il était une fois un rêve

copyright© Edgar Honetschläger, all rights reserved, unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

july 2024

as he was waiting at napoli airport lining up with in an endless crowd of octoroons who were fidgeting around with their cell phones a deep sentiment overcame him. the days were long gone when he’d visited pompei on a rainy weekday with an italian, an american and a japanese friend and the ancient city was void of people. as the four had split up in two pairs they’d lost each other and needed a while to find each other in the vast ruins. now, pushed into the airplane like cattle and also treated as such he was longing for the days when flying had been an exceptional undertaking and travelling to other cultures would make one feel as if one was an entrepreneur.  

in the late 80’s when he called new york city his home it was a mysterious, run down and dangerous place. during those years manhattan’s art crowd was driven from soho to brooklyn. the term gentrification was born. williamsburg was a beautiful dump back then and that’s where he, fresh from europe, had ended up too. whole blocks were nothing but rubbish. it smelled. gangs. hookers all over. a few blocks down at the east river one found run down trucks crammed with x-rays. rumor was that hospitals were dumping nuclear waste nearby. the mixed neighborhood was painstackingly seperated: the polish quarters, the russian, the black americans, the puerto rican, the italian, the orthodox jewish quarter etc. thousands of artist from all around the globe were seeking shelter here, blended in. even if we did not know each other, when any of us would take a late night subway from manhattan to williamsburg a non-spoken agreement would bind us to the last train compartment in order to protect and on our ways home look out for each other. we’d get mugged anyway. we’d meet in make shift art venues, listen to aspiring opera singers or watch an experimental movie about sex change. 

his studio was located in a commercial building right below the roof top that revealed a postcard view of manhattan. at night the white walls in his loft were dipped in velvet blue. lying in his bed he’d see a blue fluorescent sign that vertically read F U N. when he’d bend up the rest of the letters read: E R A L  H O M E – on the other side of Metropolitan Avenue, close to the East River, an italian FUNERAL HOME propagated its business. neither dead nor alive – nobody ever entered or left through the front door. at night though one window only would sometimes be lit in the low iron cast building…my god – what a beautiful zoo it all was – sparkling in all colors. one lived with the danger in the neighborhood generously as the rest was so inspiring. one dealt with locals, with immigrants, with people who had come from all over the globe to seek their luck. one arrived and felt immidiately embaced by the big apple. one became part of, adapted the local rules and habits. tourism in manhattan was mainly american, in brooklyn close to nill. by now manhattan has turned into the wizard’s crystal city. only the rich inhibit the glamorous high rises. 

after that experience it took him months to stop watching out for potential danger during the night when he’d moved from new york to tokyo in the early 90’s. it felt like a safe haven, yet what a change in ambience and mentality! his american and european friends had shown concern when he had annouced his move to the far eastern capital: “japan? weird place. what are you doing there? it won’t do you good to spend time in that remote copy culture.” being caucasian in nippon meant to be a rare species and stick out in the subways like a firefly in the pitch dark night. people would stare into his blue eyes (in NY staring was an absolute no-go and dangerous). they’d come close in order to touch his long blond curled hair. when in the countryside he was treated like a ghost, as locals only knew white people from television. there was a bit of upper class asian tourism to be found in the capital – if one could distinguish their facial features. westerners rarely found their way to that remote part of the world. those who moved to japan had an ample reason to spend years on the archipelago – artists, scientists, intellectuals, academics were filled with a brimming curiousity in the alien culture, they were eager to learn, adapt, fit in, stay. visiting kyoto meant to see the temples and shrines with their delicate gardens without having to share it with other westerners, one was among japanese tourists. in the streets and alleys of ancient kyoto one would encounter only locals. today people will fly around the globe for a sole saturday night dinner in tokyo. the inhabitants of kyoto have recently demanded buses for their own as especially elder people have a hard time entering buses which are filled with tourists. these days japan is as crammed as any other place on the globe. 

around the year 2000 he shot a movie in palermo fooling around with outstanding intellectuals of the island. in those days hardly anyone from across the alps dared to visit as everyone was scared of the mafia. the beautiful palazzi along the wide avenues just like the narrower ones in the poverty stricken vucceria were run down. parts of town still revealed the scars of WWII – ruins, rubbish, dirt. the city was indeed erie but outstandingly beautiful as was madrid in its post-franco state. madrid today is a slick europeanized capital that hardly distinguishes itself from other  europe cities. which takes us lisbon, a city he would visit regularly to get inspired by fernando pessoa and which had the most romantic touch one can imagine. in the center down by the sea he’d frequent the same cafe from morning to evening and have a fresh fish from the atlantic with salad for a bunch of coins. suadade was to be felt wherever one set foot on. then british investors moved in and cheaply restored the historical center. today hardly a word of portuguese is to be heard in the center of town as some 40.000 americans are moving to the save portugal annually. with too much money at their hands they drive the local population to the suberbs. 

if inhabitants of the center of rome want to eat decent, reasonable food these days they need to drive to the suberbs. almost all restaurants in the center cater bad food to tourists – pasta e pizza. when he’d moved to the isola farnese near rome end of the millenium a majority of locals and a few foreign celebrities shared the fellinesque 78 soul village. as soon as the outsiders outdid the locals in numbers all the small businesses shut down, the village lost its soul, its spirit, its charm, its romantic touch.

he recalled the days when venice used to be a picturesque backdrop – to be witnesses when watching nicolas roeg’s thriller don’t look back. by now only 11% of the population of venice are venitians. one out of 10 people. the rest commutes from mestre and their solely task seems to be serving tourists. even the mayor of town does not live in town anymore. the wealthy of the world call the serenissma’s palazzi their own and have successfully turned it into a ghost town. void of a functioning infrastructure there are hardly any schools, post offices etc. the rich only fly into town to occupy their apartments for a few days a year in order to join biennale opening parties, may it be art, film, music or dance. little of the local community is left.

people will line up for hours in front of the louvre in paris in order to rush to the mona lisa room and take a selfie. noone seems to be interested in all the other paintings this outstanding museum has to offer. hardly anyone who travels is interested in meeting locals anymore, they are only there to serve their needs. hardly anyone goes other places to learn and widen their horizon. one goes places in order to confirm what influencers – paid by local business – have posted. see the post, book a flight, find the way, rush to the venue, take a selfie and on to the next adventure.

a few years ago he had by mistake ended up in a youth hostel in sidney. there was a so called room communication room. it meant young people sitting in front of computer screens communicating with people in other places on the globe. there was no talking happening among them. in the past travelling meant analog communication as it was the only way to survive. one needed to ask one’s way around, one needed company, one wanted to learn from the people who called the place their home. travelling does no more mean wanting to to be confronted with the unknown, wanting to be exposed to an adventure, wanting to learn. 

in napoli, one of the most beautiful cities on the globe, the rich and poor live in the same neighborhoods, a tantalizing mix of characters celebrating the beauty of differences and individual approaches. today it is on the verge to running the same risk as lisbon and venice and all other towns. these days the municipality proudly annouces that half a million tourists are expected to visit during the weekend. until recent international investors were kept at bay by the toxic mix of mafia and politics. but now mass tourism changes the cities infrastructure rapidly, only pockets of ingenuin life are to be found these days. now it is time for the big money to turn everything upside down and turn it into another faceless international hub. proudly a napolitan will tell you: I’m not italian, I’m napolitan! in the meantime they are falling prone to global standardisation. soon they will neither be napolitans nor italians but citizens of the world – without going anywhere – serving the flow of tourists and the weatlhy property owners. driven out of their own town. 

mass tourism functions like a so called harvester in the forest. this death machine mows down an old tree within seconds, rids it of useless branches and cuts the trunk into handable logs. it can erase an entire ancient forest within hours. once the forest is cleared construction can begin. since the turn of the millenium all major european cities have faced the same fate. napoli seemed to be one of the last strongholds. europe, a continent transformed into a huge disneyland for visitors for the rest of the world. ‘want the italian feeling that nespresso’s george clooney promotes? go to italy and have a café! who cares that the product is swiss and is never to be found in any italian bar. discount airlines, social media, airbnb and international corporations are putting an end to local flavors, to any ingenuin life anywhere. tourists have become harvesters for a weekend. 

it is always boring where the rich live. tidy and clean does not hold anything – not even for the eye. nothing is more missing in our brave new world than dirt and filth. the omnipresent cleanliness is accompanied by ever increasing and more resticitive rules – that must be applied to   tame the masses, but of course they have to be obeyed by everyone. loosing their neighbors, losing their shoes, makes locals feel that they have lost their home, their citiy, that that, which used to define them, that what reflected their mentality which built up over generations is no more. aliens in their won city.   

so who wonders when revisionists are fighting for ‘national’ identities, that they want to protect local tastes and keep traditions going – or rather what’s left of them. people get more and more intimidated by these rushing changes driven by consumerist madness. the right is profiting from it by offering a simple solution: back to the roots. none of them tells us how though. they just blabber about turning the clock hands back, bringing the old days back, yet nobody can. hopeless traditionalists are being laughed at by the left who gave into the corporations demand of boundless global trade – as from their point of view tradition is dangerous. traditions in europe are being treated as if they were representing something which the explorers james cook and david livingston must have felt when they encountered ‘pagan’ tribes far from europe – anti-civilisational, anti-modernist. those who critizise traditions the most or call them outdated, useless, fascistic, are those who seek those few places of silence that are still left the most. out in the countryside they go to become observers of those pagan locals who are simply not willing to give in to modernism, globalization and standardization. it is comparable with their attitude toward unhindered immigration: ‘bring ‘em on!’ they shout but their kids should not mingle with those of the newcomers. they rather pay for private schools where their kids will not fall behind and be in an exclusive club of white locals. hypocricy pure. 

the french banker albert kahn commissioned photographers in the early 1900’s to travel and document people around the world. amazing how extrordiarily differently they were dressed in different parts of the globe, how different they lived and behaved. today the world is standardized, people dress and behave almost anywhere the same, at least in the industrialized world. check out apartments on airbnb: no matter if you look for one in rio de janeiro, johannesburg, paris or tokyo etc. – they all look the same. the mcdonaldisation of the world has become a reality. people have become equalized consumers. almost absolute standardization has taken over – driven by corporations who have, in the current setup, succeeded to make more outragous profits than ever – in our beautifully globalized world. when getting older one should refrain from calling the world in times passed a better place. yet, when it comes to discovering the world there’s no doubt that we were better off travelling in the 20th century.

Packen wir es an!

copyright© Edgar Honetschläger, all rights reserved, unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 27. April 2020…

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September 2019 copyright© Edgar Honetschläger, all rights reserved, unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. In…

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