Invisible Cities - 4 More Stories

Traveling is part of the Destination

Arriving in Miura is no easy task. There is only one road into the city, and only one road out of the city. All of the inhabitants use this road everyday, as they all either work in the city and live abroad, or work abroad and live in the city. The vehicles zigzag between each other, never advancing more than a car length ahead, and more often than not they fall behind. This is where the joy of the town lays, the commute. As each driver, never with a passenger, makes his trip, every emotion is displayed. From the burst of anger when one is cut-off by an unwary citizen, or the happiness achieved when a large gap is opened by an exiting semi to get all the speed they can from their automobile shows the most pleasure I have ever seen in a human. Of course this speed never lasts, and it is a wonder why no one walks, when the speed most definitely falls lower than that. The subtle dance of traffic is an intriguing one, but I have not yet acquired the taste for it.

As one nears the city, viewing the beautiful landscape, I begin to understand this slow pace. From the gorgeous skyline of skyscrapers, to the mountain filled ranges circling the city, it is a wonder if anyone watches the road for more than a minute, possibly out of the corner of their eye, as their gaze is always drawn up, never forward. The closer I neared the city, the less I wanted to enter. This was not unusual, as many seemed to share my idea. I continued to look at the surroundings, absorbing what I could before having to make a decision of where I should land. I could have continued following the rest of the crowd at the ever slow pace, or I could take any of the numbered unnamed exits.

Decisions don’t need to be made quickly, and that can’t be more stressed. All of the exits also allow you to turn around. Those that did decide to exit all went back up the other way, stuck in the muddled flow. I too chose to do this, never entering the city as I never found an entrance in all of the exits.

Polar Opposites

I stumbled upon Ascari in my travels in the early morning. The sun baked my face, while my arms grew hot. I disrobed down to my last piece of clothing, stuffing my sack with all of them. I passed a fresh fruit market, with two young boys’ lips stained by blackberries, who then ran away when they spotted me. The vendor gave me an evil eye, and then refused to acknowledge my presence. More and more faces appeared, shunning and avoiding me. All were cloaked as if in a mass religious precession. But it couldn’t have been religious, as they were adorned with all of the colors, but dulled. The cloaks were yellow, black, brown, orange and blue to name a few. It looked painful for those clothed to the toe, as the sweat was visible inside and out. The sweat was even dripping off the jackets, pants and hats. Everyone was miserable, visibly in pain and in personal anguish. I couldn’t understand it. This was possibly the most beautiful day I had ever seen, not a cloud in the sky, the sun bright and warm, and the city was as clean as if it had just taken a bath.

And then it rained. No, it poured, drenching the country side, and flooding the streets. I along with everything else was invited to a community shower. I scrambled to clothe myself in anything that appeared water proof, as everything else was soaking wet in this aquatic realm. And then I saw something I did not when I arrived. Smiles, laughter and a grand old time were had. Women were dancing with umbrellas, men skipping in the streams, and children splashing each other in the faces. I couldn’t help but be sucked into the event, trotting down the embankments as I was cooled from the harsh sun that felt like a distant past.

But no more than five minutes had passed before the sun came out again. Doom and gloom was on everyone’s mind. I wondered if this small storm was what everyone had been waiting for all day, as if they had some foresight into the future that such a clear and sunny day could bring also so much rain. I removed my clothing once more, but I was mistaken. A new storm came, and along with it, happiness.

Undistinguishable

I had been traveling through the countryside for many days when I nearly ran into a sign giving directions to a city by the name of Cuda. As I left a forest, the city finally came into view. Massive buildings arranged perfectly, sitting just beneath the clouds. Outside of this central district were the many homes, all neatly arranged to exact mathematical squares. And outside these homes was the road I was taking. The road was perfectly straight and pointed right towards the center of town. Along the road were the trees, meticulously pruned and clipped, giving just the right amount of shade, and no branch hung so low as to knock my hat off. The city continued to grow in size as I neared it, and I got a better look at this marvelous city.

I first passed through the suburbia, all homes were perfectly arranged; lawns clipped at no higher or no lower than an inch off the ground. The homes themselves were painted a deep blue, like the ocean I had walked along in so many of my travels. The roofs were all a perfect forty five degree slope, forming a perfect right triangle. Men and women were leaving their homes headed to work in their pressed suits, straight from the dry cleaners. The men all wore fedoras that fit there head perfectly, all angled to the side as was the fashion at the time. The young ladies with white parasols carried over their left shoulders headed off with their men.

I was carried in town with this fantastic spectacle, a river of people flowing in almost militaristic form, as if we marched toward the city to conquer it. I felt completely out of place with my sun faded clothes with its pungent stench of the outdoors. I walked a little slower than everyone else and a bit to the side, trotting through their immaculate lawns. The city was so large in the distance that I couldn’t make out how far it was, especially with no point of reference. The homes vanished at the horizon, and the city seemed to appear from the curve of the earth. These people were at the top of the world, mathematically perfect. But I didn’t belong with them, nor could I appreciate their form, so I turned and headed back as fast as I could.

Without a Theme

The town of Ghini is neither very large nor very small, but very distinct in its own way. When I entered the city I was greeted by a distinct smoky smell of barbequed meat and spices. As I was hungry from my travels, I stopped at the first of the many barbeque stands that lined the streets. I ordered the first the thing on the menu and received a large slab of meat wrapped in paper. The sauce was so very tasty, the meat tender and juicy. I couldn’t believe I had never heard of this place, as for destinations for food, this was among the best, and most certainly the best for meat lovers, this after only my first of many bites. I booked the first hotel I could and went to rest as the meal had consumed me, and I was dead tired.

I awoke to the sound of frying, boiling and all other varieties of cooking. My mouth salivated at what was available for breakfast. Thick strips of bacon, crispy but not too crispy, and lightly peppered, rich and chewy bread with a light crisp crust, and a tall glass of fresh squeezed orange juice were just a few of the dishes I received for breakfast. The people in the streets were not very big considering how much they ate, and they always cleaned their plate. Everyone was about with their business, and I was lollygagging, counting the time to lunch.

As the sun rose to its highest point, I chose a spot to chow down. I ordered my meal and my mouth was already watering at the food that others around me were eating in delight, looking at me occasionally, in delight as well. It had been but a day here, and I already wanted to end my travels and stay here for the rest of my life. Food to me is the greatest gift to give yourself, and I had never tried anything remotely as good as in Ghini, nor even tasted anything like what I had tried. I asked the host of the restaurant where they got their meat, and she gave me directions to the countryside just outside of town.

I made my way out of town, enjoying the beautiful landscape, but I did not see the cattle, pigs, or sheep I had expected to see. Instead I saw people, lulling about in small cages. I became terrified, and ran back to town to find the police, but they found me first, and I was knocked unconscious by a billy club.

I awoke in a cage, crammed with men of all ages. There were women too, but in a separate area. I asked my cellmate where we were and he answered that we were awaiting execution. I asked why and he answered in one word; meat.

Questions Answered

The easiest theme was “Polar Opposites” because I already had a great idea in my head that would fit that theme. I think it was easier to write without the themes, because I had an idea (probably not the most original) that really fit the invisible cities stories. The most difficult part of the assignment was starting it, but once I start, I couldn’t stop. Calvino’s language appealed to me, but I definitely have my own voice and can’t really emulate anyone else with any skill. Rome seems like an imaginary city because it is so distinct, different and the same. It is perhaps beyond imagination. To write about Rome no one theme could describe it, but if I had to choose one, I would have chosen “Persistence in Change.”