You would not know of Misho Georgiev (who I call Michael) and who flew in from Skopje to consult some mechanics in Nieuw Wennep (of all places) about a very expensive gadget. Single, rich and 32 Michael is the chief after-sales engineer for SEAT in whole of Macedonia. In short - he is a hunted party among the thriving community of unmarried women out there. Amiable and polyglot Michael came primarily to see what made his late father so enthralled with Amstelveen and the Dutch way of life. the second reason, high on his list of priorities of the visit highlights, was to inspect the service facility of Ducati in Nieuw Wennep. The remarks he made during his short sojourn here set in motion so many trains of thought that I feel my head as a grand central Station at peak hours. -Take me please to the dyke you showed to my dad,- he said the very first day. When my superb, suddenly gone Mirko Mik Georgiev was here - we wandered a lot around Amstelveen. One day we were walking along the dykes behind Groenhof shopping centre. My grandson Christian was in a phase of regularly feeding the ducks with stale bread. Some twenty or so were gathered and fought for every piece he threw towards them.
-Listen,- Mik said,- do you know where are their eggs?
-What eggs?
-Don't be daft. So many ducks. They must lay eggs someplace.
-So?
-What do you mean "So?", who collects those eggs. There must be hundreds of eggs every single day, you nitwit.
Though an architect, a junior boxing champ, an opera-chorus extra and undisputed magnet for high-flying women, Mik was and remained a man of the village. Some of the most memorable times we have enjoyed on his fathers large estate in Tearce, near Tetovo, were around picking corn, gathering walnuts, feeding cattle and collecting eggs from a flock of hens.

His reasoning baffled me. I did not know the answer. There was this charming blond coming our way, just at the corner of Henry Dunant School, swaying her hips a bit and I decided to approach her with the same question. i told Mik what we shall do.
-Alstublift mewrouw, dit menheer here is mij friend van Macedonie and hij vragt waar zijn de ieren van de eenden? (You see, this shows how bad my Dutch was then and it did not ameliorate. Where are the eggs from the ducks?)
Mik glanced at her with his most disarming look and put his naive, most disarming smile on his relaxed face.

-C'est tres interesant, cher madamme, pour mois,-he said and shocked me. It was not the French. (Mik had pattented, so to say, the by-words like "J'ais t'aime comme une rose" in his routin conversations with foreign women. It was his readiness to play along, despite his proverbial low-profile attitude in life.
In short, the woman was confused. She stopped, looked into the greenery, looked at the ducks, looked at the robert-redford-blue eyes of my friend who kept his Clark Gable smile on.
-Wet it niet. Inderdaad, meest interesant mischien u moet naar de Gemeente.
I told Mik she proposes us to go to the Council and ask there. He fakes a response but actually tells me to invite her to come with us and forget about the stupid eggs.
-My friend says that those eggs need to be much more expensive than the hen's eggs. Have you ever in your life seen any around? You live in Amstelveen, I think we are neighbors...
Well, rest is not so interesting. We could not arrange a date in Caffe Anno 1890 with her. But the other day I took Michael to the most popular Dutch pub around and he loved it.
-The girls are fabulous. If only they were not to the last one 35 and above. back in Skopje this age-group is fast asleep by this time of the night. Now I see why my old man loved it so much here. You have where to go out and not look as if a strayed Marsian...

+ + +

Now, three years latter, I still revive our walks with Mik but last week it was completely different with his son. Kind of wrapping it up.
But then on the other hand Michael sister (Mik's daughter) Aneta was also here with her husband much before my friend died, and there is not a single day without a beautiful memory jumping at me like a playful puppy, licking the wounds of solitude.

These encounters, visits, memories make the whole damned world feel much more human.

+ + +

Despite I have known Michael for practically all his life, he, now an established top-professional, surprised me with his great confidence that Macedonia will eventually integrate with Europe and with the piece he discussed what would happen if that will not be the case. His grandfather's estate was chopped into different inheritance pieces and many of those were sold to ethnic Albanians who have flooded once predominantly Macedonian Tearce. There is no point disclosing his views on the future (very positive) of the inter-cultural relations in macedonia. He is a superb engineer, very highly valued with SEAT and more often in Barcelona than in Ohrid or Tearce where he still has some property.
To switch the topic, I ask him:
-Will you go to Las Vegas for the Luxury Summit?
Michael looks at me surprised.
-What luxury?
-Your Ducati Sport 1000.
-Oh, that! That is a gadget. A simple single-seat, retro bar-to-bar bike.
(Actually, the Financial Times stages a "Business of Luxury Summit" in Las Vegas, June 4-6 with a score of CEOs from a score of most famous "luxury items" companies. One of them will be mr Federico Minoli the boss of Ducati. Although in my old pro-proletarian book this event is absurd, I would love to report you the most revolting and intriguing aspects it will offer. No chance.

I send a heavy sigh. I wonder how many young people can afford €17,500 for the bike, the gear and the extras for a two-wheeler which is good enough only to move your butt from one bar to another, excluding the drinks there? But then, this Georgiev is the new generation and I love the stamina and the self-confidence they radiate.

(Above, my photo-mix - Michael on his Ducati bike over a scenery of Hawaii with my wife and daughter in the background.)

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