The book is written in an artistic style. It is based on a real story. This book has been written for all sixteen years. It is bout life of young belarussian lady. In order to prove to her surroundings that any impossible thing is possible, she goes in search of her idol to another country. Since childhood, driven by dreams she finally realizes all of them. The highlight of the book becomes the path to the dream, due to which, on its way Zara meats many celebrities such as:
Thomas Anders (soloist of the German band Modern Talking), a famous Hollywood photographer of celebrities Guido Carp, some ministers, the Pope of Rome, President of Ukraine Vladímir Zelenski and many others. Some of them became her friends.
The main hero of book also live's in several countries of her dream and describes life there. The main idea of the book, never give up in any aspirations and faith in the dream.The book also contains photographs of celebrities and the main character.
About the rewards
Be careful when choosing rewards , because there are two prices, price depends on your location. In addition, if we collect more funds, then all participants who donated to a paper copy of the book will receive additional bonuses.
About the author
Zara Gold was born in Belarus,Minsk. Studied design and art history.(Bachelor degree).For the past sixteen years lives in immigration.
She have always been a dreamer. And from early childhood she followed her dreams. Living in a country - the last dictatorship of Europe, all her childhood and youth she had no opportunity to see the world and did not feel freedom in many spheres of life. The university where she studied was closed by the authorities for politically objectionable views.
During sixteen years of immigration in different countries of Europe, Zara managed to realize all her dreams, one of which was to become part of the world of celebrities.
Throughout her life way, life constantly put her in a very rigid frames, such as: poverty or unprecedented wealth. Thanks to this experience, the author managed to describe in her book the most interesting and extraordinary events in which there is no share of fiction. It is difficult for people to even believe that such things can be.
Extraordinary life events still haunt her, which gives the ground for writing material that can be shared with people.
Here is one of the chapters of the book with photo.
I apologize in advance. The chapters are not edited and contain many errors.
Meeting with the idol.
Barely stepping on Ibiza, I slowly moved behind the crowd, which stretched along the entire coast. The red disk of the sun slowly rolled out of the night captivity. White mist enveloped the mountains and Talamanca was captured by the fog. On white boats, sailors go out to sea, and boring seagulls rush on them.
Some residents in different parts of the city support the dawn with applause, it seems that no one is sleeping. Everyone looks at the sea, where the same performance begins once again, day after day, year after year, from millennium to millennium - but this scenario is unique every time.
Here is one of the chapters of the book with photo.A white mist goes west and the four big mountains flood the red light of a powerful star.
Another spanish morning. It is unhurried, cool, promising. For someone, this morning, life is just beginning, and for someone, today it is over...
Millions of tourists from all over the world come to the island every year. They are about three million a year. But not all of them will return home. A part will die here, on the Demon island.
People die in Ibiza for various reasons: from drugs, drinking, diving from rocks in the sea. Exotic lovers die in impassable caves where, in their opinion, treasures await them. Some die of sunstroke and heatstroke, fights, and even thirst.
New morning began. A ship has just arrived at the port of Eivissa. A huge crowd of people left the deck and moved forward. Some of them will disappear along the way, some will settle in the town of San Antonio. The crowd laughs, fools around and slowly moves to the bus stop. But what is it? Are any problems on the paradise island?
At the bus stop today is deserted, a woman died there from hunger and thirst. Like everyone else on the island, she was wearing white, light clothes. The wind walked in the sleeves, and ruffled her hair. On her neck, stood a bone locket with the inscription: Ibiza forever.
And so it happened, here and now.
Tourists see death everywhere, but think of it only for a moment.
Life goes on, and ahead a holiday on the island of paradise.
And what about death? Maybe blow over?
Once upon a time, when I was still only dreaming of getting to Ibiza, it never occurred to me how I would fulfill my dream, but for some reason I was sure that it would come true. For many years spending in dreams, I studied this island literally by centimeters. It seemed like I lived here forever. Therefore, I had no questions where to start looking for my idol. Straight from the port I headed to the most expensive part of the island.
The rich district was large enough and occupied a territory of ten kilometers. All that territory was studded with luxurious villas. I made the decision to search immediately because in the evening it was necessary to return to the mainland. I had twelve hours. With leisurely but sure steps, I walked to the goal.
Once again imagining a secret meeting, it did not even occur to me that Thomas Anders simply might not be on the island. The way to the area of the rich stretched out for four hours.
Ibiza is blooming. Scarlet water, heated like fresh milk, invites you to swim. After removing the white clothes, people plunge in the sea.
Children roll on the sand, forgetting to undress. No, they will not fall for it, parents distracted for a moment, having seen the child, completely buried in the sand, will be speechless, they will remember the amount in which their clothes cost and will slowly begin to turn gray. Attempting to stop the process, will be an empty ringing fly through the waves, past children's ears, somewhere far away. Suddenly, the dogs will run out of the water and shake themselves off next to the owners. In complete bewilderment, wet and powerless to do anything, people will go into the water, fooling around with children, it will be no matter for them the brand of clothes and manners.
I flew like a butterfly, along dusty mountain paths, past high eucalyptus trees, giant cacti, lilac bushes to semi dry lavender, past banana palms and almond trees. The island was hot for a long time, and there was a fever coming from everywhere.
The only bottle of water was practically drunk. The first houses of the rich were already nearby. Having no idea where to go or where to look, all I had to do was ring the bell at each door.
Moving from house to house, I confidently pressed on calls. Someone answered the intercom, someone opened the door and invited to enter. That day, the celebrity population listened to my story. Some people laughed sarcastically, others thought I was crazy.
On one dusty path a tall, thin aged man walked leisurely. His thin, wrinkled face looked familiar to me. Realizing that I could not know someone else on the other side of the world, I drove those thoughts away. Greeting, he did not recognize the stranger in familiar places and immediately hurried to meet.
“Do you live here for a long time?” He asked.
“I'm not local, I'm a foreigner,” I hurried past by.
“Looks like you're looking for something?” Ignoring my words, the stranger continued.
“I am looking for Thomas Anders. Is it matte for you? You will not help me anyway.” I answered angrily and quickened my pace.
“Thomas Anders? Why? ” with enthusiasm while continuing to fill me with questions, was interested a man who was old enough for me as a grandfather.
“My dream is to make a photo with him, this is my idol,” I answered fluently in response. I clearly made clear that I was not interested in further communication.
“A dream to make a photo? Do you want a photo with me? ” Apparently jokingly the stranger continued.
“With you? Did you see yourself in the mirror?” I was indignant. “And in general I do not take pictures with unfamiliar men.”
Hurrying to leave soon, I quickened my pace to run.
Years later, already working as a concert director, we crossed once backstage. Mick Jagger was that stranger.
So in an attempt to find an idol, seven hours passed. Tired and exhausted, I could barely trail along a hot, dusty road. There were no more houses. A fashionable area left behind. Thoughts about the failure and the beginning of the way to the port overpowered me all the more persistently.
Eagerly finished the rest of the water, I suddenly noticed the building at the very end of the road. It was a roadside German Сafe. The decision to reach it was made immediately.
Reaching the end of the road, I opened the bar door and collapsed into a chair. The cafe was full of Germans. The owner of the place approached me and loudly asked for some reason in German:
“Who are you? I have never seen you here before? ” Visitors fell silent and watched.
“I'm looking for Thomas Anders, will you tell me where he lives?”I asked confidently. The loud laughter of the entourage and the owner of the cafe rang out in the room, reflecting on the glass glasses accurately hanging over the bar counter. The laughter was so loud that it seemed that it was heard in all the houses I visited. The taunts slammed into my soul like needles. It lasted a few minutes. That lasted until one of the visitors, a full man in a snow-white shirt with a huge glass of beer in his hand, asked:
“And where have you been looking for?”
“Everywhere, ” I answered. “In all that houses behind. I have been looking for him for 10 hours.” The crowd continued to have fun.
“Go there,”poked a German with his finger at the very peak of the first mountain. Thanking for the advice I left the bar. Having regarded that as the sign I headed on in the place where the stranger poked.
About an hour later, I was at the very top of the mountain. All Ibiza was visible, in full view. A huge red-hot wasteland stretched before me. Disappointed by the deception, I stopped for a moment. Cool sweat ran over my head. Raising my hand to remove the sweat, I automatically made a gesture that slowed the car.
In a moment, on the right side from me black Hummer stopped.
“The car here,” I was surprised. Suddenly the window automatically drove away and Thomas Anders’s head popped out of it. My knees trembled. In the car, in addition to the idol were his wife and child. Dumbfounded by such a meeting, I continued to stand, as if rooted to the spot. Only my knees were shaking wildly. I continued to clap my eyes and seemed as if swallowed tongue.
“Girl, what are you doing here?” asked Thomas Anders with surprise.
“I'm looking for you,” I said.
“Me? Here? What for? ” Thomas continued.
“To take a picture. This is my dream since I was three years old. No one believes that it is possible, but I am here to ask to make a picture together. Can we? ”
“Why don't they believe you?” Thomas was surprised. Having exchanged glances with his wife Claudia, they got out of the car.
“Of course you can,” they kindly answered and we took a couple of shots.
“If it were not for my enemy's camera, then I could not even prove that I had met them,” flashed through my mind.
“Where are you from?” asked idol.
“I am from Minsk, the capital of Belarus,” answered I.
“Minsk? ”I remember I was there many times. In the process of communication, it became clear that that meeting was possible only in that place and at that very second, as their car was heading to the airport.
We said goodbye and Hummer hid behind the turn. Cheerful and happy, I went towards port.
A smile did not leave my face. It seemed no limit to happiness. It was not a dream! White island of the sun- the dream of my life. And a photo with an idol in a borrowed camera. I walked along curved, cobbled streets, deep into the island, leaving behind old, stone-clay huts, painted with white paint, with blue platbands on the windows. I walked past a small, urban, fruit market, surrounded by wild banana palms with small, still quite green, taste like soap fruits.
Having easily reached the German Сafe, where they gave me a miracle advice, I decided to go there again. There, almost nothing has changed since my lack of it. Laughing visitors something vigorously discussed.
“Again you? ” Surprised the main character of the crazy idea of sending me to the desert.
“Yes, it's me,” glowing with joy, I replied.
“Already found Thomas Anders? So fast?” Said a German chuckling.
“I found, I smiled, and not only him,” thank you for the advice! I answered happily. In the cafe there was deafening silence.
“What does it mean and not only him? And to whom? His shadow? ” continued stinging a stranger.
“You gave me the best advice in life I will never forget it!” I continued, “Take a look yourself! ”After that, he confidently handed the camera over to the German joker.
“Oh my God! ” He blushed in surprise.
“How is this possible,” he wondered, “Where did you find him?”
“Well, you gave me an advice, it means you knew that he was right there,” continued I.
Dazed by my story, the cafe owner brought a full-fledged lunch and set it on the table opposite me.
“But I have no money,” I was indignant.
“Do not worry,” said the owner.“This is a gift from the restaurant. So say compensation.”
How do I handle your donations?
This is my first book. It will be edited and translated into two languages English and Spanish. The rest of money will be intended for transportation, taxes, mailing books. In addition, if we collect more funds, then all participants who donated to a paper copy of the book will receive additional bonuses.
Translation and correction of the book will take three months after the project is completed . Printing books will take another 14 days. All mailings will depend on the operation of mail and delivery. Usually delivery is up to five days.
Unfortunately, due to personal views and possible political persecution, the author works under the pseudonym Zara Gold and does not have a profile in social networks.