From Manhattan to the Sahara

By Mansur Hamdan

A story of bored guy after long travel in Europe. He settled in a modern Arabian city where the waves of the sea meet the sand of the desert. He has much time to walk and staring at people. Sometimes chatting with strangers. Jumping from a cafe to the restaurant. Hang out in shopping centers. One day he found himself in a film festival. Meet a filmmaker from New York who was bored of the festival. Looking for new stories and trying to catch ideas. they became friends and started to  discover and search the secrets and tales in the Arabian city

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mansur Hamdan
• Release date: Sep 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386689836

Mansur Hamdan

Author of novels and short stories Screen writer  of movies and ads  travelling around the world and bolgging . lived in London , US , Morocco , Dubai .

Book preview

Sinbad

Through the plane’s window, I saw my new city, dunes stretching to hug the sea, high towers standing tall on snaky gulf strands. I will not live in that tall building covered with glass and aluminum. I want large open windows and balconies that welcome the wind and sun. I want the curtains to sway like sails—even the dust is welcome. I want to go back into the house in the afternoon and find a bird that lost his way and fled to my room and ants climbing the walls in convoys—even up in my kitchen. I want to fall asleep on the couch and wake up in the morning to a cloud of locusts above me.

I found what I was looking for in a small building on the fringes of the city. It’s close to the sea but far from the bus station. I will gladly walk for ten minutes to my stop. The jobber searched tirelessly to find it and was baffled by my admiration for it. Regardless, he was quick to accept my rent.

I climbed out of the taxi. The driver had removed my bag and left it on the asphalt. I noticed Samer, son of the building owner, standing at the gate. He resembled a Greek statue with curly hair glittering in the sun; his arms were rigid with visible veins. He smiled with salutation and offered to pull my bag; I let him because I was tired. I watched him as he entered the new lift; remnants of plastic posters dotted the walls, and the smell of paint hung heavy in the air. The door of the flat opened, and I was greeted by a nice breeze and curtains gently swaying. In the center of the apartment was a wide living room with white marble tile and white walls.

I walked towards the large terrace until I stood at the glass wall mottled with seagull droppings. I surveyed the neighborhood, which consisted mostly of empty sand quarters and buildings standing no taller than seven floors. There was a small grocery store in front of the building.

Your bag is light weight, is that all of your goods? Samer asked.

Heavy luggage causes back fatigue and slows down the traffic. I love to be light.

I heard you were coming to live here after a long migration. I imagined you bringing many heavy bags and boxes.

It’s the first time someone has drawn my attention to this matter. I really do not have a lot of things.

Don’t you have some old things that have memories and value?

I used to keep some things, but when they tied me up, I threw them away.

While Samer studied me, I entered the living room and sat down on the couch. At my back was a large picture with a steam train and a wooden bridge suspended between two mountains.

He sat on the edge of a wooden chair that seemed out of place from the rest of the leather sofas. His manner of sitting was polite and indicated he would not lengthen the stay, but he had a lot of questions in his mind, and my answers only brought more questions.

"How did your old things get in your way? Samer asked.

If you still relate to them, you will stay around and carry them with you wherever you go. It takes up space in your heart. Inanimate objects are still the same, they don’t change, and every time you look at them, memories come back to you. I don’t want to carry the past forever. I am traveling a lot and always moving, so I want to be light to go quickly.

What about travel memorabilia?

A souvenir? Sometimes I like to buy them, but I give them up easily.

Any travel souvenirs that you like?

I don’t like those magnets affixed to refrigerators, those are for housewives, I laughed. I do love those glass globes you shake to move the snow or bottles which hold sailboats.

Oh, that’s nice. When I visit a town or tourist landmark, I like to buy a T-shirt with a symbol or a painting or picture of the place. Samer said.

I might buy that T-shirt, not to wear it, but to give it as a gift.

"Why wouldn’t you wear it?

I don’t know.

What about the pictures?

Oh, I’ve lost a lot of pictures. I don’t want to remember. I visit a place without a camera on purpose. I don’t care about photos because I believe that one day I will come back. I want to experience it like the first time all over again.

Doesn’t your cell phone have a camera?

I don’t have a cell phone.

At first Samer seemed surprised, but then he nodded his head in agreement and said, I don’t really care about smart phones either. I only carry a cell phone so that my parents can call me.

Where are your parents?

They moved to Canada to be with my sister. For the past year, I’ve lived alone on the first floor. I’m sorry for bothering you with all my questions; I will let you rest. If you need anything, you’ll find me home in the evenings, or you can leave a message in the mailbox.

Samer left the apartment, but I could tell he still had a lot of questions in in his head; he’d have to postpone getting answers for another meeting. He’s young and curious, clearly delighted by meeting someone new and strange, someone different from the other people he sees on a daily basis. He must have felt comforted to find someone who looks like him.

I had my own questions. A young man lives alone because his parents emigrated and left him; is he working or studying? I am in no hurry to get my answers. I have a long time to get to know Samer and the new city.

Hermes

The bus traveled up a busy road squeezed between two skyscrapers. I slowly stood up and walked down the center aisle. As we approached my stop,  City Mall Station, came the overhead announcement.

I stepped off the bus and waved to what seemed to be an artist in the nineteenth century attempting to draw a picture of the modern future. I walked through the crowd and entered the mall. I was immediately welcomed by bright smiling faces in pictures and commercials. Shoppers crossed underneath the giant faces like tiny elves; the Greek muses became models promoting goods.

Mickey Mouse walked by smiling at all the children, weaving his way through crowds of people pouring through the big gate. I deliberately knocked shoulders with him to make my way. I didn’t turn back to watch him raise his arms to object.

I smelled the strong aroma of coffee as a Chinese girl offered small sample cups of coffee to passersby. I tasted one while she explained, "We have