Grey FilastineHost
Arkakinardi now crosses the strait, a water whose size is inverse to its fame.

The Strait of Gibraltar demarcates a cultural and economic transition so vast that 100,000 dodgy rafts have tried their best to cross it, carrying humans in conditions often worse than slave ships, but this time filled with paying customers, which says a lot about how the world has transformed in the last 200 years.

Speedboats zoom past the leaky rafts of the illegalized humans, carrying substances equally illegal, powders and resins to numb the senses of history's victors, the trans-shipped cocaine and the homegrown hashish.


This stream of commerce, transiting from East Asia to Atlantic Europe, is wholly indifferent to the leaky rafts of migrants and the speedboats of the drug smugglers.

But they all dance to the same tune, the incessant beat of the global economy.

We dodge and maneuver to find gaps between the well-lit commercial ships while hoping that all the illicit boats, which have no running lights, at least have the sense and ability to dodge us.


Instead of firing up the motor, we have a deep-sea swim and wait for the wind to finish its morning nap.

While drying off, the fin of a large shark circles the ship, exactly where our defenseless bodies so recently dangled.

The circling fin feels like a cartoonish cliche, while also causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.


Arkakinardi now crosses the strait, a water whose size is inverse to its fame.

The Strait of Gibraltar demarcates a cultural and economic transition so vast that 100,000 dodgy rafts have tried their best to cross it, carrying humans in conditions often worse than slave ships, but this time filled with paying customers, which says a lot about how the world has transformed in the last 200 years.

Speedboats zoom past the leaky rafts of the illegalized humans, carrying substances equally illegal, powders and resins to numb the senses of history's victors, the trans-shipped cocaine and the homegrown hashish.


This stream of commerce, transiting from East Asia to Atlantic Europe, is wholly indifferent to the leaky rafts of migrants and the speedboats of the drug smugglers.

But they all dance to the same tune, the incessant beat of the global economy.

We dodge and maneuver to find gaps between the well-lit commercial ships while hoping that all the illicit boats, which have no running lights, at least have the sense and ability to dodge us.


Instead of firing up the motor, we have a deep-sea swim and wait for the wind to finish its morning nap.

While drying off, the fin of a large shark circles the ship, exactly where our defenseless bodies so recently dangled.

The circling fin feels like a cartoonish cliche, while also causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.

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