The Starling Man

I always had a love for maps as a child. I got curious of all the countries and places that were mentioned on a piece of canvas or paper, somewhere across Earth, at the same time of my presence on this planet. It fascinated me to know that at any particular time, there were millions other souls scattered across the globe, perhaps living a life, or having thoughts very similar to mine. I imagined bustling cities full of people speaking different languages than me, or empty golden beaches that were waiting for my arrival.

Perhaps I always had the “Alexander the Great Syndrome,” being myself born in the region of the ancient Kingdom of Macedon. I wished I could visit and “capture” them all, not by war and violence this time, but with my photographic lenses. Or maybe I simply never really belonged to a place. I perpetually had the feeling of being an outsider, an old soul that was misunderstood by its own family and often friends, a wanderer and a gypsy.

Some other times I felt like an alien that fell onto this planet, to record his own experience of living among humans. People always interested and fascinated me, not that I liked everyone mind you, nor did I wish for their constant attention or approval. If I did that, there would be not enough time for me to organize travels in my imagination. When I could not get my hands onto a map, I would create one myself out of a piece of paper, adhered on a soft sticky tape to create the feel of a papyrus. Then I would draw real or imaginary lands, with cities, colonies or settlements, which grew and thrived, or collapsed and got destroyed by their enemies as I was taught in our history books.

Later the circumstances in my family, made me seek a career in Greece’s hotel industry. For years I came in contact with people from all over the world, of all ages, races, ethnicities, religions and cultures you can imagine. Naturally being curious about them, I befriended some of them and that was a catalyst, a magnet that irreversibly pulled me out of the borders of Greece and the security of my family.

I started my travels during my first year in the tourism industry and since then I have never stopped. My first trip was to Germany and Austria and that had me fall in love with Europe. Many trips would follow something that would ultimately lead me to migrating to Ireland, a country of migrants and travellers itself. What a suitable match. When I cannot travel in my waking life, I do so in my sleep. I often dream of getting lost in a market somewhere in Asia, or visiting some fjord of northern Europe. Additionally I always had this fantasy, of breaking my body into hundreds of starlings, flying in a noisy murmuration over plains, borders, countries and continents. Aren’t these birds just amazing?

Then I land in this avian form on various city park trees or on rooftops, observing local people and learning their ways. I get the chance to survey how they talk, conduct their business or go about their everyday lives. Without them noticing me, I hear about their grievances, their dreams and national or personal dramas unfolding; experience everything that makes them themselves.

Naturally at some stage I join them as a human again. Nothing beats a good conversation with someone new from another country. I only wish I could learn all the languages of the world, converse with people much more different than me and the people that surround me. I am what I am today, not much because of my family environment, but through my interactions with other individuals.

They offered me new experiences and points of view, as diverse as the people I came in contact with. Colleagues, lovers, friends, employers, each of them of various backgrounds, age and ethnicity, helped me manifest and enhance my human experience, by simply being part of it. No matter for how long-sometimes only briefly, occasionally for the better, other times for the worse. The experience only counts.

Similarly to when I meet a new person, I can never describe how it feels when I am in a new city. I love everything about the process of travelling, from booking the flights, arriving at the airport and the hotel, to the first strolls around my new destination of conquest. I get excited like a child when reaching every block corner, of what might just be around; a square, some beautiful building, a park, antiquity ruins or a marvellous cathedral and so hyper by the noises of each city, which echo its own very soul. The constructions and the people, its nature and transport system, plus the church bell chimes or imam calls to prayer from the minarets.

Additionally, the smells from the food stalls, pollution odours or sea breeze and the flowers from the parks, all together are turned into the city’s breath, dispersed by the winds that flow through each settlement and its narrow streets. It’s like the taste of the first kiss with each new city I find myself in, which often leaves a lasting memory and impression.

Some of my favourite attractions of course are each country’s architectural marvels. I dreamed I could be an architect when I was young too, but although this dream never materialized, it left me with a sheer admiration of beautifully made buildings. To me they are pure art, not just a construction that can be utilised for various purposes.

It amazes how nations dedicate so much skill in order to please their rulers or their deities. Particularly the cathedrals, churches, mosques, temples and palaces, are often a striking manifestation of humanity’s creative spirit and will. It is of the few times that humans in their effort to reach out to their gods with art, music and architecture, can sometimes become divine themselves.

That is why I often find myself lingering in religious establishments; not to find “God” myself-I am agnostic, but to marvel humanity and its achievements. In palaces on the other hand, I sometimes feel that they belong more to the people that designed and laboured to build or maintenance them, than the ones who got to actually live in them. It is them that poured their love and hard work into the project.

But one cannot ignore the darker side of these buildings. How many people were exploited to finance their completion, or indeed how many of them died; either while constructing them, working in a plantation field that allowed the wealth needed for such marvels, or during the wars that saw the destruction of an older civilization, to create a new one in its place.

These constructions would be nothing without the people that conceived and made them over the generations. That is why they belong to us all jointly. They are the manifestation of each human culture and ethnic group, which tries to showcase its existence on this planet, but also in this moment in time.

The world is rich with the different cultures, which are like the jewels of our global community; all different but all unique and important as they complement and compete with each other for attention, creating the beautiful mosaic of humanity itself. They are all worthy to be preserved and showcased, that is what make us collectively wealthier, not necessarily our economies and the amount of gold each country keeps in its financial institutions.

Every food, song, craft, art piece, language, dialect national costume or folklore tail and indeed every skilfully made building, is worth visiting and living in this world for and experience being human in the aeons of the universe. That is my take on it, from my time so far on this planet. And that is why I must continue my travels, in my dreams, as a flock of starlings or as a simple man on an airplane, perhaps next to you.

My photo book and short story "The Starling Man", is available for free in preview at Blurb, but also available to buy as PDF and a softcover book, from their website, with more photos.