't have done that much. Instead, I would probably be having coffee all day in some plaza.

However, I can't stop thinking about Santorini and all the people that I met there. Beyond my plans, I stayed in the Atlantis Bookstore in Santorini for a whole week. I worked there for the week and in return, I was fed and a bed to sleep on. During that week, I probably met the most interesting people in my life. These were the people that I wish I could spend more time with, and to get to know much better of. It was am amazing experience but it was also emotionally draining.

I keep thinking why I am travelling. I can't speak for others, but why am I travelling? I think perhaps part of the reason is to meet all these people that I am supposed to meet on the road. It's like destined, to meet them. It's like a mission, maybe. Without these people, my trip around Europe would only be pictures of beautiful sites, but too dry to remember. On my plane to Rome, I plugged in my earphones. Listening to the old songs that my high school best friend and I used to listen to, I started to cry.  There are emotions that I can't explain, stories too complex to tell. All I can do is to move on, from spot to spot. And tomorrow, I'm going to Florence, on my own.

 (Written on 2 June 2007 )