Told always with humour, be it slapstick, blackly surreal, wry or gentle - this is truly the extraordinary story of a fakir (pronounced faker) who finds love, generousity and friendship but also violence, bigotry and the difference between being born on the north coast or the south coast of the Mediterranean. Please don't be put off by the clunky title and just go with the flow.
'So if I understand correctly, of the three of us, none came from Barcelona?' said the Moroccan ....
'Is all you need is a guitar or a moustache for the English to suspect you of coming from Spain?'
'Just think of this as a free holiday paid for by the Queen!' declared a thick Russian- accented voice. 'They put me on this frigging aeroplane because I rolled my rrrs!'