I give you two unsettling news.
The first is that I started to ride a motorcycle and traveling recently, after i was thirty years.I hadn’t worth a penny before. I am the last born of five children, grewn up in geological eras from other ones, twenty years after the first one, ten after the last.Then my parents have decided to buy a TV, which was less expensive. Mine is not a travelers’ family, least of all wealthy, and although my brothers have put between my feet balls of every size and type since childhood, I don’t give a fuck about football and generally competitive sports.
At twelve, I decided that I would be studying architecture, while drooled watching the few images of the Paris-Dakar passing on TV and I envied the kids who came up with displacement of their two wheels as they grew. For some years I shouted to a microphone, then I devoted myself to graphic arts with some seriousness finishing university and by moving to the capital to find a road that was mine. Just found a steady job I bought a scooter, a Beverly 250, with which the same summer I left along with then girlfriend to Corsica. Then came a CBF600 and the current Tenerè 660 . And the destinations became more and more distant: the Balkans, Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, Central Asia.
Since 2006 it has always been a crescendo of kms across places and people are more and more different.I realized that traveling for me is to look for stories, faces, people and emotions even before monuments or city. It’s the discovery of the world understood as a set of disorderly arranged cultures and faces and stories. Every encounter, landscape or new situation most often translates into the knowledge of a few more pieces of myself. And once you start it’s really hard to think about anything else.
Reaching a destination becomes an excuse to stay on the road and hitch is the driving force of experience.
My father gave me the curiosity about the world, my mother the ability to communicate across language barriers.Both have taught me the respect of human being and his dignity regardless of skin, creed, language and passport.This point of view and the condition of apparent disadvantage of riding a motorcycle to thousands of miles from home have always attracted natives’ benevolence, taking me in situations that I hardly would have lived with other vehicles. I recently discovered the joy of telling stories that I meet on my path.
The Romans said that fate is in the name.
My last name is Femia. It derives from the greek Femì (to say) and basically means “the act of speaking,” so much so that the blind singer at the court of Ulysses, the self-quotation of Homer, was called Phemius.
Hence the second, shocking news: Toto the Motò is not my real name, but a pseudonym chosen in homage to “Totò Le Mokò”.
Movie with the great comedian Antonio De Curtis in which the hero finds himself in a casbah and, after the initial dismay, he did just fine despite the many difficulties.