i just arrived at port vendres. or cóte vermeille as locals call it. it's located outside perpignon, close to the spanish border where i have come from this time, and i'm here to see claudio and veronica and stay at their beautiful guesthouse overlooking the litlle harbour.

i met claudio and veronica on my travels on the great donau in 1997. we spent a week on the same yacht, all following in the footsteps of magris and became instant friends with many late nights on the deck. this couple, both have retired from universitylife in paris, have also a beautiful daughter suzanna isabella which i came to know a little later in munich.

because in the beginning of 99 she moved in with me in my apartment. it was perhaps a hasty thing to do but we didn't care. she came to live there with me and to study the cello. it was wonderful to have her around because work was hard and agonizing at that time. the balkan war was still not over and many discussions, flights back and forth to haag and later to brussels took all my attention. i can see that today.

well, a wonderful thing happened one winter when an old familyfriend of ours - the great aldo simoes parisot - was generous enough to give her extensive krzysztof penderecki classes while he worked in munich. i remember her dancing up and down the stairs, running thru all the rooms and around out on the balcony shouting over the plaza. 'la rencontre d'une personne avec une autre est toujours spéciale!

and yes. it really is. and was for a time. well. today suzanna lives in grenoble with tom. we see eachother when i occasionally pass thru town.

ohh yes. my friend leslie vaughan. his father displays aldos paintings in boston. or new haven? i forget this. well. if you happen to go. and so here for two days in the south of france. cheers and salut from lukasz.

alfonso manuel lejaretta

i like to travel across europe. in my car. so i do. and sometimes things happen and on the road from bilbao to skopje, where i'm going to spend a week in dec. at our family-estate together with friends, i stopped at a little roadside restaurant near vitoria-gasteiz. the owner was sitting outside. wife and grandchildren, too, and because i have diplomatic numberplates he came over to ask where i was from.

after some talking, i sat down at the table outside for tapas and local sherry, and then his old friend showed up. we talked some more and his friend and i began to come to the conclusion that his father and my grandfather had not only fought on the same side in the spanish civilwar but both had been captured by german troops and brought to a war-camp on the french side of the pyreenes. and not only that. both had also escaped and went to live in hiding in marseille that winter. the winter of 1938.

we sat looking at eachother. the owner filled our glasses. noone could believe this was happening.

after some years his father settled in santander and lived a quit life as a carpenter, raising four children away from the ww2, whereas my grandfather took a joint brigade through the balkan as a soviet cononel, before he settled in skopje and did the same. well, he also raised four children, one being my father, but then got called to the moskovskij kreml for some time before finally moving to split with me which is another story.

but like i said. i like to travel by car across europe.

what else is news? a cultural associate from the english embassy invited me and a few others out for dinner in san sebastian. our third meeting this year. the discussions are progressing, somewhat fruitful, i could argue. yet, it's also very slow in some aspects but still. and the seafood in town? forgettit.

okay. here i'm waiting in the lobby. soft music coming from hidden speakers. charles aznavour, i believe and so i start contemplating: this is a good life, lukasz. people are friendly. and look at that painting. do i have milk? i need milk.

i looked around. why was noone greeting me? but but but. as usual i had been the last one to arrive so i was actually waiting for people who had already left the building!

let me guess, said my greek colleague to everyones amusement when i finally got to the restaurant. it was the tie?

some people have to live like this and they work until they get fired and they are all over the world and you see them all the time and their lives consist of problems and all kinds of trouble and police is always a constant and socialworkers come and go and men beat up their wives or kids and things get stolen or get lost and it's always somebody elses fault and they get aggresive over nothing because nothing is something they know and it's all they have so they protect it with a fierce you rarely get to meet outside a warzone and so you better look out you, you with the camera, fuck you!

this is the outskirts of cordoba and a little kid threw a rock at my car

i love this game. pilota. or pilotaleku. or pelota. all depending on the region. well, it makes absolutely sense as a sport, i think.

a ball. and a wall. and they just use their hands because that's easier.

i sit hours and watch them crack it against the wall. young and old, doesn't matter to me. the sound is like a pistol being fired. i sit and jump all the time but everyone is use to it. it's just part of the noise in the city, like carhorns or shouting and so forth.

the dogs or cats never even look up?

this picture is. well, i'm on my way to the beautiful but rather dull city of san sebastian. once again i recieved a call and once again i mistakingly took it meaning that i'm suppose not to work but i mean. it's not always easy.

but yes. i went to a meeting between various independent groups, it was oddly enough a UN-funded gathering and i was there with belgium-representitives for an independent flandern and wallonien. there were also groups from euskadi, katalunia, wales(!), lombardia, a greek-kypros delegation and others.

and all of a sudden. around guernika i was back in liège! the stretch on the highway lasted about five minutes and it was filled with old cars and cranes, rubbish piles and broken signs and so forth. it was the outskirts of liège and it was in the north of spain and i took this photo with my cellphone doing 100 miles an hour because i was late and whatelse is news and maybe that why i need a break so come on lukasz!

bilbao this afternoon: humid. cloudy with chances of rain. i'll be in my room, reading klaus mann, smoking a cheap cigar and maybe having a tio pepe with it. tomorrow i'll visit friends in casco viejo.

sep 09.

i was in town so they asked me and sure. today, i've been ghostwriting a speech for belgium diplomate xxx who is giving a small private lecture at guggenheim on european culture prior 1985. in the background, of course, is the museum. my family have endorsed substancial fundings over the years so it was an honour to finally meet juan ignacio vidarte and alicia martinez.

in the kitchen in my home in genève i have a framed picture of my father and i together with antonio milososki when antonio and i were boys. antonio always talked about buildings and the great german architect mies van der rohe. today antonio is minister of foreign affairs in my home country the republic of macedonia and he has been in my thoughts today looking out at this spectacular building from the terrace of the hotel.

embassies have apartments all over the world and sublet them to hvomever is on a contract. since it’s now owned by local businessmen i think i can reveal that i lived in this building in the late 90’s. neighbours was friendly, mostly other consulate people or foreign attachés. henry kissinger, former us-foreign minister, stayed here in the 80’s and in the reception, behind a glasswindow, there was gifts and memorabilias he had left or forgotten. it always impressed first-time visitors and i remember a watch/camel from ghadaffi with inscription. there was a handwritten note from ismelda marcos to kissingers wife, a sixfoot mirror from chief something of burkino faso and a painting from a former highranked soviet official my family also knew.

back then the building was guarded but today you can walk right in and when i’m in town – this is in south-eastern europe - i sometimes walk by. it was a nice place but i don’t miss it. the sound of gunfire is still with me from those days.

outside liège. a gasstation i always pass on my way to friends alicia and jack. they work at an embassy close by and are close friends today after we spent two weeks in a train thru europe as part of an international litterature festival. i remember the hungarian minister of transportation pal szabo reading - very load and in the morning in grenoble - his quite moderate - in fact - poetry.

oh dear. people were enjoying themselves.

DDR is watching. look at this tower in old estberlin. i was there giving a lecture on carcrashes in european film after 76 - think german - at the open university of berlin and i got lost in kreutzberg. all i could see was rails. rails on end.

after some time i found the right train back. the same actually. it runs in a circle thru berlin but how could i have known? it's a speciality of mine - getting lost in european cities. ask anybody.

diesen zug fahren durch die stadt! said the conductor out loud. weisen diesen toristen aber nichts!?

he was turkish and spoke deutch sehr schlecht but i didn't reply. why would i?

more spain. this is the courtyard where i eat my breakfast each morning. i read the papers, la meuse, le temps, herald tribune, el pais and the local el correo.

bilbao is full of life, it really is and the architecture is outstanding. especielly the minor finance-district on the banks of nervión. the few highrisers look so out of place that they fit right in. odd indeed.

i'm not much of a swimmer. i didn't grow up around water. but who can refuse this pool? it's a bit of an international pool, really. many foreigners hang out here. from italy, england, denmark or greece.

this bull in particular mark my arrivel at pais vasco. or euskadi as some like to refer it as. well. i'm originally from macedonia and so i call it north spain. it's a long train ride from genève, you change train in the pyrenees because spain has smaller rails than france (silly but very romantic) and i often think of hemingways green hills of kilimanjaro on this trip which takes a full day and its funny cause. the scenery looks like the ardennes - around verviers - where i often drive thru. hilly, very green and then theres the rain which comes and goes every 20 min. it sometimes seems.

but the climate here. it's like a warm cloth around your body and i get to write on my little terrace on the northhills of bilbao, where i stay at a small pension run by an old woman. she lost her husband a long time ago and won't talk about it. his picture is on the wall behind the reception. the medals laid out and every morning the coffee is on a small tray outside my door.

i could just live here, i always think.