Valencia

na srpskom, in English

U Valensiji, policijska kola imaju sliku slepog miša kao zaštitni znak na vratima, crni ljudi su zaista crni, gejovi skoro mejnstrim, i sve je to u Evropskoj Španiji, na obali mora...
Svetska konferencija Žena u crnom ove godine se tu zbila: 400 žena sa svih kontinenata: aktivistkinje, pacifistkinje raznog doba, od majke sa trga Maja iz Argentine, prijatejice Fidela i Čea do mlade devojake iz Čečenije osumnjičene od strane ruskog režima kao potencijalne žene bombe samoubice.
Smeštene smo u studenstkom domu i hostelu, Galileo Galilei, na tehnološkom fakultetu u srcu ostalih univeziteta...izvan grada blizu obale, sa šinama tramvaja svuda oko nas i ničega drugog. Zapravo nema radnji, nema restorana, nema ljudi. Ali imam zato bežičnu vezu u zgradi, brzu i besplatnu...
Norveški mladi inžinjer koga pitam za pravac, koji sada živi u Španiji jer je život jeftiniji lepši i lakši zna za konferenciju Žena u crnom ali misli da su sve feminitskinje lezbejke i da smo zato tako izolovane sa zaključanim kapijama , da igramo same sa sobom na plaži noću a danju vrištimo na patrijarhat. Gotovo tačno, ali samo na konferenciji u Valensiji.
A šta ako nije sve u patrijarhatu već nešto vezano za hormone, nešto u mozgu bitno za ovaj naš gender nesporazum i fatalnu privlačnost?
Ma niko nije savršen, kaže moja mlada drugarica Bosanka Norvežaninu i on joj tada kupuje piće protiv njene volje da bi odmah potom zbrisao od nas glvom bez obzira.
Na plaži dva mlada gej Irca mole nas da im pričuvamo stvari dok odlaze zajedno u vodu da se igraju. Na Kubi, sećam se, bračni parovi su zajedno odlazili u vodi da bi vodili ljubav jer nije bilo dovoljno privatnih mesta na kopnu. Talasi su ogromni, u Kaliforniji ama svako na plaži bi nešto s njima radio ili bar u pesku nešto sa sobom: surfovanje džogiranje, bicikli, vežbe...u Valensiji narod je jednostavno u grupicama, u talasima, na pesku, i to svi pomešani, nema klasa, rasa ili polova...Pića služe prodavci sa torbama a pušenje cigareta još uvek je masovnije od duvanja marihuane.
Supermoderan Muzej tehnologije arhitekte Kalatrave međutim okružen je džogerima, dobrim starim turistim sa kamerama, brzom hranom , čak je tu i ogroman šoping centar, ala amerikana sa globalizovanim brendovim. Moja drugarica iz Milana kaže: neverovatno, sve to isto imamo i mi u Milanu ali ovde košta upola manje, od Neskafe do Prada cipela. U čemu je vic? Kinezi. Jug od severa, jug od juga, hoće reći da svaki svet ima svoj treći svet iako se sve zvanično zove Ujedinjena Evropa.
Ako hodaš tim dugim praznim avenijama nećeš naići na radnje sa hranom ili radnje uopšte, samo na velike zgrade sa malim stanovima i terasama gde pretpostavljam da ljudi žive, spavaonice u kojima ne bih volela boravim. Liče na komunitičke pre pada Berlinskog zida, one koje su vernici u istočnom bloku zamišljali kao jednakost u nemaštini . Ali ovo nije za sirotinju ili strance, ovo je zapravo nov stil života bez mirisa i ukusa manufakture. Svako jutro stanovnik ovog kvarta, umesto da kupi domaći hleb pita se da li da kupi nov model Tojote jer je to jedini izlog koji mu se nudi u blizini.
U istorjiskom centru, međutim, na trgu San Mikeleto, dečka sveca koji je domaćin dekintiranim hipi turistima, romima i uličnim umetnicima, još uvek mirišemo paelju, falafele i čujemo dobru staru špansku muziku Sarite Montiel prodavačice ljubičica dok gledamo Almodovarove jarko crvene boje, visoke potpetice i histerične queer transgender kreature. To je moja priča, kažem ja.…
Ne moja, kaže moja prijateljica iz Palestine, isuviše me potseća na moju lokalnu priču...
Na aerodromu, velika skupina žena razvija se u strelce svuda po svetu , idemo takozvanoj kući. Letovi kasne jer po Evropi svuda besni oluja, zašto uopšte da se pretvaramo da putujemo s prtljagom kad znamo da ćemo ga dobiti tek za koji dan.
Gejovi i ostali se žale da im je revnosno obezbeđenje oduzelo sve šampone i ostale mazalice...vajfaj opet besplatan i brz... ceo dan sedim na leptopu i ćaskam sa svetom... šta drugo, valjda je to taj naš život ovih dana svuda . Zašto da se pretvaramo da smo pravi ljudi kad nas ionako tretiraju kao ovce sve dok ne zbrišemo u virtuelno gde postajemo oličenje naših snova...

In Valencia, the police cars have bats on their doors,
the black people are African, gays are almost
mainstream...and it is in Spain...
.
The International Conference of Women in Black this
year was held there: 400 women from countries almost
from every country in the world: activist pacifists of
all ages: a mother from Plaza de Maya who was once a friend of
Che Guevara, to young girls from Chechnia accused of
being kamikaze bombers.

We are living in this students dorm or hostel,
Galileo Galilei, the technological faculty among other
universities... well out of the city and close to the beach,
with tracks of trams around us and nothing else: no
shops, no restaurants, no people. But we do have wifi
in our building, free and fast.

I ask a young Norwegian engineer for
directions. He live in Spain because he thinks life there is
cheaper fancier and easier. He knows of the Women in Black,
but he thinks all feminists are lesbians.
Surely that is why we are isolated with our gates locked,
dancing on the beach at night and denouncing patriarchy in daylight.

What if it were not about patriarchy at all, but
something related to hormones, brains and gender
misunderstandings, fatal attractions?
Nobody is perfect, says my Bosnian young friend to
the Norwegian. At that point he buys her a drink
and then runs away from us as fast as his legs can take
him.

At the beach two Irish gays ask us to keep their
belongings while they go together to swim. In Cuba
couples used to wade into seawater to make
love because there was not enough free private space
on the land. The waves are huge, in California
everybody would be doing something with the waves or the
sand; surf, jog, bicycle... in Valencia, people are just
clustering in couples on the beach, notwithstanding their gender race
or class...Drinks are served on the beach, cheap and good.
Smoking cigarettes still beats smoking Spanish pot.

The Calatrava museum of technology is
surrounded by joggers, good old fashioned tourists
with cameras, fast expensive food, and even a huge
shopping mall a la Americana with globalized brands. My
Italian friend from Milan says: it is amazing, we have
the same stuff in Italy but here it is one third of the
price, from Nescafe to Prada shoes. What is the
secret? The Chinese manufacturers?
The south of the north, the south
of the South. Meaning: every world has its own third
world, even if it is a world officially called united
Europe.

If you walk down these big new empty alleys you
don’t come across food shops or shops at all, only big
buildings with small flats where people sleep. I could
not live there. They resemble the communist dorms before the
fall of the Wall, that the eastern bloc once boasted about:
equality in misery.

But these are not dorms for poor proletarians or
miserable people, they are actually a new way of
living without the smell and appearance of local manufacture.
Every morning, the citizen of this neighborhood,
instead of buying some local bread, can ponder buying
that brand new Toyota in the store window.

In downtown, in the square of the young Saint Michael, the
boy archangel who hosts alternative penniless hippie
tourists, gypsies and street singers, we still smell
bocadillas, falafel and hear the good old Spanish
music from Sarita Montiel movies, among Almodovar's
bright red colors, high heels and hysterical women, and
gays all all over the map. That's my Spanish cup of tea, I say.
Not mine, says my friend from Palestine, this reminds
me of my local mess...

At the airport, we are a crowd of women parting for
all over the globe to the places called our homes. Flights are
delayed because of storms in Europe. Why bother to
pretend that we fly "with our luggage" at all, it goes
without saying that the bags may or may not reach us a
couple of days later. Gays and others are lamenting
for their shampoo and other goods being seized by the
tremendously efficient Spanish customs officers... wifi
is free and fast... I guess that's what life is all
about these days. Why pretend we are real citizens when
they treat us as chattel? Unless we escape into global virtuality,
where we can became what we wannabe.