I am sitting on a big rock on the highest pick of the Carpathians mountain in Romania. All around me I see the greenish blue ranges, like waves in the ocean, and I am in the middle of this beauty. I am on top of the world. I enjoy the smell of flowers and the green grass. The wind is playing with my hair. There is no one around, just me and the world. I simply love this smell of freedom. In my hands, I hold my Tzevaot handpan. The magic sound of the instrument travels up to the sky and back. I cherish the beauty of the moment and disappear in eternity.
Sun is shining so brightly that I almost cannot open my eyes without sunglasses. I am laying down on the crowded beach of the Crete island in the mid-summer. The feeling of total relaxation and happiness is all around. People are having their vacations, they swim and play in warm waters, laughing and having fun, enjoying their summer. And I am sitting with my back to the palm tree, a bit aside from the crowd. Refreshed by the waves and the sudden wind, I take my handpan and start playing. I barely notice people turning their necks to me, amused by the fantastic tunes. I am enjoying every vibe of this hot day. I am feeling so alive.
The smell of fresh doughnuts brings my childhood memories back. I am sitting at the table at a gas station in Ohio, having my morning coffee after the night of driving. My friends are buying their snacks and my girlfriend is laying down on my shoulder. I take out the handpan and start playing. My friends come back with their breakfasts and we all together start singing our road song to the cosmic tunes of the handpan. The gas station owner and elderly African lady grabs a chair and sits with us. We are all enjoying the feeling of togetherness. We are all like one.
I am walking along the streets of London with my girlfriend. Hand in hand, enjoying the morning fog and admiring the beauty of the buildings. London is one of the best cities for family travel by the way. When a drizzle starts, we go under the bridge. She takes out the sandwiches she has made in the hostel, I take out my dear handpan. We lose the track of time, falling into the melody, flying along with the sound over the Thames and all around the globe.
It is a Christmas time. My family is gathered all around the chimney. We sing traditional carols and drink mulled wine. My mother brings her special apple pie that feels the air with the festive smell of cinnamon. My wife is setting the table. “Can you play”, she asks. And I take out my old handpan, releasing the wonderful sounds of mountains and the sea, of a big city and local gas stations, of all the roads in the world and home, my sweet home.