tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68236430126296187442024-03-14T10:44:17.633+08:00Lonely travelerAlong the roads of the worldNicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-50198132114659198012018-01-11T14:14:00.004+08:002018-01-11T16:54:42.976+08:00The final goodbye to this blog and the welcome to the new one!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.nicolasmarino.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="www.nicolasmarino.com" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KQ59VMcmsjE/WlcATeUOnQI/AAAAAAAAT2Q/7KEyY0zrTWwg3Zle-GmxDO0ubEWWxU2WwCEwYBhgL/s400/Untitled-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"> <span class="">The time has come.</span> <span class="">It took me longer than I planned, but today I have finally launched</span></span> my brand new website: <a href="http://www.nicolasmarino.com/" target="_blank">WWW.NICOLASMARINO.COM</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"> <span class="">This blog and its mostly lousy service from Google comes to an end, to give way to the blog on my new web.</span> <span class="">There, you will find all of the stories that I wrote here and the ones that will follow. But it does not end in one blog. The web will include all my photography work and world stories, articles of interest, guides, shop and much more!</span><br /><br /> <span class="">I hope to see you all there to continue with more adventures!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><a href="http://www.nicolasmarino.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">WWW.NICOLASMARI<span id="goog_1583922565"></span><span id="goog_1583922566"></span>NO.COM</span></a></span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-55439082103793079052017-08-23T15:13:00.001+08:002017-08-23T15:19:57.444+08:00Why am I not writing? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I haven't caught up with the translation process as I expected, thus the English version of my blog has been badly neglected. Now I am finally settled in Perth, Western Australia, and now that I have certain stability, it's time for changes. It is time for me to fully integrate my web and my blog and adding much more content. Stories, special article, images of more than 20 years traveling the world will find communion in one sigle place, in both English and Spanish. I will be transferring all content from here to there and continuing the long and painful translation process, although all new articles will be published in English from the beginning, in the new platform. It is time to provide you with a more compelling and attractive visual narrative. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> DON'T FORSAKE ME, THE WAITING WILL HAVE WORTH IT :) </span></span><br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-54673255316777605062016-08-01T14:38:00.000+08:002016-08-01T14:43:32.904+08:00Ride the lightning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Translation courtesy of Mar<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ía Urruti</span></span></i> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"Flash before my eyes<br />
Now it's time to die<br />
Burning in my brain<br />
I can feel the flame"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ride the lightning - Metallica - </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's really impossible to predict when our time can come; that moment, that one time that we all in one way or another fear. In order not to worry, we can go through life trying to ignore that it will come , or we might as well live worried all the time thinking that we have more chances to prevent it. Whatever the attitude we take, we all know about its eventual inevitability. When I set off for Lesotho, mostly every imaginable thing was in my mind, except the possibility to be even remotely close to death. What I would remember a few days later though, is that death is always potentially near us at all times. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The advent of the unexpected</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i>It is a steady, almost straight climb from Midlands meander, all the way to the border at the bottom of Sani pass. Despite of the constant uphill, during the two days that I move towards there, I keep rejoicing myself with the beauty of this sublime scenery of green hills neatly sown vanishing into the horizon. A landscape that stays beautiful all day but as usual, it gains its maximum splendor at sunset when the setting sun paints the mountains in gold and outlines their sillhouetes accentuating the depth of the shapes, it is intoxicating.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On
the third day I reach the end of the asphalt where the real fun begins.
A brutal road of loose rocks, increasingly steep, takes me slowly
uphill between two mountain ranges of the Drakensberg Range, with its
characteristic peaks in the shape of truncated pyramids flanking it. Up
there, in a tiny gap, I can already sight the final stretch of this
brutal pass.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The day is bright and radiant, the scenery gorgeous, and the road becomes increasingly harder, therefore I take all the time in the world to do this climb. The steep gradients and the dreadful conditions of the road makes it impossible for me to go fast anyway. I'm struggling bend after bend as I get higher and a scenery more and more stunning reveals itself before my eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The day is coming to its end and some 3 km before the South African border post I decided to camp in the only possible spot that opens up in this rigorous geography. If I decide to continue until the border post, It’ll get dark and I assume they would give me trouble to camp at the border. Besides, with this backdrop and in such a clearly privileged place I don’t really want to push forward, it is for moments like these ones for which I live. I’m at 1965 m of altitude. The weather is cold but tolerable, there is no wind and I decide to pitch my tent in a way that will be perfect for a night photo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With everything set already and the last bits of daylight, I begin to enjoy this dream camp while I cook my dinner appreciating the grandeur of this range. But the dream would soon start to fade while I’m eating, as I begin to see lights flashing above and behind the peaks, right up there at 3000 m altittude. The bolts of lightning draw my attention but even though I know I’m in an area famous for its thunderstorms, I decide not to worry. It only lasted so little, when all of a sudden the wind started to blow out of nowhere, and it kept blowing and blowing in the same direction of the storm. At that precise moment, a strange unease feeling that felt almost as pure animal instinct, took over me and prevented me to keep swallowing the food. In a fraction of a second I became aware not only of my total exposure but also of the impossiblity to go find any possible refuge.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Already in absolute darkness, the thunders begin to grow louder and louder until they start to make me tremble. However, its vibrations pale in comparison to those blinding flashes of white light that are approaching at an imminent pace already. More and more frequently, closer and closer, brought by a wind that by now, takes a truly violent force. At that moment, I rearrange my stuff outside the tent to protect it from the rain and take the important panniers inside. I open the front zip to be able to see outside and I hope for the storm to pass close but not above me<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Being inside, now that the wind is blowing, I come to realise that the tent is pitched perpendicular to it thus losing all of its aerodynamic properties. The now hurricane<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-like </span>wind begins to bend the aluminum <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">poles</span> to the point that I think they would break. The rain <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fin<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ally comes</span></span>, I have the tent’s wall <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">wrapping around</span> my whole body<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> when <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">suddenly I start feeling blow<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s</span></span></span>, almost as if I w<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">as</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">under heavy machin<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e gun<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fire</span></span></span></span></span>. T</span>hey are huge hail stones that started to hit the exposed parts of my body and the whole tent. The <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">violent <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">wind<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> gusts</span></span></span> bl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ow the pegs away and now I'm le<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ft</span></span> wrapped in my own <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tent as t<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">hough it<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'s a sheet</span></span>, my body weight the only reason why it doesn't fl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y</span> away</span>.<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">wind is so powerful that <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the flying tent<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> fl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ips over, the floor <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">is now on my back and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">everything is flooded.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><br />And those lights, those goddamn lights that by <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">this time they</span> leave me blind and begin to send shivers down the spine. When I was a child they’ve taught me that the less time goes on between thunder and bolt of lightning, the closer to you is the storm. I could feel how progressively, that period of time <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">shorten</span>ed till <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">completely overlapping<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, at which point the rumble of the thunders made t<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">he <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ground tremble and the blinding lights become p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ermanent. I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> realise</span> for the very first time that I’m in serious danger. These storms are <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">one of the main</span> cause of death of the <i>Basotho</i> herdsmen.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><br />On a night that should <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">originally be pitch black</span>, the interior of the tent <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">goes</span> completely white<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, almost </span>incandescent. The wind, the thunders, the light, I feel<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> for the first time in my life that</span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">this is it<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, probably</span></span> my time has come. I throw myself to the flooded ground<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, </span>I pull out my notebook as I can and I write two d<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ifferent </span>notes to the 4 most important people in my life. I try to control<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>my pulse but I can’t, my whole body <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">hakes</span></span> uncontrollabl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y</span>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />With <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the </span>notes already written I c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">url and</span> re<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">st</span> my forehead agains<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t </span>the ground, I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">le<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nch</span></span></span> my teeth and my fists and I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">scre<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">am in f<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ear</span></span></span> for each light<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ning <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">str<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ike</span></span></span> that brings that fucking light that burns my retina. I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">scream</span> until my voice r<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">uns <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">out</span></span>, I know that at any one time one will <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">st<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rike</span></span> me, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">with every <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">clench of my teeth I wait for that one final strike</span></span>. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With the tent complet<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">el</span>y ben<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t and</span></span> the door flying open<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, I </span></span></span>spo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t an image outs<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ide</span> that was to be<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> engra<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ved </span></span>forever </span>in my DN<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">: <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a</span></span></span> sky that from side to side<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">was</span> this massive spi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">der web of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lightnings I ha<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ve never ever seen before.</span></span></span></span> I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t was right abo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ve me and it was terrifying.</span></span> I ke<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ep screaming f<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">or each strike, each thunder<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, </span>my time is about to come and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">it is now imm<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">i</span>nent. I keep the images of the people I love most in this world in my mind and I compul<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sively </span>repeat their names <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">followed by: <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I love you</span></span>.</span></span> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I lose track of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the time I am in th<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">is inferno</span></span>, seconds seem like hours, hours seem like days, but slowly I begin to notice that the time between thunder and lightning starts to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">grow </span>again and that now<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">,<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> it's on th<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e o<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pposite side.</span></span></span></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some time</span> went by <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> periods of absolute blackness returned</span></span>, my heart <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">slowy starts to calm down <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and the t<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">hrobbing eases</span></span>.</span> I think this is starting to pass. The wind continues blowing</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> violently </span></span></span> but gradually everything <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">was <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">again reassuringly <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">itch b<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lack.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />I flip <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> fully flooded tent and</span></span> put the floor back on its place<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span> I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">come out, I'm all wet and freezing <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">but I need to</span> find the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pegs that ha<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d bee<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n blown away</span></span></span></span>. I see the bicycle<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> lying on the ground, it had been </span>dragged like 5 meters from its original place<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. </span>I stand it back up before going back insid<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e to</span> lay on my back fac<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing</span> up <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and trying to </span>stabilize my pulse. I reali<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s</span>e that death has <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">just</span> passed right<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> next to me but for <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">some reason, it </span>decided <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">not to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">take me with. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>The day after</i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I’ve slept very badly, cold, wet and very agitated. I got out of the tent by 7 am and a sky of intense blue and a radiant bright sun welcomes me. It makes me feel like this is what is like to be reborn. I put everything to dry and prepare my breakfast while I’m watching the mountain range and reflect on yesterday's event.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fg4_rsCBShg/VU-HFEg31PI/AAAAAAAAHHs/onBLIZPf9BA/s1600/NIC_2835.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fg4_rsCBShg/VU-HFEg31PI/AAAAAAAAHHs/onBLIZPf9BA/s400/NIC_2835.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> A few hours later, w</span>hen I arrived <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at</span> the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> solitary border</span> post, five officers are on duty. One <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">comes<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> to me</span></span> to get my passport while the other ones go on their own business<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. </span>Meanwhile, I get to talk to the officer and I ask him:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-Officer, you have seen yesterday’s storm, haven’t you?</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-yes, of course! very strong, they are very common here - He replies at ease<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-Oh, really? And tell me, in such situation, is it really very dangerous to camp out in the open? - I asked</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">--oh yeah! of course very dangerous, a lot of people die carbonized every year - He says</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />- Well, I was camping yesterday, 3 km down the road from here, in that open space. - I said almost whispering.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At that very moment, everybody in the office stopped doing what they were doing, turned around and in unison they exclaimed: WHAT????!!!! One shortly concluded: - “You, Sir, you have to be grateful to be alive”....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know.... I am - I said to him, with my sight lost and losing myself in my own thoughts.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The loud <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">bang </span>of the stamp hitting <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">my passport on the table shook me out of the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">da<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ze state I had rapidly fallen into<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and I left. </span></span></span>Ahead of me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lied</span> the last 11 km left of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">scent</span></span>, the hardest ones,<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> before<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> reaching</span></span> the top of the pass where <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the Lesotho border post is at 2<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">974 m</span>. I</span>t was time for me to live and enjoy life now even more than ever before because <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">one</span> never knows when it may be your last day.</span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Reflections</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It’s impossible to describe what it feels like to go through a situation in which one believes one will die. When everything is over it’s very easy to play it all down thinking: how close death could have actually been? But I’m pretty sure that this one time it was very close. I experienced fear, I experienced visceral horror; at that point, you feel as though your whole life passes right before your eyes, until your thoughts finally settle on the most important people in your life and in certain significant events. However, the sensation I had in that moment, the one that underlied the whole experience was one of getting ready to receive death, and I sort of prepared for that final strike with which everything would end. I could define it as desperation in the beginning but something that would evolve shortly into acceptance. It was as though I didn't have any pending debts with life and I was accepting that if I had to go, then so be it. It's a feeling for which there are really not enough words, or no words at all to describe it, but certainly a feeling that I don't want to go through again. The brutal thunderstorms would accompany me for the rest of my ride across Lesotho but from then on, I would try to make sure that they would never again catch me unaware by surprise.</span></span> <br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-14600163629518391992016-07-22T13:09:00.001+08:002016-07-22T13:09:51.906+08:00Out of Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, after 10 months of riding across the east of Af<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rica I arrived <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">in South Africa<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, the great, and probabl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y the only <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">real, in<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">dustrial power <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">of</span> this continent<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Thi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s is the last country before completing the tour around the first half of Africa. Honestly speaking, I had never been <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">particularly attra<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">cted to this country, but since it<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> was on</span> the way it wasn't a matter of avoiding it on purpose <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">neither</span>. It is true that the one who doesn't see, doesn't know<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, but <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">today, after having spent two months in this country for which I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ha<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">dn't origi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nally felt interest, I have the certainty </span></span></span></span>that <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">had I not come, I wou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ld've probably <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">missed one of the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">greatest gifts of traveling in Africa. During my stay in South Africa, I felt more in more in love with it and its people every day that passed<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, turning it easily in one of my favori<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">te<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s in the world.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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</span></span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Am<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I still in Africa or is it that I left and di<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d not notice it? </span></span></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Coming into S<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">outh Africa, after hav<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing crossed hal<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">f of Africa, comes as a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> high impact shock. It is like riding the bicycle at maximum speed <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and crash agains<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t a concrete wall that we couldn't see<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">in f<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ront of us. It is so confusing to come into an African country that has it all: national and rural <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">roads p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">aved as silk, signals everywhere so you don't <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">get lost, dis<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tanc<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e markers, electricity<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">running water coming out of taps, s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">wage system, showers, vehicles in good condition, or<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">der, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">boutique supermarkets where you can get any thing you want. This is more than one can take after 10 months of scarcity. I can't help but wonder<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">: where is it that I am? Where<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> is Africa?. And mayb<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e it was at that very moment that I had to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">acc<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ept that Africa had temporarily stayed behind. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I entered South Africa <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">through its eastern provi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nce, Kwa<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">zulu<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-Natal, a beautiful region of fe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rtile o<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ndulating fields that ex<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ten<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d all <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">around you until <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">vani<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">shing into the horizon. I don't see people soaked i<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n swe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at working the land by hand under a punshing sun anymore</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>, like <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">it is in the rest of Africa. Here, I keep passing hectars af<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ter hectars of f<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ields treated with the latest technology. Irrigation towers, harvest machinery, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">automatic packing tractors, all the machinery that you can see in any other developed <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">country. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span>All<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> green patched of different crops </span></span><span class=""></span> <span class="">in different shades</span> <span class=""></span><span></span><span>are</span> <span>neatly</span> <span class="">planted</span><span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">South <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Africa isn't really <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">frica or at least it does not look like it. It is in part, a portion of the first world, and in part, the rest of the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Africa, all cond<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ensed wi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">thin<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the same country, with a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> gr<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">eat p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">r<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">op<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">or<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tion of Asians going into the mix<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> as well. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s a result, i</span></span>t is not by chance then, that South Africa <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a</span>s a country, is the melting pot of one of the most complicated racial experiments existing until this day<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and</span> with a history that <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">is as complex as aberrant sometimes. It is a land where white<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> people</span> of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">European des<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ent <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">coe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">xist with</span></span></span></span></span> black Africans from<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> do<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">zens of<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> indigenous tribes, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a huge p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">opulation of Asians mostly coming from the Indian sub-conti<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ne<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nt that have been here from up to 6 generations<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, </span>tens of thousands of migrants from the rest of Africa to com<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e in hear in search of a better life and finally and ever-growing population of Chinese. Sou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">th Africa is<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> exactly <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">what its nickname c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">all it<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">: a rainbow nation, but it is a rainbow where <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">there not always a pot of gold coins to be found at the end of it. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Cycling across this country is delightful, even <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">along the ru<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ral roads that I cho<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ose in order to avoid the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">traf<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fic of heavy v<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ehicles<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> transiting between the big cities. I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n addition, this stretch along Kwazul<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">u Natal <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">connecting my way between S<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">waziland and Lesotho <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lies comfortabl<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y at an average altitude of 1200 m,<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> thus <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">making the climate <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">as pleasant as an eternal sp<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ring, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">just as beautiful as <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">what I had experienced in <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Zimbabwe. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Boundless hospitality</span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My first encounters with Southafric<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ans had already occur<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">red before arr<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">iving <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">here. I had already read a lot<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> that has b<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">een written by other cyclists about the terrific hospitality of Southafricans, but really, after having visit<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ed some of the most hospitable countries in the world<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> like Tibe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t, Mongolia, Sudan, Iran, Indonesia, Uzbekistan amo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ng <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">others, I never thought I'd be surprised.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first encou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nter happen<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ed <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">one morning back in <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Zimbabwe, when <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Landcruiser with Johanne<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sburg plates passed me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">going in the opposite way. A few minutes after that <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">it passed me aga<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n but now on the same direc<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tion I was going until it stopped 200 m ahead of me. A f<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">her and a son got off the truck and wa<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ited for me until got <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">where they were. The fathers ex<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">cla<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">imed loud in thick <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Afrikaans </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">accent: "Good morning, ma<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y I offer you a cold drink?</span>!" Of course I replied and while he w<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ent a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">round the back of the truck to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fetch the drinks, he and his son who were on a fishing trip asked me with eno<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rmous curiosity about my adventure.<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In between, the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fat<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">her interrupts and asks</span></span>: Are you hungry now?<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Have you had <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">breakfast already?<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span>. I told him the story of how I hadn't actually <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">eaten <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">dinner l<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ast night and breakfast this morning</span></span> because the night before my stove had <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">died on me<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and</span></span> I took the opportunity to ask him where in South Africa would I be able to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">get </span>a new on<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e. He didn't say anything and went back to his truck, and while he starts pulling out <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lots of </span>food and drinks to give me he says: "about your stove, you don't have to get a n<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ew one because I am <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">going to give you mine, which is <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">almost new". I was <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">so surprised and went..."what? oh no, do not worry, I can get<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> survive until then and get a new one, it is not problem, thank you <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">very much". "I insist"<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> he said and continued<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> - <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"you have to ea<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t well, I don't want you to have any problems and<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> you still have a long way to get to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">S<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">out Africa and here you won't find anything<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. I had no <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">words to thank him and after a bt more of chit chat<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and a few photos we said farewell. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Weeks later in Mozambique, I met Albé, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">o</span>n a remote <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">idyllic beach <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">on the Indian ocean. After having spent some time together chatting about <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">our <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">respective adventures, I told him that I was planning to camp on the beach because <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">gu<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">est-houses w<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ere way<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> too over<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pr<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">iced<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">b<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">eyond my budget. Albé refu<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sed: "No way, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">come to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the one where I'm s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">taying and camp <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">whe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">re I'm camping, I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'ll pay it for you and don't even waste your time trying to refus<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span>". Not only Albé p<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">aid for the 11 usd per night that the camping c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ost but every day he would <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">insi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">st in feeding me with lu<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nch and dinner, because according to him, I was too thin<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and had too eat. I kept refusing politely but to no av<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ail.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These were the first two examples of something that would <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">re<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">peat</span></span> over and over again alo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ng the whole way a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">cross South Africa. People would stop their vehicles to chat and offer me food<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and drinks. The mos<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t common was : May I offer you a cold drink?<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Other people would b<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e too concerned about my s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">afety so they would pay me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a hotel room to stay <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">so I wou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ldn't have to c<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">mp. Some others would buy me lunch or dinner and others would <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">donate their money <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">to contribute to my adventure. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Other times, the most <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">usual<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> reply <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I got to my "M<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ay I camp here? - would be <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Yeah sure, but wh<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, you have a room in our house<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">you are welcome to s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tay and eat with us. Hospitality was overwhelm<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> in the most positive <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">way, because it is not only <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the offering of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a comfortable meal and abundant meals but the prof<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ound interest <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">with which people approach you. The exchan<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ge that comes as a result of it is extr<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">emely beautiful. Whe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ther<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> is the whites, the blacks, the "<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">colore<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d"</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, the indians, pakistanes, etc, all of them withou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t exception, would offer me the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ir most dedicated and heartfelt hospitality. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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</span></span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cycli<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ng across Kwa<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">zulu Natal was extremely pleasant. It was not only the human warmth of these <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Southafric<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ans but <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">also the dazzling landscape of the lower lands of the Dra<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">kensberg range, the <i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Midlands <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Meander. </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I spent three days <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">resting there at Charles and Leslie's magnificent <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">300 hectars </span>farm</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>, before setting of to Lesotho. They we<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">lcomed me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">as though I was their <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">own <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">son<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and spo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">iled me as such. The on<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">dulating hills, the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">terrific sunsets and colored skies, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the hazy horizons, the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">E<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">uropean-like tidin<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ess<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, it all felt like a dream.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There, in that magnific<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ent s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ce<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nery, so a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">uspicious to let the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> body and mind rest, I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> took time to reflect about my life. I regained the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">energies I needed to embark on one of the tough<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">est stret<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ches od this trip so far, riding across the tiny mountain <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ki<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">gdom of Lesotho. What I did not know there ye<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t is that soo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n after those <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">days of peace and seren<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ity I would find m<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">yself une<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">x<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pectedly face to face with <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">death</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>.</span></span></span><br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-67232557233574022572016-07-21T12:55:00.001+08:002016-07-21T12:55:39.460+08:00In the blink of an eye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I opened my eyes after crossing the border, I entered Swaziland, then I blinked and when I opened my eyes again I was already back at the South African border. That's the feeling that I got from my flying visit here. Swaziland is a country the size of freckle within this massive continent and I almost certain that most of the people in this world don't know it even exists. I needed a little less than two days to ride across its entirety from side to side. Neither its hilly terrain, nor its bad weather I had were enough to extend my stay a day longer.</span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Swaziland is a very poor kingdom that seems to have been absorbed by the industrial powerhouse that is neighbouring South Africa, whose large companies, especially the agriculture ones, are present throughout the country in the form of large plantations and several industries in the Manzini region, as well as by large shopping and supermarkets </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">chains</span></span>. The local currency is fixed to the South African <i>rand</i>, but one does not even need to exchange it because the latter is accepted countrywide. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If there's any fame this country earned it is sadly for something really serious. It is the country with the highest HIV infection rate in the world with horrifying figures estimating that almost half of the population is infected, reaching epidemic levels. Tens of thousands of orphaned children grow up with their grandparents and thousands of young people are infected every day from lack of basic care when having sex. While the government today provides retrovirals for free for all infected people, it is only a solution to put out the fire, but the essential problem of education has not yet been resolved.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Despite my fleeting moment through here, the few exchanges I've had with the local people were very nice and the Swazi have shown me the very same education, respect and high level of English that I had already been finding throughout southern Africa. Perhaps the greatest memory that will stay with me from this country, is that of a school teacher who frowned at me suspiciously when I asked if I could camp in the school garden to spend the night. After hesitating a moment he said he would prefer not to and instead, I could stay at his home, because black mambas abound in this region and he wouldn't feel at ease with me sleeping outside.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even though I knew about the enourmous danger of this snake beforehand, the most lethal in the world, I asked:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-What happens if a black mamba bites me??<br />- Well, if it bites you below the knees, you have a certain chance of getting to a hospital in time, if it's relatively near - He pauses and continues - However, If it bites you above the knees, and they do it very easily because they have the ability to jump until biting in the head, then you have no more than a few minutes to left to live and nothing can be done. He finally concludes - Now, the exception would be if you got bitten in the arms, in which case, the only chance for survival, would be to have someone next to you that would be willing to cut off your arm immediately to prevent the venom to flow quickly into your system.<br />- where in your house you said I could sleep in?......<br /><br />
In the blink of an eye I cycled across Swaziland, it is such a short time that it is impossible to arrive to proper conclusions about a culture. However, all in all, I leave with a positive impression and not a very different one from the one I left with from the other southern african countries.</span></span> </div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-67407128489698187432016-01-04T11:41:00.000+08:002016-01-04T11:41:25.637+08:002015 in retrospective<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2015 has finally come to an end. A chaotic year that started as one of the most difficult of my life but ended as one of the best. Life may kick you mercilessly sometimes, but afterwards, it will always find a way to compensate you with joy, for the sorrow it put you through. That is what 2015 was for me; it was falling from heaven, shatter myself against the ground and stand up again to pick up the pieces and rebuild myself. All this process lived on a bicycle along thousands upon thousands of miles across the African continent. But beyond the miseries and times of joy, it was an intense year of great lessons that will definitely not pass unnoticed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Today, only 3 days into 2016, I look back to share in this post, some of the most intense moments of each month of 2015. One per month. It was a very difficult choice but here it goes:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>January</b> - I find myself in the idyllic Indian ocean coast of Mozambique going through a very rough emotional situation. The beauty of the country and its adorable people give me the strength to carry on without losing faith. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>February </b>-
After spending a night in which I saw death passing right in front of me closer than ever, I conquered the brutal Sani pass in Lesotho at almost 3000 m high. A legendary pass that very soon won't be legendary anymore.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">March </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- In Kogel Bay, only 70 km before reaching Cape Town at the extreme south of the African continent after completing the whole journey across the eastern half of it. 33.457 km since departure back in China and an arrival that was as exciting as difficult. A spirit filled with joy for the conquest but very sad because the plan was that there should have been two bicycles in this photo instead of one. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">April </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">-
After a month and a half of pseudo-resting, trying to recover what has been lost and saving what cannot be saved anymore, comes a new beginning in South Afica with all of the western half of the continent ahead. Inertia is the only thing that pushes me forward. I am at the worst emotional time of my life and I can see my whole world crumbling. </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2Bky-CbpY3s/Vom-aYssP5I/AAAAAAAAIcs/m8dt0egO4FU/s1600/NIC_4678-Edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2Bky-CbpY3s/Vom-aYssP5I/AAAAAAAAIcs/m8dt0egO4FU/s400/NIC_4678-Edit.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">May </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- I feel it is time to quit, I have no strength anymore, my neurosis does not let me appreciate anything around me anymore, and if I cannot be present anymore then there is no use in keeping on going altogether. But my family is there to rescue me. I finally reach the bottom, I give up but with the dignity of the ones who know that have given everything of themselves to reverse the irreversible. After letting go a new dawn shows in the horizon, and the wonder of this world reveals itself again before my eyes in the Namib desert of Namibia. It was time to start rebuilding myself. For ten days I enjoyed the invaluable company of my friend Niel Van Zyl, a true soulmate that I found along the road, and with him we witnessed some of the most incredible gifts of nature. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>June </b>-</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">My</span> <span class="hps">body is filled with</span> <span class="hps">immeasurable</span> <span class="hps">strength and</span> <span class="hps">energy</span><span>, adrenaline</span> <span class="hps">flowing</span> <span class="hps">through my veins</span> <span class="hps">again.</span> <span class="hps">My food</span> <span class="hps">are</span> <span class="hps">the adventure</span> <span class="hps">and beauty of</span> <span class="hps">this world,</span> <span class="hps">back to being</span> <span class="hps">one with it</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">as it always</span> <span class="hps">was</span><span class="">.</span> By pure will <span class="hps">and reckless lack of fear</span><span>, I arrive to</span> <span class="hps">the most remote corners</span> <span class="hps">of</span> <span class="hps">Kaokoland</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">where I spend</span> <span class="hps">my</span> <span class="hps">lonely nights</span> <span class="hps">in the</span> <span class="hps">middle of nowhere</span> <span class="hps">with lions</span> <span class="hps">prowling</span> <span class="hps">around my tent</span><span>;</span> <span class="hps">moments that</span> <span class="hps">will remain engraved</span> <span class="hps">forever</span> <span class="hps">in my DNA</span><span class="">.</span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>July </b>- <span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">I am not</span> <span class="hps">ready to give up</span> <span class="hps">the intensity of this</span> <span class="hps">life, my</span> <span class="hps">body is asking me</span> <span class="hps">for more and more.</span><span class="hps"> Today</span> I <span class="hps">am a train</span> that just <span class="hps">can not be stopped</span><span class="">.</span> <span class="hps">I go deep into</span> <span class="hps">the</span> <span class="hps">heart of</span> tribal <span class="hps">Angola</span> <span class="hps">riding</span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">blindly through</span> <span class="hps">a</span> <span class="hps">network of paths without</span> <span class="hps">any kind of signal</span>,<span class="hps"></span><span class=""> living with</span> <span class="hps">people</span> <span class="hps">from another world</span> <span class="hps">and sleeping under the sweet</span> <span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">shadow</span> <span class="hps">of the largest and</span> <span class="hps">most beautiful</span> <span class="hps">baobab tress </span><span class="hps">I have seen</span> <span class="hps">in my life.</span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">August </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">-
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">After years</span> <span class="hps">of dreaming about</span> <span class="hps">it,</span> I <span class="hps">finally got</span> <span class="hps">to</span> <span class="hps">Congo</span><span>. Lying ahead of me are</span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">some of the most</span> <span class="hps">physically and mentally</span> <span class="hps">tough months</span> <span class="hps">of</span> <span class="hps">my</span> <span class="hps">life as a cycle traveler</span><span class="hps"></span><span>, but I'm</span> <span class="hps">ready for everything,</span> <span class="hps">I</span> <span class="hps">am committed</span> <span class="hps">to this adventure,</span> <span class="hps">the world is</span> <span class="hps">mine,</span> <span class="hps">nobody else's.</span> <span class="hps">Southern Congo</span> <span class="hps">is</span> <span class="hps">not what I had expected</span> <span class="hps">but I found a way to have</span><span class="hps"> fun</span> <span class="hps">as a child</span><span>, enjoying the</span> <span class="hps">dust,</span> <span class="hps">the endles climbs, with </span><span class="hps">a heart</span> <span class="hps">that does not stop vibrating </span><span class="hps">to live</span> <span class="hps">every</span> <span class="hps">moment to the fullest</span><span>.</span></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">September -</span> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">The month</span> <span class="hps">where everything</span> <span class="hps">I had dreamed of</span> <span class="hps">became real</span><span class="hps"> and</span> <span class="hps">that reality</span> <span class="hps">exceeded</span> <span class="hps">my expectations</span><span>;</span> <span class="hps">when life</span> <span class="hps">is what it</span> <span class="hps">has to be:</span> <span class="hps">present in</span> <span class="hps">its purest form</span><span class="">.</span> <span class="hps">I have not</span> <span class="hps">come all the way to the</span> <span class="hps">Congo</span> <span class="hps">to ride on tarmac </span><span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">so I</span> <span class="hps">did not hesitate</span> <span class="hps">for a single moment</span> <span class="hps">to</span> <span class="hps">plunge</span> <span class="hps">into the heart of</span> <span class="hps">the equatorial rainforest</span> <span class="hps">of</span> <span class="hps">Central</span> <span class="hps">Africa.</span> From <span class="hps">Gabon to</span> <span class="hps">Congo</span> <span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">I choose a</span> <span class="hps">trail that</span> <span class="hps">no one has ever</span> <span class="hps">cycled before</span><span class="hps"></span><span>; I</span> <span class="hps">punish</span> <span class="hps">my body and</span> <span class="hps">I test</span> <span class="hps">my</span> <span class="hps">mind</span><span>,</span> I painfully move forward <span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">through mud</span> <span class="hps">at a miserable</span> <span class="hps">19 km</span> <span class="hps">per day</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">but maybe</span> <span class="hps">that is exactly why I enjoy the hell out of living this life. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>October </b>-
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">I have got</span> <span class="hps">to the heart of</span> <span class="hps">the equatorial rainforest</span><span>, I have</span> <span class="hps">spent </span><span class="hps">mind-blowing</span> <span class="hps">nights</span> <span class="hps">where terror</span> <span class="hps">has seized</span> <span class="hps">me,</span> <span class="hps">but I kept on</span> going<span class="hps"></span><span>, I have</span> <span class="hps">sailed up </span><span class="hps">the great</span> <span class="hps">Sangha</span> river <span class="hps">and </span><span class="">got to where</span> <span class="hps">I wanted</span><span>.</span> <span class="hps">I spent two weeks</span> <span class="hps">in the middle of the jungle</span> <span class="hps">living with the</span> <span class="hps">Bayaka</span> <span class="hps">pygmies</span><span>, I fell in</span> <span class="hps">love</span> with <span class="hps">them and they</span> fell in love with <span class="hps">me.</span> <span class="hps">It is an experience</span> <span class="hps">that I know</span> <span class="hps">it will have changed me</span><span class="hps"> forever </span><span class="hps">and those are the</span> <span class="hps">kind of moments for which we must celebrate life.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>November</b></span> <b>-<i> </i></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">By the time I</span> <span class="hps">reach</span><span class="hps"> Cameroon</span><span>, I realize that</span> <span class="hps">I have abused</span> myself <span class="hps">a bit.</span> <span class="hps">It has been over</span> <span class="hps">two months</span> <span class="hps">in the jungle</span> <span class="hps">and my body</span> <span class="hps">has suffered a lot</span><span>.</span> <span class="hps">My legs have</span> <span class="hps">impetiginized</span> <span class="hps">infections</span><span class="hps"></span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">my</span> <span class="hps">body is sick</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">I lost</span> <span class="hps">many</span> <span class="hps">kilos</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">my energies</span> <span class="hps">are almost completely</span> <span class="hps">drained and</span> <span class="hps">I still</span> <span class="hps">have to cross the</span> <span class="hps">most feared</span> <span class="hps">country of</span> <span class="hps">all</span> <span class="hps">Africa</span><span>: Nigeria</span><span>.</span> <span class="hps">To my surprise</span> <span class="hps atn">(</span><span>and that of many</span><span>)</span> <span class="hps">I</span> <span class="hps">leave with</span> <span class="hps">some of the best</span> <span class="hps">memories of all</span> <span class="hps">Africa</span><span> and I begin </span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">my recovery</span> right there <span class="hps">from where I move later on to</span><span class="hps"> Benin to</span> <span class="hps">continue it, now in</span> <span class="hps">the house of my</span> <span class="hps">great friend</span> <span class="hps">Germano, with whom I spend</span> <span class="hps">quiet days</span> <span class="hps">photographing the</span> <span class="hps">world.</span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">December</span> <span class="hps">-</span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">My</span> <span class="hps">batteries</span> <span class="hps">are back to</span> <span class="hps">100</span><span>% to</span> <span class="hps">the very last</span> <span class="hps">hairline.</span> <span class="hps">My</span> <span class="hps">appetite for</span> <span class="hps">adventure</span> <span class="hps">becomes unbearable again</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">I </span><span class="hps">set off</span> <span class="hps">to get to the end of this difficult year in the greatest possible way.</span> <span class="hps">I</span><span> am on my way</span> <span class="hps">to</span> <span class="hps">Accra</span><span>, it is only</span> <span class="hps">338</span> <span class="hps">km</span> <span class="hps">using the most direct</span> <span class="hps">route</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">but that does not satisfy</span> <span class="hps">me at all</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">I decide to</span> ride<span class="hps"></span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">2800</span> <span class="hps">km</span><span> instead.</span> <span class="hps">I head</span><span class="hps"> north</span> <span class="hps">across</span> <span class="hps">Benin</span><span>, from where I cross into </span><span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">Togo</span> <span class="hps">and then to</span> <span class="hps">Burkina</span> <span class="hps">Faso</span> <span class="hps">to get</span> <span class="hps">straight into the heart</span> <span class="hps">of the</span> <span class="hps">Sahel</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">where</span> <span class="hps">everyone tells me that I will be</span> <span class="hps">kidnapped</span><span> by some nasty terrorists.</span> <span class="hps">However</span><span>, wrapped in</span> <span class="hps">my</span> <span class="hps">turban</span> <span class="hps">I reach the</span> <span class="hps">remote region of</span> <span class="hps">the triple border between</span> <span class="hps">Burkina</span> <span class="hps">Faso</span><span>, Mali</span> <span class="hps">and Niger</span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">I once again I live with</span> <span class="hps">extraordinary</span> <span class="hps">Fulani</span> <span class="hps">tribes</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">find nothing but</span> <span class="hps">beautiful</span> <span class="hps">Sahelian</span> <span class="hps">solitude</span> <span class="hps">and hospitality.</span> <span class="hps">2015</span> <span class="hps">comes to an end</span> <span class="hps">by the time I reach</span> <span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">southern</span> <span class="hps">Ghana.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">T</span><span class="hps">he hardest</span> <span class="hps">year</span> <span class="hps">I can think of is finally over.</span> <span class="hps">I lost</span> <span class="hps">the greatest love</span><span> I have ever had, perhaps the only</span> <span class="hps">real one</span> <span class="hps">that</span> <span class="hps">I have ever felt</span><span class="">, the one I had</span> <span class="hps">always dreamed of,</span> <span class="hps">but in exchange,</span> <span class="hps">life has</span> <span class="hps">taken me</span> <span class="hps">along a part of the</span> <span class="hps">continent</span> <span class="hps">that I have</span> <span class="hps">madly fallen in love</span> <span class="hps">with. There, I</span> <span class="hps">reconnected</span> <span class="hps">with myself, with</span> <span class="hps">my essence</span> <span class="hps">;</span> <span class="hps">I have given myself away to</span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">this world</span> <span class="hps">that I love so much</span>, <span class="hps">and once again</span> <span class="hps">I have become</span> <span class="hps">one with it.</span> <span class="hps">I have traveled</span> <span class="hps">18</span> <span class="hps">out of</span> <span class="hps">the last 20</span> <span class="hps">years of my life</span> <span class="hps">alone and </span><span class="hps">it was in them where the road has wisely taken me to absolute</span> <span class="hps">happiness.</span> <span class="hps">This is</span> <span class="hps">bliss</span><span>, the universe is</span> on my side.<span class="hps"></span><br /><br /> <span>I still have</span> <span class="hps">a long way</span> <span class="hps">ahead</span> of me <span class="hps">to reach the</span> <span class="hps">Strait of</span> <span class="hps">Gibraltar</span> <span class="hps">where I will leave this</span> <span class="hps">continent that has</span> <span class="hps">changed me forever</span>, <span class="hps">to enter the</span> <span class="hps">dreaded</span> <span class="hps">Europe</span><span>.</span> <span class="hps">But for now</span><span>,</span> <span class="hps">it is time to</span> go into<span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">2016</span> <span class="hps">on the right foot</span><span>, resting in</span> <span class="hps">São</span> <span class="hps">Tomé</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">Principe</span> <span class="hps">:)</span><br /><br /> <span class="hps">Enjoy</span> <span class="hps">life!</span></span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-63344144347600781112015-12-24T00:42:00.002+08:002015-12-24T00:42:24.298+08:00The example of Mozambique<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Mozambique is the vital proof that mere material poverty is not enough an excuse to justify the endemic problem of the sickly demands of money to the white man (assumed rich by definition) that happens invariably in almost every country of sub-Saharan Africa. Mozambique, is one of the poorest countries of Africa and consequently of the world. However, there seems to be an inherent dignity in Mozambicans what keeps them away from being immersed in that constant obsession of believing that every white man must give them money and stuff. Neither they appeal to the image of pity because of their material lack, not even to the infamous resort of generating guilt for the atrocities that white men have done (and still do) in Africa against their people, the black people.</span></span><a name='more'></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The lack of education, even though it constitutes a true valid argument, is not enough for itself to explain the whole problem. The education in almost all of Mozambique is reduced to the most basic. There are rural schools in every village and that’s very positive, but it still is generally very limited and not all children of rural population can easily access it. As a result their progress possibilities are equally limited. Even then, Mozambicans are inherently respectful and educated people.</span></span> </div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Brutal colonialism, decades of civil war, famine, destruction, lack of infrastructure, they all have been part of the recent past of Mozambique too, like the rest of the most long-suffering countries of Africa and even so, Mozambicans reflect a serenity and a peace towards life that I find, at the very least, worth it of my utmost admiration. It seems as thought nothing could really worry them, or be a good reason for giving up their human warmth. Spending time here, knowing about their conditions and their history makes me look back to terrible experiences like Ethiopia, and I convince myself that those have no excuse to behave the way they do. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So how is this possible? Is it possible that dignity is an intrinsic value in some cultures and in some others it is not, and it needs to be cultivated through education? The answer is not very clear to me yet, but people like Mozambicans (and like Tibetans, on the other side of the world) make me suspect that there is a sort of "gen" that </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">precedes the social, historical and geographic circumstances that mold a culture.</span> Just</span> as much as when I left Ethiopia believing that maybe there was a kind of “evil” gen in the nature of their people, I leave Mozambique believing that there can also exist a gen of inherent dignity that comes before the aforementioned experiences which determines the characteristics of people, that is the "gen"I feel mozambicans have. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I leave with Mozambique and Mozambicans in my heart; I’m leaving with the feeling that I should have spent more time in this enormous country where I’ve felt so comfortable, where I’ve been treated with deep respect and human warmth. Mozambicans can have just some material things to offer, because their possessions are so minimal, but a lot of teachings to give with their sweetness and that omnipresent serenity which they seem to keep in front of the adversity of the life they live; or either teaching us something very different: like making us think that regardless of the easy times or the adversities that affect us, life is as hard (or as easy) as we want it to be. Yes, yes, Mozambique is high up on the rank of places that I’ll return to, because of their people, because of their idyllic spaces and because of their mangos.</span></span> <div style="text-align: center;">
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-41216486810808007412015-12-23T23:50:00.000+08:002015-12-23T23:50:56.872+08:00The simplicity of life <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Translation courtesy of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>Dakota Bloom</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mozambique is probably, one of the countries of the world to which I had most longed to reach. I dreamed of a green country, exuberant, of long straits of uninhabited idyllic beaches along its extensive coastline on the south of the Indian Ocean. In regards to the human aspect, I didn’t have a very defined image of how would its people be and I could only try to get an idea associating it to the people I’ve already known of the rest of Africa. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that the Mozambican would be completely different, in the most positive off all aspects (in the most positive aspects), to the rest of the Africans that I knew until now.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><i><br /></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sweet Melody</i><br /> <br />Sweet melody Maybe the most substantial change that occurs immediately after crossing the border is to listen to the language. The effect of listening to such a familiar language as Portuguese instead of the hundreds of local dialects or the usual secondary languages of English and French, is immense. Both because I am a Spanish speaker and also because I have grown up with Brazilians as neighbors, so, to find all of a sudden Africans that speak clear and easily understandable Portuguese makes me quickly feel at ease. There is also a certain sweetness in the way they melodiously speak this language that makes it even more attractive. A sweetness that English certainly does not possess, however much assimilated I have it as a first language for so many years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In this way, spending the end of every day chatting with Mozambicans becomes immediately one of my favorites pastimes at the end of the long days that I spent on this enormous country. I feel infinitely more comfortable talking <i>“portuñol” </i>(Portuguese/Español mix)<i> </i>than speaking perfect English. Even more so, the serenity and warmth that I feel from these people is in complete harmony with their sweet and melodic way of speaking. Like<br />when Mr Càndido, the<i> règulo </i>(chief) of the first village that I visit, he receives me at the end of my first day just arrived from Zimbabwe. When I asked him for permission to spend the night in his village, the first thing Càndido responds after listening to me, with a softness that can only come from a calm person, is: “Mr Nicolàs, don’t worry, I’m going to help you”. There is a sunset of thousands of colors and he recommends me to pitch my tent right next to his house before it gets dark, and then invites me to his hut where his wife prepares <i>xima</i> for her family.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Head wind</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Distances between villages in Mozambique are huge, and the scenery turns again monotonous bush; while it is certainly more exuberant than previous countries, it is not really attractive. I got 1250km ahead of me before Maputo, and to my misfortune I will spend 1000 of them under furious head wind. A wind that from sunrise to sunset will not falter for a moment, punishing and draining all of my energy, while I try in any way possible to keep my mental serenity. If it wasn’t for the warmth with which I am welcomed in every village, I do not think that I could bear this combination of monotonous landscape, hellish head wind and emotional limbo.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Every night the<i> ‘regulo’</i> welcomes me and shows me his village. A village where life is reduced to bare essentials. There is no electricity, water is extracted manually through mechanical pumps, for the bathroom you go to a hole in between the bushes, you walk barefooted hearing the cackling of the chickens, and in every clay hut with straw roof, there is a kitchen in the centre where ‘<i>xima</i>’ is being cooked for long silent hours in wood fire. It all irradiates a simplicity that feeds perfectly into the calm spirit of these people, which are awash with the beauty of the slowness in which these daily tasks are done. </span><br />
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Nobody seems to be bothered about running around over here, even though the actions of some people seem to be in contradiction with their reactions, like the time I found Joao brushing his teeth in a ‘bush’ river, squatting over the logs that his truck, now reduced to pieces, carried. Joao and his companion where transporting logs in their truck at 140km/h when he fell asleep and his truck shot off the side of the bridge, crashing dozens of meters into the river making it unrecognizable. By absolute miracle Joao and his copilot came out unharmed, and because the truck is not insured and they do not have the money to pay for a tow truck, they have pitched their tent<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> on</span> the river <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">shore</span>, and have lived there for two months waiting for who knows what that can change their destiny. Neither Joao nor his companion show any sign of worry; they were even smiling when telling the story of their miraculous survival from the accident. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Beyond the monotony of the bush and the head wind, Mozambique’s climate gets particularly beautiful at the end of the day, when the colours of the red earth vibrate at sunset between the intense green of the plants and the blue sky. As I descend to the southern part of the country and getting closer to the awaited Indian ocean coast, the villages start to appear more frequently and water stops being a concern, after days of having to do exhausting stretches of 100km of nothing more than pure bush and evil head wind.</span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With the forthcoming of smaller towns, I stop having to worry about getting food for cooking, a thing that until now had generally been a problem due to the lack of any form of rice, pasta or fresh vegetables in the previous villages, which pretty much lack everything. In these towns now I can get pineapples sweet as syrup for a few cents, as they are thousands of them piling up next to the roads. Also now available are luxuries like electricity, even if its only for a few hours at the end of the day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After spending a few nights in the villages, I started spending the nights in the rural schools, where the teacher on call, who would live in a small house inside the school's fence, would permit me to install the mosquito net inside any of the classroom, and because it is holiday season I don’t have to worry about leaving early. Sleeping at schools lets me have a bit of privacy so I can be by myself, as I have been doing in Zimbabwe. It is also a good place to be able to install the mosquito net, which I must say is very necessary in this country where malaria is endemic. If I don’t find a school I can look for the rural clinic, where the nurses on call let me sleep on the mattresses of the stretchers. Wherever I go the Mozambicans always make my life easier, both from the practical and the humane side, with the care of welcoming a loved one.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The idyll exists </i><br /><br />800km of monotony and solitude have passed, with this fucking head wind that is ruinging my life every day, so I start to question myself seriously where is this paradisiacal part of Mozambique that I was bringing in my imagination. At this point, this seemed just an illusion. But after a swerve of about 35km, at the end of a mountainous path that leads nowhere but straight down to the sea, I finally found it, and I had to scrub my eyes repeatedly to believe the sheer beauty that was in front of me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every adventurer has his reward: moments when all the pains of the travel, mental, emotional and physical, have been worth it. I am now in this idyllic place of kilometers of white flour bathed by a sea that is sometimes blue, turquoise or green. It is a relatively known place, but I get here at a time where there is only just a few of us, so few that we seem like dust speckles flying over this enormous heaven on earth. The beauty of this place is such that I feel the unavoidable sadness of coming here alone. It is not like this how I dreamt it.. but I have no other option that to accept this reality and to find consolation in that it is better to feel sad in paradise than in hell.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Every day spent in this place is a new day in which I believe that I will never be bored of being here. Every bath in this blessed sea is a bath that I will never forget, and it is the same with every walk in which I sink my feet in this floury sand or every night sleeping under the stars with the sound of the waves and the soft sea breeze caressing my senses. Every time I open my eyes to the sunrise over the sea when I open my tent at 6am a new cycle of idyll starts</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3oh-">.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes somewhere along the path, there are places where different paths of people that are looking for similar things converge. I am convinced that these encounters are not by chance, but by the underlying wisdom of the laws of destiny. It is in this way that here, in this Mozambican paradise, I have met Albe, a South African that has changed his life from a workaholic to rediscover the freedom of travelling around the world with his motorcycle while fixing his broken heart. These winds also bring to this idyllic remoteness Rica, a petite Japanese of 41 years, with a childish smile and a joyful spirit who has refused to accept the inhumane rigidity of her own culture. She has thrown herself into the adventure on her second hand Toyota van on a trip that has seen her drive on her own from Vladivostok to Portugal and then to West Africa, from there she has gone down to South Africa, and from there all around the continent to come down to Mozambique. Form here she will be going down to South Africa again in order to embark her Toyota to Buenos Aires and do all the Americas until reaching Alaska. Rica, Albe and me: 3 travelers who have chosen different modes of transport, who gather different life experiences but who in essence are connected by very similar values. We love the world and its people and we love to learn from it and them. We love to fuse with it because we know that the inherent wisdom that is transmitted to us while travelling its many paths leaves us with the most valuable of human lessons. In a sad time of my life, this paradise gave me beauty and the encounters that I needed to replenish my convalescing energies.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t negate the fact that it has taken me the physical effort of Goliath and the mental determination of the Dalai Lama to take the decision of leaving. And even so the first day of cycling toward the city was nearly unbearable. The only thing to lessen this malaise has been the elixir of the fruit hanging of the trees of this country: the Mango! The Mozambican mango is unique: It the largest I have ever seen, sometimes reaching the size of a small melon, and its sweetness is like a syrup that sometimes I even think that is making me horny. What an aphrodisiac experience it is to taste these mangos! I have said already that for me paradise is a place that I can find mangos all over the floor, and it is here where I wake up and I am surrounded by mangos! I sin terribly from gluttony and these mangos that I pick up under the trees make my taste buds take absolute control of my brain; I just can’t resist and every day I leave camp with no less than 3kg of mangos attached to my bike. The weight does not matter to my legs, as it is my taste buds that are in command now. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Maputo Red</i><br /><br />Getting to the outskirts of Maputo I take a wrong turn and I end up in a sandy path in construction by the sea, where trucks from a Chinese builder overtake me without mercy leaving me blind and coughing in giant clouds of dust. It is 10 am, 38 C and 500% humidity, I stink of sweat and now I am breading like a Schnitzel while I keep on grumbling for not having spent more time in paradise. At that same moment, a Mozambican from Portuguese origin who is standing by the entrance of a house by the sea sees me pushing my bicycle through the sand with a dog-angry face and makes ironic jokes about the wonders that Chinese are building in Africa. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Luis takes a photo of me with his phone, and after telling me about his indignation about the coastal works, which are a product of the ineffable corruption between the local government and the Chinese which have expropriated him of half of his house patio, invites me over to offer me fresh water. Right away Luis invites me to stay with him and his wife all the time that I need and takes me to a beautiful guest room where I will spend the next 5 days with his precious company. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Luis has had one of the most fascinating lives that I have ever known. In his youth, he was forcefully sent by the colonial power Portugal, to combat the independentists. There, while fighting this war in the middle of the bush, he realizes the atrocity of what he is doing and decides to change sides to support the independence of Mozambique. Luis tells me in his own words: “I am not Portuguese, I am and I feel African.” When living in his independent country, he spent 7 years living alone in the bush, with other bushmen (the native people of the bush) from whom he learned the simplicity of living in nature (and from nature) before returning to Maputo to earn a living through different activities. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After days of long and infinitely interesting talks Luis confesses to me that when he saw me the first day pushing my bike through the sand a poem of the great Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa came to his mind:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Nao sei para onde vou, </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>nao sei por onde vou, </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>so sei que nao vou por ai... </i></span></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(I dont know where I am going,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't know through which way I am going </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I only know, that I am not going through there…)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When he saw me he had a strong feeling, maybe due to the heightened sensibility that he developed in his years living the bush, that in front of him he had someone that he could call a friend. He never hesitated or suspected of me for a second before inviting me to his house, something that he had never done before. With that poem and with the mutual connection that I felt from the first time I spoke with him, I realized that very few people in this world, without knowing me, can have the capacity to understand deeply my nature by simply looking at me. Luis immediately became my friend and confidant; one of those massive gifts, like blessings, that I am given by the roads of the world. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />With Luis, I have walked through every corner of the eclectic Maputo learning about its history. A city that is nowadays divided between the orginal African poverty, the colonial mansion with Portuguese past in the seafront, the newly built luxury buildings made with laundered money and finally the great supermarket and shopping chains that come from the great capitalist neighbor: South Africa. All this mixture is spread in a network of avenues named the great leaders of Communism. Foreign banks in the corner of Mao Tse Tung and Kim II Sung, just a few blocks away from the yuppie and elegant bars at Mao Tse Tung and Vladimir Lenin, and further away the high-class clothing stores at Karl Marx and Ho Chi Minh. Everything in Maputo seems to be like a satire of politics, maybe a perfect mirror of the anarchy that the globalized world is nowadays, where everything loses value quickly, all is trivialized, a passing fashion. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My days in Maputo are near their end, but I could have easily stayed for a month in Luis and Sandhya’s home. On my departing day Luis offered me to take me in his Defender the 50km up to the frontier with Swaziland. These 50km will not contribute anything significant in my bike, but it will surely give me more time with this great friend that I have gained in Mozambique.</span><br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-57681977784381411452015-12-06T06:09:00.002+08:002015-12-06T06:14:51.472+08:00The garden of Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Translation courtesy of María Urruti</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After spending weeks in the bush, arriving in Zimbabwe brings a great welcoming break to the monotony. However, I didn’t really know what to expect of this country, so famous for the immortal Robert Mugabe, it’s omnipotent president that, from time to time, makes it to the news after carrying out a new whim of his to be able to stay stuck in power, even with his lucid 94 years old and after 35 of controlling the country as he pleases. Normally, I don’t arrive to a country with so little references but, in this particular case that I couldn’t get my head around to investigate, I decided to surprise myself; and sometimes it's good to do this.</span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Everything for a dollar</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I spent my first day in the country on my way to Bulawayo with a new entertainment to keep my head distracted, practice <i>ndebele</i> while pedaling. This language that it is spoken in the east side of the country, is one of the so called <i>click-languages </i>of Africa, it consist of alternating “clicks”, the same of those we make when we mimic a galloping horse or when we call a dog, with the syllables of words. It's not simple at all because there are, at least, 4 different types of “clicks” that define the hierarchy of what it’s spoken and the “click” shouldn’t interfere with the flow of the pronunciation. The sound of the language is beautiful, a genuine symphony of click-clacks/click-clacks, something that I haven’t heard before, but to pronounce the words is, literally, a tongue-twister. Father “Nu’click’be” at the church next to the border, taught me a few words to keep my self entertained all day, and that’s what I did. By the time I arrived in Bulawayo, 110 km later, I could make the clicks of some of the words, but for a continuos sentence I think I will still be needing another 1000 km more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bulawayo, is the perfect example of the consequences of Mugabe’s whims. A city that once used to be a great industrial hub, now with all of its factories closed, abandoned, without any more production for the country. In one of his outbreaks of populism, Mugabe confiscated everything from the white people, land, factories; sometimes with such violence that caused the killing of thousands of people and the exile of the rest. Maneuvers like these ones, that gained him back the popularity he wanted, eventually, sank the country into poverty and economic chaos, forcing the majority of poor Zimbabweans to flee because of lack of work and hunger, in a country that is considered the basket of Africa. Zimbabwe is the <i>pampas</i> of Africa and you only have to leave the city to clearly see it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--64fQfmXV84/VU4-CRykhuI/AAAAAAAAG_s/nPdQscyoTiI/s1600/NIC_1972.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--64fQfmXV84/VU4-CRykhuI/AAAAAAAAG_s/nPdQscyoTiI/s400/NIC_1972.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">However, leaving this fertile land arbitrarily in the hands of people without any knowledge, in very little time, caused the country to lose all its production power. Having grown up in a country with a schizophrenic economy, is it very rare that any other country could manage to surprise me in this regard. That’s what I thought until I came to Zimbabwe, whose<br />hyper exorbitant inflation took them to have notes of up to 100 trillion dollars, which today only serve as the country's funniest souvenir. Their official currency is the American dollar, however, this has nothing to do with the US treasure, who doesn't recognize it. Basically, the dollars that come into the country through its exports, are directly injected into the economy. But the problem is that it comes in big notes and never in coins; for the small change, the country uses the South African Rand. That is to say that, if one goes to the ATM machine you get notes of 20, 50 and 100 dollars, but when paying at the supermarket, the change under 1 dollar (even, some times 10 dollar bills) is given back in coins of rands that, of course, it has an exchange value different than the US dollar. Precisely for this reason, is that nearly everything costs 1 dollar in Zimbabwe and, lots of times, the relevance between costs doesn’t make any sense. A can of coke: 1 dollar. A plate of sadza with meat: 1 dollar. A kilo of apples: 1 dollar. A packet of pasta (noodles): 1 dollar. At the end of the day, everything evens out and ends up to be quite cheap but, I think, nobody in this country, not even its politicians, understands how its economy works.<br /> <br /><i>Dreamy camping</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i><br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The route that I have chosen to cut across Zimbabwe is rural, very quiet (relaxing) and with little traffic. I’ve gone into an introspective state phase in my life, in which one I choose to mainly be alone. In this aspect, this country has given me back the sublime campings in the wild, where to be able to find peace in the softness of the forms and in the skies that squander vibrant colors at the beginning and at the end of each day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Zimbabwe’s geography can’t be compare with all its surrounding countries. While those ones are defined by mainly infinite and monotonous patched of bush, here the mountains are covered by a thick tapestry of trees and rocks, that contribute to the richness of unique forms, softly rising until disappearing amidst the fog in the horizon.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At an average altitude of 1400 m, not only the soil is fertile in the basket of Africa, but the weather is a perfect spring almost all year around. I’m in the middle of summer, but still, I feel neither hot nor cold at any time, neither during the day nor during the night, neither under the sun nor in the shade. The dry climate helps me forget about the unbearable sweat that follows me wherever I go. Each day ends with a beautiful, spectacular scene; right when I start looking for a place where I can camp.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--O8GGEzPf08/VU5Dmk4roeI/AAAAAAAAHAI/ROqaj4XwxMk/s1600/NIC_2065.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--O8GGEzPf08/VU5Dmk4roeI/AAAAAAAAHAI/ROqaj4XwxMk/s400/NIC_2065.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If I’m close to some village, the locals always come up and offer me to stay the night in their houses, but I politely decline the invitation in search of my own space. Everyone assuraes me that I shouldn’t worry about my safety and I don’t doubt about it at any time. Even though in Zambia and Botswana (as it happens anywhere else in the world, the bad is always perpetrated by the one from the other side) everyone attributes robbery to the Zimbabweans, at no point I have felt threatened in any way, but rather protected by the people that surrounds me each night, whose kindness has always given me the necessary tranquility peace to leave all my stuff outside my tent as I normally do.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5SSBPhByzM8/VU4_ATY-QpI/AAAAAAAAG_0/p43aSMnq6P0/s1600/NIC_2018.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5SSBPhByzM8/VU4_ATY-QpI/AAAAAAAAG_0/p43aSMnq6P0/s400/NIC_2018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everything is exquisitely pretty while I’m camping in this land of pleasant weather; I make myself a cup of tea to drink while I contemplate the colors of the sunset, cook my dinner before it gets dark and I’m getting ready to lay down on my back to watch my favorite TV show at night: billions of stars are played on Zimbabwe’s TV during the night; so many that I can get to sleep while I analyze minutely the galaxies that here are clearly visible along side the milky way.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The road to Masvingo via Zvishavane is simple and pleasant. It’s full of traditional villages whose huts perfectly merge with their surroundings. The Zimbabweans, on the other hand, are calm, very respectful; never hear them shout or exacerbate when they see me go by. I don’t have to spend too long in the country before I realize that they probably have the highest education in all of Africa, apart from white South Africans; here, the level of the conversations that I have with people is clearly more elevated, even in rural villages. Thus, it isn’t casual that kids from all the neighboring countries come for education to the boarding schools of Zimbabwe, neither that the country exports teachers and professors of very high standard to the rest of southern Africa where they get paid better. Maybe, one of the few positive legacies of Mugabe, that it doesn't even benefit Zimbabwe.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cycling in rural Zimbabwe is like living permanently on a Sunday, rural<br />tranquility every day. A country of simple people that don’t live in a hurry and being with them brings me peace. I see fathers passing by after their working day with their children sitting on the handlebar of their old, rusty bicycles; women seating around by the fire preparing <i>sadza</i>; children playing football with an improvised ball. Simple scenes of everyday life under a sun that paints with golden light the plantations, making everything look like in perfect order in these villages where time seems to have stopped.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>A garden of baobabs<br /> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Already in the 90 degree turn that I make towards the north to Mutare, the road suddenly becomes an extensive garden of baobabs, that at this time of the year are full of flowers. I’ve rarely seen a tree so beautiful. It’s as pretty as caricaturesque, a tall and robust trunk with small-short branches in its canopy, it seems as though the tree came out of a fairy tale for kids.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the villages they seem to match perfectly with their huts. For a moment, looking at the forms of the traditional zimbabweans huts among the enormous huge baobabs, I can even think I’m in The Smurf’s village, if only the people were light blue... Their canopies bring the relaxing shadow for the villagers, who sit around their base to spend the afternoon chatting in these weeks of Zimbabwe where every day is like Sunday.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some times their trunks are so big that my architect’s eye makes me imagine that if I were to carve it from the inside, I think I could perfectly make a very comfortable house of a few stories high inside it. And the best of all is that it would be an incredible house, an organic house built by nature in order to live in harmony with it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>A lesson of shona<br /> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I’m asked why do I speak so many languages and why I like to learn them, I always say that to learn a language, even if it's only its basics, is the first step to be able to<br />understand the worldview of a culture, which is first and foremost reflected in its<br />language. In one of my last days in Zimbabwe, while I’m sitting in a canteen along side the road eating <i>sadza</i> with fish, a man asks me politely if he could sit down to<br />engage in a conversation with me. "Of course" - I happily answered - and after an interesting<br />conversation of politics, I asked Robert to teach me a bit of shona ( the language of the center and west of the country). </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We started with the essential, something that I think it should be learned, almost as an obligation, by every traveler that enters a country as guest: “Hello!” “Good morning!” “How are<br />you?” “Very well” “Please” and “Thank you”.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Robert teaches me how to say “How are you?”, he stops and tells me that in <i>shona</i>, it is said “how are you?” in plural, even if we refer only to one individual person, because, when someone is asked this, it is asked not only including the person in question but, also, all his family members, his extended family and his ancestors. In the same way, to respond, it is answered: “we are fine”, and the person responds for him, his family, his extended family and ancestors.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This speaks for itself of its culture, of its people, of its universe, of its way of understanding life and its relation with the world and between one another. The <i>shona</i> language<br />reflects all that I have seen in these days in the simple way of life of the Zimbabweans, always calm, respectful, treating each other well; and despite of having a president that<br />very intelligently has managed to make poor such an exceptionally rich country (a story that<br />sounds familiar to me), they have enormous power to keep smiling. Zimbabwe, knowing little or nothing in beforehand, it has surprised me. It’s not the country of<br />visual bedazzlement that leaves you amazed, but that of an harmony of shapes, of colors, of mild climate, together with its polite and educated people that is found regularly throughout the territory, something that doesn’t always happen frequently inside the same country. Zimbabwe has been the country of equilibrium for me, the one that gave me the auspicious space needed to be able to go into introspection and find a bit of peace of mind and serenity in the internal storm of the emotions I'm going through. Zimbabwe and the Zimbabweans made me well and I would return any day I could to this country that clearly is the garden of Africa.</span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-82654113309952248782015-11-30T23:40:00.003+08:002015-11-30T23:53:53.840+08:00"you'll be barbacued" <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Translation courtesy of Clara Checchi Viú </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After having spent Christmas in Livigstone with Father John, I continued the road with a stronger spirit. Cycling with a broken heart is not an easy job, but once I had crossed the legendary Zambezi River, in Kazungula, I could be sure that when I arrived to the zoo, there would be no more room for sorrow. There, in Botswana, where there are more loose wild animals than people around the bush, everything would be about riding the bicycle with the precaution of not altering the beasts, not to die in the attempt of doing so, and reaching safe and sound to the 2015. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><i>300 kilometers in Elephantland</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />300 kilometers separate Kazungula from Nata. They are 300 km of flat road crossing the monotonous wild bush, in which there's very little to see, not much apart from wild animals. There are no villages, no people. The only access to water is at a road stop somewhere, and at the ranger's camp at the end of the road. 300 km that are fairly known as "the elephants' highway". 300 km that caused me as much excitement as anxiety.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Kazungula, Win and Busie let me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">hang</span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">mosquito net </span>in their <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">veranda</span>. While
Busie prepares my breakfast before leaving, she tells me how she always
sees elephants go by the window while she's cooking. Later, Win wakes
up with a sleepy face and asks me if the lions had woken me up. He says
there had been a lion fight at night, and that the roars had kept him
awake since 3:00 a.m., and that he jumped<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">out<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">of </span></span></span></span>bed to check if I was
fine out there, and after that he had trouble getting back to sleep. I
didn't hear anything, but I would have loved to hear them roar. Anyway,
after that I kept <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">wondering up</span> to what point it was actually <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a good idea to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">have a deep sleep</span></span> in
Botswana. </span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fearless but alerted, I leave the town to ride all along "the
elephant<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> highway</span>". I need to ride 100km<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> straight</span> before I run into the only safe
place to sleep and where I can also get more water. Easy, a piece of
cake! The paradox of riding through an area of wild animals is that, on
one hand, one would give anything to see them but, on the other hand,
finding yourself face to face with one of those can certainly be lethal,
an episode with no way back. Filled with these contradictions, I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">moved forward</span> the first morning seeing nothing more than bushes along an
endlessly monotonous road. There are several resting areas with chairs
and tables <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">o</span>n the way. However, it's not easy to digest food when the
government puts signs like this one just beside <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">them.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WHV5S5sMswY/VUHUBjVwf1I/AAAAAAAAG9w/QFOT099gWkU/s1600/NIC_1556.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WHV5S5sMswY/VUHUBjVwf1I/AAAAAAAAG9w/QFOT099gWkU/s1600/NIC_1556.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A couple of hours go by, and I still haven't seen a single elephant. I am starting to believe everything is a farce. I'm bored. Everything I see (and smell) is their poop, which is obviously proportional to the size of these beasts. It is beastly poop that can be seen many meters away from it. It is so huge that the insects feeding on it seem to be a group of mountaineers climbing Mount Everest seen from a helicopter. If I stepped just in the middle of it, my leg would sink until my knee. I need to be careful, because if I run over one of these my bike would be entirely covered in poop, but there are so many in the road that it's hard to do it. The whole way is full of mountains of green fresh poop, but no matter how hard I keep on looking in the bushes I still can not see one goddammed elephant. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-650wn6TVaOI/VUHUM2DK0_I/AAAAAAAAG94/uO6koITN0ss/s1600/NIC_1537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-650wn6TVaOI/VUHUM2DK0_I/AAAAAAAAG94/uO6koITN0ss/s1600/NIC_1537.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, I see a little grey dot in the horizon. I see it moving, it's
the ears flapping in the air. It's just beside the road, too close, it's
huge, gigantic, and as I come close to it I realize that I I can't
simply ride beside it. The wind blows in my direction, which is a
problem now, because it allows the animal to smell me long before I
reach it. I suddenly see a vehicle coming and I ask the driver to slowly
pass before me, to help me acting as a screen. </span>I successfully pass the first elephant. Very good. It's beautiful, I'm
really mind-blown about riding with the elephants. However, I can't stay long to watch, it could get nervous. During the rest of the day I see a few more,
which I pass following the same method: I wait for some vehicle and ask for
help.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N5O6NNoCfKw/VUHUYZPRPVI/AAAAAAAAG-A/NpipWa0hsjc/s1600/NIC_1571.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N5O6NNoCfKw/VUHUYZPRPVI/AAAAAAAAG-A/NpipWa0hsjc/s1600/NIC_1571.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I get to the roadsi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">de stop that is the </span>only safe camping point and I'm allowed to camp
there because, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">according to</span> the few people working there in the middle of the
bush, this place is <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fully surrou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nded</span></span> by lions. A young b<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">suana </span>guy<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span>stops to
buy something and asks me what the hell I'm doing here with the bike. He
tells me not to cycle at night, that yesterday he was driving in his
car and he r<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a</span>n into two cats<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> right in the middle of</span> the road. B<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">suana people</span></span> are so <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">cute</span>,
referring to lions as if they were talking about harmless little
kittens. Th<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e gu</span>y continues with a huge smile an<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d s<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ays</span></span>: "if you pass by with your
bike, you'll be barbecued!!!"-, and he laughs <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">his ass off</span> repeating the
phrase, as if he ha<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d</span>n't been clear enough: "you'll be barbecued!" </span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
next day I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> have</span> 140 km left to go. till the park ranger's <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">camp</span>, but if the
road is like yesterday's then I shouldn't have any problem as there aren't
many animals really. I go out a bit disappointed, with little expectations,
because the day before I had seen nothing more than five elephants. But
not too long after I start riding, the situation radically changes and I
start finding them all along the way. Suddenly, a driver stops beside
me and says: "be very careful, these elephants are very wild and
unpredictable". People who aren't africans imagine the lion as the most
dangerous of all the animals. However, the animal the africans fear the
most is, by far, the elephant. Decades of poaching have logically turned
elephants very resentful against human beings. Therefore, anything can
happen in our presence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-60HC5jz0JEI/VUHUn8tXCUI/AAAAAAAAG-I/tB5vlalurz0/s1600/NIC_1620.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-60HC5jz0JEI/VUHUn8tXCUI/AAAAAAAAG-I/tB5vlalurz0/s1600/NIC_1620.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's a lot less traffic than yesterday and I can't wait any longer, which is why I have to go ahead by myself, the most quietly I can. The situation is truly starting to worry me. Some of the elephants, the ones that aren't that close to me, stand still and look me in the eye in a way that freaks me out because, if they decided to attack, it would only take them seconds to get me. In the case of those elephants that are beside the road, I decide to wait at a certain distance and see how they react. But they are so many that I find them every one or two kilometers, and I can't wait all day long because I need to do 140 km., and if the night comes, well... the cats will show up, and I'll be barbecued. This is why I decide to start passing the elephants, with no help from the vehicles. I succeed with the first ones, I've even passed a whole family of them. It was amazing, being so close...</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4CJHH5CqjLA/VUHUyKUKrDI/AAAAAAAAG-Q/MqyzoRPv07w/s1600/NIC_1616.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4CJHH5CqjLA/VUHUyKUKrDI/AAAAAAAAG-Q/MqyzoRPv07w/s1600/NIC_1616.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But things wouldn't be so easy. Some moments later, I run into one elephant eating from a tree. Its immaculate white <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tusks</span> have the length and the size of two samurai swords. The elephant sees me getting closer and I can tell he gets nervous, but I don't know what to do, so I just keep on going really slowly. I see it getting <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">agitated</span>, and my heart goes up directly to my throat, but I decide stopping would be worst. Suddenly, when I'm about 20m far from it, the elephant stands on two legs and starts trumpeting. In this exact moment, that trumpet makes me react instantly, as instinctively as <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">an</span> animal. I step on the pedal as I never did it before. No thinking. My mind is blank, all the blood flows into my legs, pedaling as fast as I can, not looking to the sides, not looking back, riding for my life. This was one of the most terrifying moments of my whole life. Later that day, I would learn from a park ranger that I should have done exactly the opposite: I should've stopped, stood still and waited. But <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fuck that</span>, how<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> can<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> an<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y</span>one </span></span>stop when being o<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nly </span>15m <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">from</span> these <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">7</span> ton<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s</span> beasts, without trembling out of fear <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">feeling <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the legs<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> t<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">urn<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing to</span></span></span> jelly<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">? </span></span></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RHpX9Kyh6YQ/VUHU9TXLMEI/AAAAAAAAG-Y/ws0_yo265go/s1600/NIC_1715.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RHpX9Kyh6YQ/VUHU9TXLMEI/AAAAAAAAG-Y/ws0_yo265go/s1600/NIC_1715.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My heart hadn't<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> gone back to normal pump rate<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">before</span></span></span> I run into the next elephant. African
elephants aren't <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">nothing </span>like the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A</span>sian<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ones, those</span> weigh<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t </span>between 1 and 2 ton<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s</span> and
are ridden by tourists <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">around</span> Thailand, all of them are kind and docile
animals. The <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A</span>frican elephant weights from 5 to 7 tons<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, when</span> It stands in
front of you<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> t</span>he block the sun. It's terrifying. They are so huge,
they seem so serious and their <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tusks </span>are so long that I wonder what acid
Walt Disney was taking when he imagined an elephant with the character
of Dumbo. There are so many elephants I need to <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pass</span> that -at some
point - I realize<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>I'm not having a great time anymore. </span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A group of young people in
a small car help me <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">pass</span> another huge elephant. But as we move
forward -me close to the vehicle- the beast goes crazy. Yes. Completely
crazy: it starts running along the road in our direction. The guy riding
the car tells me not to separate myself from the vehicle. However, my
legs tell me to run for my life again and so I turn around and try to escape
as far as I can. I stop the bike about 50m from the car and the images
gets printed on my mind for ever: the beast <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">facing</span> a car that could
easily fit <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">under</span> its legs and -if the elephant wanted to- a car that
could end up smashed into a thin layer. The young men wait in the car
and I wait to see how they would be turned into smashed potatoes.
Finally, the irritated elephant goes away in the opposite direction and I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">g<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">et back<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> close</span></span></span> to the car. The guys are laughing<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ir asses off!</span></span>!! Then, we start
going really slow and I can <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">hear</span> the elephant walking away and
demolishing every tree in its way, he is really pissed off. I don't even want to see. When I
finish passing through I'm terrified. I don't want to see one more
elephant in my life.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--QR9qWwnixk/VUHVK8paxJI/AAAAAAAAG-g/AUasTjF4WHY/s1600/NIC_1625.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--QR9qWwnixk/VUHVK8paxJI/AAAAAAAAG-g/AUasTjF4WHY/s1600/NIC_1625.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> However, there's much more distance to go. Elephants keep on
appearing, some closer to the road than others. As soon as I
distinguish them in the distance I start trembling. They're everywhere. I
don't want to see them anymore. Today I've already seen more than fifty
of them. Sometimes they surprise me suddenly appearing by my side, hiding
between the trees when they're eating. I spent too much time waiting for
cars to help me get through and the day is near the end. I can't stop
anymore because the cats are coming out soon it feels like a trap being here. I see giraffes, I see zebras and I
see a couple of hyenas too. Documentary films make us give us quite a wrong idea about hyenas, in most people's mind, including myself, they are like they size of a dog. However, in
real life they're beasts whose heads may reach the height of your ribs,
and their torso and frontal legs seem like two columns of pure muscle.
Terrifying, to say the least.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_QLgLG_VNU/VUHVYwIF5FI/AAAAAAAAG-s/VLmTYB1xUfQ/s1600/NIC_1529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_QLgLG_VNU/VUHVYwIF5FI/AAAAAAAAG-s/VLmTYB1xUfQ/s1600/NIC_1529.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e0BSZIC8D9k/VUHVY9ETIaI/AAAAAAAAG-o/SZecE8oGCUM/s1600/NIC_1610.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e0BSZIC8D9k/VUHVY9ETIaI/AAAAAAAAG-o/SZecE8oGCUM/s1600/NIC_1610.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After such a scary day, I reach the park ranger's <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">camp</span>, where I can finally
relax. Supposedly, this is the end of the park. They tell me to camp
there with them, but the radio is on, they are too noisy and I want to
camp <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">in </span>the bush, now that I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> am</span> out of the area with the greatest
concentration of animal life. It's a magnificent sunset, one of those
with such colors that they gi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ve you </span>tickles<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>inside. I become feeling melancholic
because I really miss Julia, and the last thing I want now is being with
these men.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMnEppLnzwA/VUHVjUW99qI/AAAAAAAAG-4/eudADSRAlbE/s1600/NIC_1654.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMnEppLnzwA/VUHVjUW99qI/AAAAAAAAG-4/eudADSRAlbE/s1600/NIC_1654.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I ask for water and<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> off I go into the bush, but only</span> about 3 km away<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, to </span>camp before
it gets dark. I<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">t's a full <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">moon night </span></span>and the bush is completely illuminated,
while I dine <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">alone</span> under the stars. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yet a</span>nother quiet <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A</span>frican night I think:
bush, stars, moon, complete silence, and that's how I go to my tent to
get some sleep. However, I am not allowed to sleep straight through the
night. In th<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e middle of the night</span> I feel some steps outside and I listen to
what I wished I didn't have to listen to: a roar. It's not a roar of
fight, they're gentle, soft roars, like a deep respiration. The light
from the moon is <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">very</span> strong, and my heart <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rushes into </span>tachycardia<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> style </span>when I open my eyes and see the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sillhouet<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">es </span></span>of two lions surrounding my
tent. I pull out my Leatherman while I try to be quiet. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unfold</span> the knife
on one side -8cm.long!-, and the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">saw</span> on the other side. Yeah,
genius - I think to myself - it'll be nice to tickle them while they eat <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">me</span> up-. I sit
and wait. They say lions never break into enclosed spaces, but in a moment
like this there's nothing you have been told that really matters. If
you have lions outside your tent all you can think of it's you'll be
barbecued. I start believing that two days away from 2015 they will dine
me for an early New Years E<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ve dinner</span>. One thing is certain: at least they were going to set
me free from the sorrow for Julia. It's easy to joke four moths after
this, but the truth is that I almost shit my pants. Finally, the lions
kept on their way without returning, but after that I <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">cou<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ldn't go back to sleep...</span></span>. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0EmidxRYW0/VUHV0UE9OtI/AAAAAAAAG_A/IEVf44G0nPI/s1600/NIC_1730.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0EmidxRYW0/VUHV0UE9OtI/AAAAAAAAG_A/IEVf44G0nPI/s1600/NIC_1730.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">First time in the morning, after having slept five hours, I jumped on
the bike and continued my way to Nata. I found more elephants <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">o</span>n the
road but - either for the excess of adrenaline of the previous day, for
having learnt how to act on their presence, or for the fact that
elephants weren't that hysterical in that area-, I had almost lost fear
for them. Quietly I waited for them till they finished crossing, because <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">in any case,</span> when they cross the road, they obstruct it completely. That's
how big they are. Some time later, there wouldn't be more animals. </span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A primera hora de la mañana, habiendo dormido 5 horas, me subí a la
bicicleta y seguí camino a Nata. Encontré aún más elefantes en el
camino, pero no sé si habría sido ya el exceso de adrenalina del día
anterior, el haber aprendido cómo comportarme en su presencia o
simplemente que no estaban tan histéricos en esa zona, pero ya les había
mayormente perdido el miedo. Tranquilo esperaba que siguieran su paso,
porque de todas formas cuando cruzan, obstruyen todo el camino, así de
grandes son, y al poco tiempo, ya no habría animales de vuelta. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x9JgesZmAXA/VUHV-j_KaFI/AAAAAAAAG_I/DEluSCNiSpo/s1600/NIC_1718.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x9JgesZmAXA/VUHV-j_KaFI/AAAAAAAAG_I/DEluSCNiSpo/s1600/NIC_1718.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Existential questions. <br /><br />Sometimes people ask me very simple questions but, without them realizing it, they are very existential. During the past three days I have been on the edge of being smashed by two giant bull elephants and I have dealt -better or worse- with dozens of others. One afternoon two hyenas passed some meters away from me and last night two lions took a walk around my tent and didn't hesitat on letting me know that they were there. By the time I got to Nata it was noon and 38 C. I decide to sit down on the shade for some "fresh" air at the tables outside the local supermarket, to look back with some perspective. At that moment, a luxurious Audi pulls over and a batsuana couple gets off. Eventually they end up having lunch with me. The man is fascinated and keeps on asking me questions. His beautiful girlfriend -who I suspect is behind the man's wealth- asks me with a disgusted expression:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "but, aren't you afraid of dying doing what you do?"-. At that time, all the past days -and maybe even years-, instantly came back to my mind. After a pause, I smiled and answered:</span></span><br />
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "You can be sure that I'd rather die enjoying life with plenitude, doing what I love, what makes me happy, than die after having lived my whole life trapped in an office, obeying orders and repeating the same task over and over every single day of my life. That's what scares me the most. Dying is not a choice, we have no power over that. Therefore, given its imminent and inevitable arrival, I prefer death to find me happy." </span></span><br />
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her face went from disgust to a wide smile that even made her boyfriend jealous. I'd better get going now -I thought-, because I'd rather be eaten by a lion, than beaten by a batsuana man for accidentally making his girlfriend fall in love with me.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> During the rest of the way, already in the most inhabited areas of this uninhabited country, people ask me over and over again about my trip, as it happens to me everywhere. However here everyone seems to be convinced that at the end of my journey the government of my country will pay me for this trip. How cute they are, so innocent, if they only knew something about the governments of my country... "So they pay you nothing? Nothing at all?"-they ask me in disbelief. "Are you sure?"- I answer I'm sure, completely sure, and at that point they keep staring at me in complete incomprehension. "Then, why do you do it?"-. Such question would require a whole book for me to answer so I just limit myself to answer that I travel because I love the world and learning from its people. I'm doing my PhD in the University of the World. "What? Learning? Learn what?"- They don't understand it, and they end up more confused than before asking. </span></span><br />
<br />
</div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> There's only 200 km left before I arrive to Francistown, where I've contacted local people in advance not to die out of sadness for spending this New Year's eve completely alone. But it's 200 km of headwind and that doesn't help, it drains my energy, burns my brain and shatters my mood. Monotonous boring landscape, headwind, no more animals and no more adrenaline. The sadness of a year that ends without Julia, who I met almost exactly three years ago, and now this fucking wind against me that seems to have appeared to let me know that I will not make it to the 2015 in company. Sometimes I don't know where I get the strength from. Maybe it's because I'm a stubbron fuck when it comes to adversity and I may break down for love, but I will never give up to an atmospheric phenomenon. Like this, struggling, I arrive in the afternoon of the 31st to Francistown. Eddie wasn't there, but he sent his friend Mowresi to look for me and she took me to her rastafari family, with whom I happily received, as much as I could, the New Year. I spent the first days of 2015 with Mowresi's family and it was a truly delightful time.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m7gwKz93GkQ/VUHWQdi2vmI/AAAAAAAAG_Q/bhYJHzZmeFM/s1600/NIC_1777.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m7gwKz93GkQ/VUHWQdi2vmI/AAAAAAAAG_Q/bhYJHzZmeFM/s1600/NIC_1777.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><i>I will return to the zoo</i></span></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> In Botswana I said goodbye to 2014, a year that went from being a daydream, to having me dream that it had never happened, or wishing at least for a year that only had had eleven months. A year in which, once more, I learnt the same old lessons of impermanence. That lesson that one seems to never learn, or that one doesn't really want to remember in times of plenitude. That was a kick that 2014 gave me to throw me brutally into 2015, where I started already fallen on to the ground. It's time to keep on going, now living inside this laundry machine, struggling not to loose my way, as I try to pick up the pieces of me to rebuild myself, hopefully, as a better person.</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YvUjwdBnLkc/VUHWgD_S9pI/AAAAAAAAG_Y/6RYdtSWEBJY/s1600/NIC_1877.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YvUjwdBnLkc/VUHWgD_S9pI/AAAAAAAAG_Y/6RYdtSWEBJY/s1600/NIC_1877.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Botswana also got to see this sad part of me, but thanks to its little animals, it has at least distracted me succesfully, albeit the fear, it helped me find some peace of mind during the nine days it took me to cross this country and, eventually, it made me feel better. It's impossible to dissociate Botswana from its animals. Everytime I think of Botswana I will think of a world of elephants, lions, zebras and giraffes. I will think of it in the real world, not that world that Walt Disney made up. However, it is true that Botswana does seem to be a fantasy country: it's a zoo-country, but one that doesn't punish with confinement to its very precious inhabitants. Even moreso, it's the first country truly protecting them. Millions have been invested on giving an end to poaching and nowadays the elephant population is growing (I can attest it) as the biggest in Africa now. Batsuana people are very educated, though rather reserved, and they speak perfect english. It's a country where I have felt very pleased, and which I wouldn't think twice about visiting it with my children, if there are children some day, to wander around this true zoo of the world, called Botswana.</span></span></div>
</div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-57618740071713164352015-11-28T23:15:00.001+08:002015-11-28T23:15:37.986+08:00Zambia is not to blame <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qYnIoLX-KTQ/VTlJ2BpvVXI/AAAAAAAAG68/cqr6yqsTsHU/s1600/NIC_1361.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qYnIoLX-KTQ/VTlJ2BpvVXI/AAAAAAAAG68/cqr6yqsTsHU/s1600/NIC_1361.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally,
we arrived to Zambia, where we officially entered the south of Africa.
However, together with the arrival to this new country, many strong
changes would also arrive; a change that I would never have imagined
real, but it became imminent; so strong that by the time I was able to
see it, it was already too late to fix it. Zambia would be a beautiful
country but a country that would be marked by the suffering of change. </span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">From Chipata to Lusaka</span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />It
is a long and a very boring journey from Malawi’s border to the capital
city of Zambia. The landscape becomes monotonous and there is really
nothing more to see other than flat bush all around us. The difficulty
of the road is non-existent, zero, zilch. However, you could easily say
that an extremely boring road becomes as difficult as one of very steep
slopes, because it is not easy to kill the time on a borring one where
there is no challenge of any kind. Luckily, Zambians are exceptional
people. Here in Zambia you can already perceive the first qualitative
change of the arrival to southern Africa. In a short time, it became
very obvious the greater educational level of the people (regardless of
their wealth), something that would become constant throughout all the
countries until Cape Town. The major evidence is the definite end of the
ever present echo of : <i>"mzungu, give me money!!"</i></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />The
first impression is that humble people are kind, and even though – like
in most of Africa - a white person is by his color, presumed rich ;
here, whites are not pursued as people who just came to give money away,
nor we are pointed at or yelled at in every corner. Here we feel
accepted as equals more or less, and that is a priceless feeling after
so many months in which people would once and again highlight the
differences, always under the African prejudice, that ALL whites are
unimaginably rich. In every village I stop, I perceive people’s joy,
even like a sort of pride because I had decided to stop there, to visit
them, to talk to them and spend some time. Communication is not a
barrier anymore because Zambians had been a British colony and they
speak very good English. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MvGLpohw6y8/VTl_w92ooHI/AAAAAAAAG7Y/E9ARA93XMfQ/s1600/NIC_1303.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MvGLpohw6y8/VTl_w92ooHI/AAAAAAAAG7Y/E9ARA93XMfQ/s1600/NIC_1303.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Weeks
ago when we were riding across Westwern Tanzania, one tree appeared in
our way, one enormous tree that would become our dream tree and
companion all along our way through Africa: the mango. At that time
though, we regretted passing by these endless rows of mango trees that
were full but still very green to eat; we couldn’t believe our bad luck.
Nonetheless, what we didn’t know then was that further south, many more
trees with ripe mangos would be waiting for us. Suddenly, in Malawi,
mangoes were all over and became our elixir from everyday life. They
were part of our daily diet as they are for the local people as well. In
every village you could see children and adults with long bamboo sticks
to take them down from the trees and sell them afterwards for cents on
the roadsides. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pdyr9LVWOCY/VToftpx9eZI/AAAAAAAAG8A/OD0K5bECIqA/s1600/NIC_0900.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pdyr9LVWOCY/VToftpx9eZI/AAAAAAAAG8A/OD0K5bECIqA/s1600/NIC_0900.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By
the time we arrived to Zambia, the mango trees exploded, there were
more mangoes than stones on the ground, and as I have mentioned in this
blog before some time, there are many different ways in which we may
think of paradise. For me, a place surrounded by mangoes is heaven on
earth and that's what we fed on for the rest of the way, overdoses of
sweet mangoes. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The end in Lusaka</i><br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes
we do not understand why we do certain things or why certain certain
things happen to us in our life, at least not always at the very moment
they are happening; sometimes we need to wait for days, weeks, months or
even years to fully understand the situation and understand ourselves,
and on the way, being punished with the denial to find the oportunity
for redemption. We arrived to Lusaka after very difficult weeks as a
team, and right then, Josefina decided to go back to Europe… but Julia
too… </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In
that precise moment my whole world, literally fell apart and nothing
would ever be the same again. Here, I’m sorry to cut you short on the
details of the story, because this blog is not some corny latin american
soap opera, and those details will remain within the boundaries of
my/our personal life, but that is how, one day, the union that I
believed indestructible, crumbled as a castle of cards blown by a gentle
breeze. This is how I ended up alone once again, only five days before
Christmas, preparing myself to celebrate the saddest holidays I can
remember in my 36 years of life. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
had no consolation the day I left Lusaka, my agony was so suffocating
that it was only by inertia that I was able to continue pedaling and
leave town. I was trapped in a neurosis of pain, remorse, guilt,
alienation and the most horrible anxieties, I could barely move while
leaving a river of tears along my way. I knew that during the coming
nights, that hole in my chest that was as big as the size of my bike's
wheels would not allow me to sleep, so I decided to exhaust myself
physically let the exhaustion subdue me at night. However, nothing
seemed to be enough. The first day, I did 160 km in 7 hours (I usually
do a 100 km in 6 hours) but my body is so incredibly strong after so
many "battles" along the roads of this world, that Zambia does not even
have the roads necessary to exhaust it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At
the end of the day I arrived at the village's church and looked for the
Father to ask him for a place to sleep. Sebastian, an adorable Zambian
priest, came out of the room to greet me with a beautiful welcoming
smile. I tried to pull off my best possible smile in return, but soon
after I begin to explain why I was there , Sebastian stops me cold, as
if he had not been truly listening to me, and says "Nico, you are very
sad!" ........ He left me speechless and I tried found the words to
explain what was wrong trying not to break. He touches my heart when
with the affection of a brother tells me: "come here, you can stay with
us all you want! and holds my shoulder with care.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--03KNeTkwlA/VTpBnRd6chI/AAAAAAAAG8Q/DlSHkt0zW5U/s1600/IMG_1773.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--03KNeTkwlA/VTpBnRd6chI/AAAAAAAAG8Q/DlSHkt0zW5U/s1600/IMG_1773.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
next morning I need to get back on the road so that the anguish cannot
consume me. There's something about the endorphines that while does not
cure me, at least helps to mitigate the unbearable emptiness I feel.
Before leaving, Father Sebastian calls the Father of the town 150 km
away where I'm planning to spend that night, at the church of the same
diocese. He goes: - Father Emmanuel, please, receive Nico, a cyclist who
will arrive this afternoon there- 6 hours and 150 km later, I still
don’t feel the slightest fatigue. I knock on the door of Father
Emmanuel, who was waiting for me in his free day with a room ready for
me. In a conversation while he watching a football match in his living
room, he tells me: "Nico, something happens to you .... Are you all
right?" I wonder what Zambians priests have in order to be able to read
the hear of people they don't know so well.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dy9pi78PTwc/VTpBnx-kSXI/AAAAAAAAG8U/MTRNA-wpA1g/s1600/IMG_1779.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dy9pi78PTwc/VTpBnx-kSXI/AAAAAAAAG8U/MTRNA-wpA1g/s1600/IMG_1779.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
next morning, Father Emmanuel said good-bye to me and calls Father
Cletus from the next village 170 km away. He goes: - "Father Cletus, I'm
with a friendly bicycle traveler who needs a place to stay there
tonight, could you give him one?". At the end of the day my legs still
don’t feel tired; Father Cletus invites me for tea and shows me the room
at his home. He is one of the most intelligent and educated people I've
met in a long time, Father Cletus speaks to me of his work to raise the
level of education of local people and interrupts himself to say “but
Nico, you're not OK ... " . DAMN IT ! (I thought to myself) Now, I'm
going to look at myself in the mirror to see whether there is something
written on my forehead, or these priests are clairvoyants or I look so
pitiful that I'm way too obvious. Before I leave, he tells me to go see
Father John in Livingstone for tonight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Finally,
I get to Livingstone one day before Christmas, 490 km and I have done
it in three days and a few hours; I begin to believe that this sadness
could make me win the Tour de France if I would race it right now, and I
guess using sorrow as the fuel of the engine would test negative in the
anti – doping test. In the church of Livingstone, just 8 km away from
the famous Victoria Falls, Father John (a friend of Father Cletus)
welcomes me. Maybe it is because of the emotional moment I am going
through and/or because I arrive alone at Christmas time, but John was
one of the most special and above all, human persons, I have met on this
trip, a real life lesson. Father John becomes my great and only friend
during the 3 days I stay with him, alone in the church’s residence.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LsAzoh_5tqE/VTpF4Yb4oKI/AAAAAAAAG8k/zYlkApZzBX0/s1600/NIC_1397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LsAzoh_5tqE/VTpF4Yb4oKI/AAAAAAAAG8k/zYlkApZzBX0/s1600/NIC_1397.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On
Christmas Eve, I decide to go to mass, it was unfortunately hosted by
the archbishop and not by John, but still, it was nice, because
Christian spirituality with African blood has a much more beautiful and
positive energy than the one in the West (in my perception). The joyful
dance, the music without flats, the effusive singing; regardless of the
religion, in Africa you can feel the soul filled with positive energy.
For a moment, I find peace in the spiritual unity of Christians. I've
never believed in any creator or Almighty God but as I look at these
people, so connected facing Jesus in the cross, I fantasize about the
idea having this ability they apparently have,... to get . ? .. the
answers to our problems from this imaginary being, who or them is so
real. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Before
midnight comes John and we eat together while I enjoy listening with
the attention of a child to each and every life story he tells me.
Thanks to his company, I spent the best of the worst possible Christmas.
His friendship and affection were the best gifts that Santa Claus could
have brought me in this dreadful end of the year. Now I just need to
find one more place with nice company, to wait for the arrival of the
New year to come.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Q0AiUnMezU/VTpJcUWnVSI/AAAAAAAAG8w/IXbOGXfMFG8/s1600/NIC_1488.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Q0AiUnMezU/VTpJcUWnVSI/AAAAAAAAG8w/IXbOGXfMFG8/s1600/NIC_1488.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Finally,
before leaving for the border with Botswana, I stop by Victoria Falls,
whose majesty made me drop my jaw, and this is no small thing for those
of us who come from the country of Iguazú Falls. This huge groove in the
land up to 108 meters deep where the Zambezi River Falls is
unimaginable, you have to be there to understand. No photo can capture
the vastness of this place, is too impressive to reflect on an image.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-teUJZRGrdrc/VTpQUfUM9CI/AAAAAAAAG9I/R_4WrMwiZNo/s1600/%5BGroup%2B0%5D-NIC_1471-Edit_NIC_1475-Edit-5%2Bimages.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-teUJZRGrdrc/VTpQUfUM9CI/AAAAAAAAG9I/R_4WrMwiZNo/s1600/%5BGroup%2B0%5D-NIC_1471-Edit_NIC_1475-Edit-5%2Bimages.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At
first I was sorry that I came here in low season where the abundance of
water isn't much and its powerful nature cannot be truly appreciated,
but fortunately I later learned that at the peak time of the year the
foam coming out of the water is so much that nothing can be seen. Many
people also say that the Zimbabwe side the view is even more impressive;
I can hardly imagine that...</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-khLLUURFJXw/VTpQThzN_sI/AAAAAAAAG9A/cA2KZMRXaDM/s1600/NIC_1482.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-khLLUURFJXw/VTpQThzN_sI/AAAAAAAAG9A/cA2KZMRXaDM/s1600/NIC_1482.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Until a better time Zambia</i><br /><br />In
Zambia, a sharp pain in my life arrived, and it was an ugly turning
point in this journey, one that I do not desire, that I reject and I
refuse. In Zambia I suffered horribly and with that same pain it is that
I leave the country; but I cannot blame Zambia for what we, stupid
humans, do. I loved Zambia, and Zambians in particular. I do not know
what I would have become without the affection I received, they took
care of me as one of them. It is not the most diverse country in the
world, the monotony of the bush is eventually boring, it is true, but
you just need to go out on the balcony of Victoria Falls to make all
that previous boredom worth it, a view of the falls is worth 1000 km of
tedium. I do not know if I'll come back to Zambia, but I know that if I
return, it will be a place where I can certainly feel very comfortable;
on the other hand I also hope that Zambia can also be lucky enough to
see the bright and shiny Nico, the one who used to be next to his iron
maiden.</span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-41829439560514909662015-11-27T18:46:00.000+08:002015-11-27T18:46:01.153+08:00Walk on water<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S6NiVmbqHD4/VTe0zRIwCxI/AAAAAAAAG3c/DOL8eS_ax9M/s1600/NIC_0953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S6NiVmbqHD4/VTe0zRIwCxI/AAAAAAAAG3c/DOL8eS_ax9M/s1600/NIC_0953.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></div>
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<i>Translation courtesy of Clara Cecchi Viú</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text12:0">Only 35 days had passed since we returned to Africa. What we had been through in the last four countries was so intense that they seemed 350 days. We accumulated more than 2000km of exuberant mountains, crystal-clear blue lakes, african jungle, savanna and bush filled with wild animals. However, by the time we got to Mbeya -a big city in southern Tanzania- and were ready for a well-deserved break, Josefina, Julia's sister who had come to visit us, was ready to go. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text12:0"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text16:0">The
reward for having cycled across such rough roads was not only a couple of
great bed and food days, but fortunately it was Malawi. This place is
one of the most beautiful, quiet and easy-to-ride countries in the whole
Africa, and it was a particularly beautiful Malawi now because, having
Josefina as a company, we were forced to reduce our pace of cycling-warriors, so
that she could keep up with us.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><i><br /></i>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><i><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text20:0">Good bye, Tanzania.</span></i><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text21:0" /><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text23:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text24:0">Few
are the kilometers separating Mbeya from the border. However, the last bit is an uphill stretch, taking us up to some refreshing 2300m high,
before we can reach an uninterrupted 50km downhill all the way down to lake Malawi,
an almost 2000m loss in altitude. Believe me: nobody wants to keep on climbing after
having ascended more meters in the last month than it's possible to
remember. However, we had no choice: this was our only way to the promised
paradise. </span><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text28:0">Along the way, once again, we come across the beautiful tea plantations that I enjoy so
much. There are few the collectros that are friendly when I approach them.
I still can't understand why, but aside from the plantations in Sumatra,
there hasn't been one time in which they had not asked for money. In
Tanzania, they get particularly harsh if you refuse.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ne6djWIjNm8/VTf1_dPABYI/AAAAAAAAG3s/VpuUGjU_63A/s1600/NIC_0370.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ne6djWIjNm8/VTf1_dPABYI/AAAAAAAAG3s/VpuUGjU_63A/s1600/NIC_0370.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text32:0">We
have cycled for more than a 1000km through the most forgotten -and certainly
unknown- part of Tanzania. Except for some wild animals -and also the
Sukuma-, there hasn't been much to see. People have been very kind,
discreet, and they rarely did chase us with the never ending<i> "mzungu,
give me money"</i>, <i>mzungu </i>meaning white man. However, it is probably this
"lack of attractiveness" that gives this part of Tanzania all of its magic. It is the
case of pretty much every place that has stayed away from the reach of mass tourism and everything wrong that comes with it. Even though I know I would have been stunned by the
beauty of the Kilimanjaro and the Serenguetti, I don't regret not having
visited Safariland in this adventure, because if I had, It wouldn't have been one anymore. We have been able to see a
different, and sincerely beautiful side of Tanzania, beautiful for
precisely having "nothing to see", which is what made it so special. That's why I leave with a very beautiful memory of the country, except for those criminals behind the steering wheels whom I will never forget. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><i><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text36:0">Magic waters</span></i><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text37:0" /><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text39:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text40:0">If
Malawi has to be told, its lake must be told. This is not only for its
extraordinary beauty, but also for the magic it brings to its people,
all of whom, in one way or another, make a living out of it. The life of Malawians revolves around their lake. The great Malawi lake, of blue and
turquoise crystalline waters, that extends all along this small country. It is such a
simple country that there are not many adventures to tell. A country so simple that there isn't much adventure to talk about because Malawi is easy, it's Africa for beginners and it offers no challenges for the
bicycle. The people are warm, easygoing, friendly, just as its weather. It
is because of its people and weather that Malawi is known as "the warm
heart of Africa". Therefore, as we weren't searching for adventures in
Malawi, but to rest in the warmth of its beauty and its gentle roads, this will be a
visual journey, rather than an adventure story.</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text43:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text44:0"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text44:0">Entering Malawi from the north, through its border with Tanzania, brings you immediately next to the lake. It's the end of the day
and the children play around splashing their feet in the water, having
fun for the simple fact of just being kids. Children in Malawi play in the
lake since their first day on earth and they grow up next to it.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ubj560LTgow/VTkrG9f4dLI/AAAAAAAAG4k/jKdI8mdoSfg/s1600/NIC_0464.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ubj560LTgow/VTkrG9f4dLI/AAAAAAAAG4k/jKdI8mdoSfg/s1600/NIC_0464.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text47:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text48:0">The
eldest ones -natural born fishermen-, wait till the sun goes down to go to work, preparing for the time to sail deep into the lake and fish all night long under millions of stars until the first rays of sun come out marking
the beginning of a new day and the end of the fishing journey. Malawian
fishermen have a quiet look, as if they were always reflecting about life. They
spend almost their entire lives either in the lake or on its shore, but
they rarely spend too much time in the village.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZQvICutgPvw/VTktoN4-CUI/AAAAAAAAG4w/8a5tx-7wJcE/s1600/NIC_0415.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZQvICutgPvw/VTktoN4-CUI/AAAAAAAAG4w/8a5tx-7wJcE/s1600/NIC_0415.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text52:0">The sun begins to rise as early as 4:30am and by 5:00am, its rays paint the sky and the lake in gold and pink tones. After about ten hours of hard offshore
fishing, fishermen start returning early in the morning, at the time
birds pass by fluttering around to have for breakfast the fishes
that come near the surface.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BY7mGX3N_68/VTgKWr4m8wI/AAAAAAAAG4Q/CRjoYsY-B8I/s1600/NIC_1192.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BY7mGX3N_68/VTgKWr4m8wI/AAAAAAAAG4Q/CRjoYsY-B8I/s1600/NIC_1192.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text55:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text56:0">As
minutes go by everything turns blue and the horizon line magically dissolves. The lake
and the sky caressing each other, evolving into some unique and
indivisible being. The fishermen of tomorrow walk over this great
mirror of a lake and wait patiently till the first victims bite the hook.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ALtZjAUFFw/VTgFMFQgASI/AAAAAAAAG4A/wLuvJl_FtSw/s1600/NIC_1240.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ALtZjAUFFw/VTgFMFQgASI/AAAAAAAAG4A/wLuvJl_FtSw/s1600/NIC_1240.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text59:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text60:0">Women
go shopping with their buckets on their heads. They walk on the water,
carrying their purses, as any other urban woman
of any western city would do,</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text60:0"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text60:0"> along the streets. </span></span></span></span></span>It's inevitable to wonder why they
walk on the water and not along the shore. Maybe that's what these
images have to reveal about the bound existing between these people and
their lake.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCzTRma9oXI/VTk1CCG1CCI/AAAAAAAAG5A/9cI0PvuBEbU/s1600/NIC_1221.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCzTRma9oXI/VTk1CCG1CCI/AAAAAAAAG5A/9cI0PvuBEbU/s1600/NIC_1221.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text63:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text64:0">While
children practice to make a living out of fishing one day in the future and
some women go shopping around the lake, the men come back home with the outcome of a long night of work. It's 6:00am, the sun is already high
up in the sky and life thrives at the shore of the lake, in the hustle and bustle fashion of any other cosmopolitan city enter.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woBSJIvg3Bc/VTk2B06NozI/AAAAAAAAG5I/RFJjsSFByms/s1600/NIC_0643.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woBSJIvg3Bc/VTk2B06NozI/AAAAAAAAG5I/RFJjsSFByms/s1600/NIC_0643.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text67:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text68:0">Wooden
boats return overflowing with thousands of little fishes in them. The sale is carred out in a kind of public auction. Women are the ones coming from the villages to buy the merchandises. Every request is done yelling
and disputes for the products are all over the place.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0g1fXjfc26U/VTk2_2cxRXI/AAAAAAAAG5Q/cbFgcnqffNg/s1600/NIC_0505.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0g1fXjfc26U/VTk2_2cxRXI/AAAAAAAAG5Q/cbFgcnqffNg/s1600/NIC_0505.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text71:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text72:0">The
women fill all of their buckets. They will have to carry a heavy weight during the
rest of the morning, until they finally take the fish out to dry in the sun.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yk9dpXJ6OtY/VTk3BeTgbcI/AAAAAAAAG5Y/XB7sotw6pUw/s1600/NIC_0670.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yk9dpXJ6OtY/VTk3BeTgbcI/AAAAAAAAG5Y/XB7sotw6pUw/s1600/NIC_0670.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text75:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text76:0">During
the rest of the day, women will lay the fish over long wooden
tables that are set up on the beaches along the shore of the lake. Fish
will be uniformly distributed over the tables and left to dry during the
rest of the day and maybe several more before taken to the market stalls in the villages.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-02q8glX4MzE/VTk4aBMIwJI/AAAAAAAAG5o/Ysw30ne2ATM/s1600/NIC_0752.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-02q8glX4MzE/VTk4aBMIwJI/AAAAAAAAG5o/Ysw30ne2ATM/s1600/NIC_0752.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text79:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text80:0">Once again, they will carry the fish inside big baskets for the final
stretch to their homes, the town, the canteens. By the end of each day, when fishermen go
back to the lake, they will have earned a few more cents that will allow them to survive one more day. The job is hard, but the reward is poor and yet, Malawians never hesitate to offer big broad smiles.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7mvFxMIihs/VTk3_1fRBwI/AAAAAAAAG5g/_U8YAjLBHKE/s1600/NIC_0805.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7mvFxMIihs/VTk3_1fRBwI/AAAAAAAAG5g/_U8YAjLBHKE/s1600/NIC_0805.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text84:0">During
daytime the sun becomes impossible. At only 450 m high, it gets pretty hot on the lake and the tropical heat sets in with great determination. Now it's time for the cattle to go for a bath and for women to do the laundry.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WssPcQqsvUU/VTk6pTKmLbI/AAAAAAAAG50/d_rJrUYoQ84/s1600/NIC_0808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WssPcQqsvUU/VTk6pTKmLbI/AAAAAAAAG50/d_rJrUYoQ84/s1600/NIC_0808.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text88:0">When
days use to start at 4:00am it's essential to take a break and especially find
shelter from the sun which, past midday together with humidity, has the power to overwhelm and make the exhaustion impossible to fight. Women, the eternal
workers of Malawi, lay down in the shade underneath the tables in search of a
quick break from their long day. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C8liS9PEyxw/VTk7-HKB37I/AAAAAAAAG58/m3RMtWLC6qE/s1600/NIC_0793.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C8liS9PEyxw/VTk7-HKB37I/AAAAAAAAG58/m3RMtWLC6qE/s1600/NIC_0793.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text91:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text92:0">By the time a new day comes to an end and the landscape turns golden one more time,
hard work gives way to the tasks of daily life. The lake becomes the
great communal bathing room where people enjoy refreshing themselves in its warm waters. It doesn't need any adjustments: the temperature
is perfect. Everybody enjoys the lake and it seems to bring true joy to
its people.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg6h4UW4hKM/VTk9DCHWVKI/AAAAAAAAG6E/8E1M8cPO3Js/s1600/NIC_1053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg6h4UW4hKM/VTk9DCHWVKI/AAAAAAAAG6E/8E1M8cPO3Js/s1600/NIC_1053.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text96:0">Once
the bath is over, people return home under a blue and pink sky. They
return home to the village, to the mud and straw huts built on the
sand. People offer me peaceful smiles that fill my soul. They transmit
the calmness and serenity they carry inside, as if all they needed were their lake in order to have a happy life. It's quite hard to avoid romanticism when
you are presented with these idyllic images of lake </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text96:0"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text96:0">Malawi</span></span></span></span></span>, but the life here isn't certainly easy. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aio7NyDwULo/VTk-CVk-FhI/AAAAAAAAG6M/IhP9WzkXZZo/s1600/NIC_0925-Edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aio7NyDwULo/VTk-CVk-FhI/AAAAAAAAG6M/IhP9WzkXZZo/s1600/NIC_0925-Edit.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text99:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text100:0">All
along the shore and until the night finally sets in, the kids end the day playing
around as much as they can, as all kids should. Laughing like crazy, they
transmit joy with all their energy.</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text103:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text104:0">One
more day comes to an end. Just as in the rest of the black continent,
the nights in Malawi are black. There is no electricity, just the fire.
Like the Malawians do, I decide to go for my own walk on the water and I
start to understand what being absorbed by its magic feels like. This
lake has a charm that empowers you, it captivates you, it catches you, it
doesn't let you go. Days go by and the symbiosis between these people
and the lake seems clearer to me. As I walk on the lake, leisurely refreshing
myself in the warmth of the night, I count stars. The night is so dark
that I feel I can see them all. Now that the waves and ripples are gone, the lake becomes a
mirror once again and the horizon is now delineated by thousands of
little lights coming from the fishermen's oil lamps. For them, this night
will be one more working night spent at the lake's heart.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dfjji1f9eXY/VTlBNQQzRnI/AAAAAAAAG6g/O_duL3FKMSw/s1600/NIC_1186-Edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dfjji1f9eXY/VTlBNQQzRnI/AAAAAAAAG6g/O_duL3FKMSw/s1600/NIC_1186-Edit.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text108:0">Now
it's time for bed. Nothing compares to spending the night by this lake,
sleeping next to that person we choose for our life. We have spent
many unforgettable nights under the stars, in the jungle, in deserts, in
the bush, in the steppe, and now we are in lake Malawi. If it had been possible, I would have given Julia a thousands stars from that sky
for her company, for having become my right leg during this dream
adventure. However, because of those things that sometimes can't be explained and the mind's treacherous tricks, I started doing completely the
opposite, which lead me to a permanent state of regret throughout the coming months.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text111:0" /><i><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text112:0">Good bye, Malawi.</span></i><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text113:0" /><br data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text115:0" /><span data-reactid=".h7.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11437302750491=2033705b90fdc44ba68.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0.$end:0:$text116:0">Malawi,
with its beauty and simplicity, meant a change into a more relaxed pace of traveling. Malawi is the transition between the sometimes rough
east of Africa and the gentler south. Malawi forces you to
romanticize, it turns romantic to those who are not, for poetry is the only
way by which I could describe its beauty. The beauty of this lake is
poetic. The images of sunsets, sunrises and nights that have been recorded through my retina are those of serenity inspiring harmony. This
country might not offer the adrenaline that nourishes the adventurer,
but every adventurer needs quiet moments as well that may invite
reflection and that is what this small country of unmeasurable beauty has to
offer. I have fallen under the spell of its lake and, from Malawi on,
every time I need a break, Malawi will probably be one of the first places that will come to mind to escape the real world and plunge into a poetic one, where I can walk on water. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-79675822551523393982015-11-27T01:16:00.000+08:002015-11-27T08:37:46.345+08:00Redifining the Safari <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">Translation courtesy of María C<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">onztanza Beat<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">í</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wh<span style="font-size: small;">en we think about Tanzania, first thing that comes to mind are the wild animal poetic pictures walking through the immense Serengueti sa<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">v</span>annah during the anual migrations, the snowy top of the ever omnipresent Kilimanjaro and the idyllic Zanzíbar beaches, sightseeing touristy places that are located in the east part of this country. But nevertheless, we rarely hear stories from the tanzanian west, where unpopulated places extend hundreds of kilometers, the only ones inhabitants of the bush and the virgin coast of Tanganyka lake, are the wild animals and people from the tribes away from every contact with the masses of tourists. It doesn<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'t</span> matter how beautiful <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the photos of the east are</span>, some of them photographed ad nauseum, it is th<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">is stretch of</span> 1000 km of inhospitable<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>wilderness that extend from the Burundi border to the Malawi border, that captivate<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s me the most and that's where we he<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ad to.</span></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Upon entering this remote region of Tanzania the biggest relief is to feel the sensation of open space. Tanzania is not only 25 times the size of Rwanda and Burundi and an infinitely less dense poblation, but the people here don't suffocate us, quite the opposite, they are very relaxed, respectful and nice. Howerer, the biggest (and marvelous) contrast is that the eternal echo that accompanied us through the last three countries wherever we were <i>"mzungu, give me money"</i> repeated over and over again evertime we passed with the bike, was finally over.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Wild adventures</i><br />Two days of rest at the Kasane church, where my Iron Maiden had to recover from a virulent bacterial infection that left her face with just one eye, as though she had just come from a fight with Mike Tyson, and we finally started the inhospitable adventure of crossing the tanzanian west. A road that from the very begining offers adventures, and that is what this is all about, because adventures are what we live for. As soon as we left Uvinza village, we found a big river where a huge group of hippos were soaking. My first reaction wasn't surprise, but to think twice before taking a bath in the rivers of this part of Africa (a thing that I have already done several times). For those of us who grew up in a cosmopolitan city, to meet a hippo isn't an everyday thing , it is something magical, to stay hours watching with the fascination of a kid, and this way, like two kids, we approached the shore to stay just a few meters from them, enjoying in person the sort of images that one just can see on tv documentaries. You have to be there my Friends, to watch them, enjoy them, hear them roar and feel how your body vibrate with such a meeting.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After crossing the river, a dusty road painted red runs right through a thick green bush under a burning sun. Gerard, the only cyclist of the few I met who passed by here, without avoiding this long route taking the ferry across Tanganyka lake, advised me about long distances without access to water or food, and he also told me that progress was really slow. It didn't take long to confirm the precision of his words. Hours and days pass by and we continued moving along completely alone across a road in wich objectively speaking, there's nothing to see an no one to talk to. But there hasn't got to be something to see necessarily , because the experience of the adventure stimulate the senses and moves you forward.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once again, the most invaluable flavor of being in the middle of nowhere takes over me, together with Julia, making this team of two intrepid travelers nothing can stop. But it is important to debunk the image of an adventure too, it is not all about fighting against the adversity on the difficult roads; together with the adversity one can also have fun, because in these endless roads hours are long and you need to find ways to break everyday's monotony, killing time mitigating the roughness. Because of this, and because there's absolutely no one here, it occurred to me to see how long I could pedal as I never had before, naked. Call it Murphy's law, that one of the two vehicles that we saw in a whole day, passed by at the right moment when I was ciclying naked across the bush!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I decided to go back to my clothes quickly, but not as much because of declaring my defeat as for not wanting to let the burning sun leave me completely pink like a shrimp, while I stubbornly kept trying to succeed with it. It would be a failure anyway, because after a while we were going to find out that we weren't really alone. The Sukuma, an ancestral tribe that inhabits the solitary Tanzanian northwest, appeared in our way, and I wouldn't like them to think that in the tribe that I come from we are used to cycle naked (although, to be honest, it is better to let them think that we do this harmless kind of things than the horrible evil things that we do instead). To set my best example, I leave the bicycle on the road and I start walking with them while they herd their cattle across the bush. I smile while we move till the leader stops and offers me an intense look, those ones you never forget.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After a while, when they return to their way, I go back to pick up my bicycle, but when we caught up with them we get stuck in the traffic generated by their oxen. Sukumas, like almost all the tribes that still survive in Africa, are shepherds who live off the animal husbandry. With them, their most valuable possession, they travel trough tens of kilometers everyday to take them through the pastures to reach the wells. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For many days we cycle across the red road of the bush, finding every more Sukuma shepherds every once in a while. It wouldn't be such a difficult road if it werent because there is absolutely nothing on it, and being the end of the dry season it becomes worse because of the lack of water, which we have to carry in bottles, with all the extra weight that it implies. But these are quiet days, and even though they are very long, we enjoy them despite all the dust accumulated on us; and if there's something that was clear from the begining is that even if there were a river, it wouldn't be wise to take a bath in it. The beautifull thing about the bush is that it doesn't matter how warm it is during the day, when the sun sets, when the last rays filter through the trees, plants make their magic and release a freshness that allows one to sleep pleasurably.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Tse Tse hell is coming</i><br /><br />Finally, after a few days of empty bush and little fauna we arrived to Sitalike, the expected turning point between adventure and adrenaline, at the doors of Katavi National Park, the third largest in Tanzania after Serengueti and Ngorongoro crater, with one of the highest densities of wild animals and the fewest tourists, if any at all. The teacher of the town invited us to camp at his courtyard and to have dinner with his family. There, he explained us how to avoid the rangers' control point to be able to ride across the park, because if we come across them on the way, they wouldn't allow us to do it. He also advised us about lions, elephants and all the beasts that inhabit there, but he also motivated us to not to worry if we were going to be able to ride across all of the 71 km of the park while animals aren't at their chasing-prey time of the day. What he forgot to mention is the presence of one of the worst vermin that lives there, the diabolic tse tse fly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At 7 am we departed from Sitalike following the way indicated by the teacher and we successfully entered the park without running into the guards. It's a road made of pieces of rocks, rubbles and a lor of dust that doesn't allows you to go fast; now, there's nothing or no one else other than all the beasts that we know that live there and with whom we can come across by surprise at any time. But to our surprise, what appears after 10 km inside the park is something that I suspect is much worse than a pack of hungry lions; swarms of thousands, maybe tens or hundreds of thousands of tse tse flies. This filthy little mosnters turned our journey into one of the most miserable experience of our lives. Tse tse flies are huge gray flies that grab on to your skin and bite you like Drácula. It seems to have very little to with what we know as flies. Unlike the coward every day fly who flies away as soon as you move your hand, you have to rake these monsters off your skin with your nails to detach them or to pop them hard many consecutive times till they explode, otherwise they won't leave. Their bite hurts and there's not one of them but hundreds on your body.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is how we traveled the first 42 kilometers of the park where we didn't do aything else other than suffering thousands of these flies, literally, clasped to every single exposed part of our body or biting all our backs drilling through our T-shirts. At 35C we were fully dressed with winter clothes just to avoid being devoured. Even so, I could see my hands black covered with flies, getting inside my pants till finding the ankles and feeling the bites through the clothes. Wearing a mosquito net on my head, at times I couldn't even see what was in front of me due to the fact that they were covering it. On the other hand, Julia wrapped her hair all around her face and neck making a mask. The constants bites forced us to alternate the handlebar control using one hand to handle it and the other one to kill flies on the hand that was supporting it. As if that were not enough, in the middle of this hell, it happens what rarely ever happens, I got a flat tire!!! I think I never patched a flat so fast as that day, record time, while Julia was slapping once and again over me to kill the flies that were eating me alive while I was reparing it. That way we got into the heart of the park, desperate, at the edge of psychosis, when suddenly they dissapeared magically, and right there, big animals appeared.<br /><br /><i>A reprimand to remember</i><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Soon after arriving at the heart of the park, we are surrounded by bush, dry, rough, inhospitable and apparently empty. It is incredible to think that this whole space around us is full of those animals we use to watch on tv devouring each other. Having this present in our heads keep us alert of our surrounding area, not so much for fear, animals don't hunt during the day (we hope) but by the eagerness to see these beasts in first person. Everything is quiet, untill when crossing a swamp we heard a loud roar that leads us to look inmediatly to the side. There, under a thick paste of mud, tens of hipos and cocodriles are suffering the last heat of the dry season and I suspect that they scream calling the rain, that should arrive at any time this month, returning their will to live. Once again, we stayed like children appreciating these beasts right in front of us.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The hard part came later, when we caught sight of a pick up truck coming in opposite direction at full speed until it stopped right in front of us. Two rangers armed with machine guns get off and stopped us. They were angry but very respectfully yet severly they called:<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- What are you two doing here on bicycles? You can't be here, it is prohibited! <br />-mmmm we had no idea at all (we lie), we just followed the way to the south, there weren't signs (true) or anything so we kept moving forward- we answered playing our best innocent faces<br />- But you know that here, all around us, just a few meters away, this is full of lions, elephants and buffaloes?- pointing out with his walkie talkies antena around him.<br />- Well yes, we supposed it, but during day, they don't attack right? do they?- I answer<br />- That doesn't matter. When you have a lion in front of you, you don't decide if you live or not- he tells me glaring at me.<br />- But it is midday, they are sleeping now, they don't eat, do they?- I insist cordially perhaps trying to prove him that we weren't there out of stupidity but we were informed</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- How many people has died eaten by lions or crushed by elephants here? - I asked<br />- mmm... well, no, nobody. - he replies unconfortably<br />- Ahhhhh you see? It is not as dangerous!- and I laugh<br />- mmm well... mmm no emmm... - I stole a smile out of him and I could see he was a bit embarrassed, but then he recomposes himself and declares - It is dangerous! there are a lot of wild animals and you never know, they are unpredictable.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We spent 20 minutes waiting for his boss' orders to come by radio. In the meanwhile we talk about life, about our trip, about their experiencies with animals, we all became friends and in a moment of silence, one of them tells us: -have you ever seen a giraffe? - No- we answer- well, look behind you. And there it was, slender like a tower, a giraffe. Crossing slowly the road while little Julia and little Nico were peeing themselves out of happiness and the guards softened in front of our image.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The orders finally arrive, they ask us how long it will take us to complete the last 28 km till we can get out of the park and after we tell them it wouldn't be much, they autorize us to continue, but advise us to go as fast as we can, without stopping and get to the gate before 4 pm, the time when herds of elephants cross the road to get to the river, when meeting could be lethal. We nod and we obey with the same diligence of two children that have just been reprimanded by their teachers, and off we go on the way to the exit gate, but soon after we started to feel hungry and we stopped to eat in the middle of the way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Foolish and disobedient children we are, we spent 40 minutes in the bush waiting to see more animals while we were having lunch. We didn't see any other animals, but soon after we started to pedal, we were treading on fresh lions tracks. Now, we'd better get out of here, because we are going slower that we thought and by sunset it is better not to meet the cats. Safe and sound, we completed the 71 km of the park by bicycle, before 5 pm, and finding civilization again made us feel relief and happiness. The price of a decent safari, nowadays can cost around 300 usd per person per day. We spent 0 (zero) usd per person, per day. Thereafter we returned to the monumental campings in the middle of the bush, where during the night they show my favorite show on tv: millions and millions of stars</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="es-ES"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_3591" style="font-family: "comic sans ms";"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_3561" style="color: #0000bf;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_14987" style="color: black;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_14986" style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_14985" style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_14984" style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span id="yiv6968473852yui_3_16_0_1_1448033950993_14983" style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">The
days <span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">are still</span> hard after the park, with long sections without people
and a significant headwind. To make it<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> even</span> more difficult, the villages are
so poor, all they have to eat is ugali (a dough made of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">maize</span>) and
tasteless beans. Generally speaking, monotonous and repetitive food is not a problem <span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">for</span> me when <span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">as long as it is</span> ab<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">undan</span>t food, but here, I really suffered it. The only
thing that compensated for the monotony of the food and the boring<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> road</span>, were the
sunset and the beautiful nights. Reaching the end of the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> day in</span> the bush
with more Sukuma<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> around</span>, i<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">t is</span> a marvelous experience, especially
when some of them are stroll<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">ing along with</span> their cattle while playing the flute, filling
the space with pure magic and sounds that I will never <span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">forget.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The problem of having this kind of experiencies is that after them, everything gets boring, like almost the whole way after Sumbawamba. It's not just boring because there was nothing else to see and the road wasn't nice, but in the last 100 km of asphalt from the Zambian border till Mbeya we experienced real fear. Everyone in Africa asks us if we are not afraid of the wild animals while cycling. After this 100 km I answer that in Africa (Tanzania in this case), the real wild animals are the tanzanians behind the steering wheel, and I would hands down choose a savannah full of lions over any asphalted road of this country where what it is celebrated is murder on wheels. It's frightening, 100 km fearing to die, as simple as that, I arrived to Mbeya with my neck stiff out of sheer fear.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">35 days have passed since we left Kampala, only taking 3 days to rest. We arrived at Mbeya after crossing the bush, the savannah, tea plantations, climbing more mountains than I could remember, incedible and wild lakes, living with tribes, facing the beasts and a lot more. At this moment, bliss was such that I felt that Julia an I were unbeatable. Josefina, one of her sisters, was waiting for us in Mbeya to join us for a while. If I had only been able to foresee the unexpected personal effect that this visit was going to have on me, I would have prefered to stayed in the middle of Katavi for a week in order to never arrive at Mbeya. </span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-59526096246231415002015-11-20T09:17:00.001+08:002015-11-20T09:19:33.177+08:00If you want money, you ask for it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Translation courtesy of Mica Pecker</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes, massive human tragedies such as genocides need to happen in some countries, which are unimportant (and sometimes completely unknown) for most people in the world, to be recognized in the map of humanity. Such is the case of Rwanda which, after suffering a brutal genocide in 1994, will remain in the memory of history forever. However, in some other cases, no matter how much suffering people have to endure, they don’t have the privilege of being acknowledged by a world that essentially ignores them and does not care. Such is the situation of Rwanda’s neighbour: Burundi. Burundi has had its own genocide, also between Hutus and Tutsis, followed by decades of civil war, hunger and poverty. However, those who have found out are very few. The most frequent question I receive when I pronounce “Burundi” is: “and what is that?” . We enter the forgotten country after leaving Rwanda.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Burundi’s poverty becomes evident at the very same border checkpoint where a smiling officer manually registers our entrance into the country in a little brick house with no light nor doors with an inkless pen and a wrinkled notebook to which, I suspect, no one pays any attention. For 40 ridiculous dollars we got a 3-day transit permit to cross the entire country, but he cunningly advises us to offer, in the case of needing more than 3 days, 5 dollars to the officer at the exit border post, so we won’t have any problems getting out. Nevertheless, if it depended on him, he wouldn’t ask for anything he assures us. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Burundi is such a small country that its entire territory has the same size of the black circle with which the big countries’ capitals are marked in maps. It is so economically poor that the whole concept I have of poverty is redefined. As I slowly pedal all the way up the first ascent I stop whining when I see a barefoot man drowned in his own tropical sweat pushing his bike loaded with firewood. He seems to be disintegrating in the heat when he stops and tries to catch his breath, he smiles at me before asking for some money to buy something to eat. I think about all those times when people from “my world”, the world where abundance is taken for granted, get surprised by the tough things I do, but for me, this is clearly a choice, a game. For Benoit, carrying firewood on his bike several times a day thickening the skin on his feet with the rough dirt roads and swelling his muscles up, it is everyday life. What I do is not tough at all. </span></span><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-GB"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Further ahead, women carry their shovels on their way to the land they work with their own hands, as most women in Sub- Saharan Africa who always get the toughest part of the job. Intrigued, they stop to look at me, but they find it hard to smile: traces of a long-suffering past and present won’t leave them. They ask for money before I continue my way. A bit later, a pleasant chubby woman walking with her son by the side of the road smiles at me and asks for money when I get near her. Rwanda’s thousand hills don’t finish in Burundi and our slow pace puts us face to face with people all along the way to Bujumbura.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Food availability is scarcer than ever and it consists of nothing more than just the mixture of flour and water that everyone in Africa eats in order to fill up the stomach and kill the feeling of hunger, but it is not really nourishing. Here, in Burundi, the mixture is not made with cornmeal like the Kenyan Ugali but with manioc instead, and the men who grind it, work dressed in white, dreaming that maybe one day they’ll be as rich as they imagine all whites are. You can barely breathe in the room, but they invite me to witness the process and after the visit, they ask for money to go for a drink before I leave.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are no motorized taxis in Burundi, but there are cyclists who fulfil the same role. There are dozens of them waiting by the side of the villages’ roads to carry people in their back seats, passengers who, for a couple of cents, avoid the long walk downhill. There are no flat stretches in Northern Burundi; therefore, taxis only go downhill. These strong young riders make this trip so many times a day that, if they had to pedal all the way uphill, it would be physically impossible and economically nonsense. That’s the reason why they risk their lives by getting into the frantically-driven and most likely without brakes vans, that go up to different villages in order to pick new passengers up. I feel that the feeling of adrenaline I get by doing what I do is less than the one that generates the mere watching of these kids (sometimes even two or three!) hanging from the vehicles sitting on the frame of their old rusty bicycles, while grabbing the handlebar with only one hand. On the other hand, when they pedal right next to us, they ask us for money.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If Rwandan people don’t really know the concept of “personal space”, here in Burundi it’s even worse. In every town where we stop, people surround us until we feel we are suffocating among them and they will not let us move. When we try to leave, they have a hard time understanding that they have to move and if we stay still, they would all stay next to us staring at us as if we were extraterestrial creatures. It is clear that people here are kind, curious and that they don’t have bad intentions. They are so incredibly surprised by a reality that is so different to theirs’ that they find it baffling. While they thoroughly examine us, they all find an opportunity to shyly ask for money.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bujumbura’s exit leads us to the shores of the next huge African lake. We visit one of the most beautiful lakes I’ve ever seen: Lake Tanganyika which, with its crystal clear turquoise water and a length of 400 miles, stretching along four different countries due to its size. We continue our way to the Tanzanian boder, passing by little fishermen’s towns where kids chase after us laughing and surrounding us as soon as we stop. They are really nice, but also very persistent and every single one of them asks for money. To stop and appreciate the beauty of the lake becomes incredibly hard since it’s impossible to be alone and quiet for more than four seconds, plus it’s a stormy day which also steals away a little of its magnificence. However, there’s not much we can do: we only have half a day to finish crossing the whole country with the transit visa so we can’t stay longer.</span></span><br />
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in towns and villages is precarious, but only up to a point. Despite their
scarcity of resources, Burundians have learned to create their own art to embellish
the poverty that hides behind the walls. Stores are decorated with a
kind of paintings I had never seen before. Kitsch but funny and
joyful paintings, are used to define the nature of the store.
Three-dimensional illusion technique used during Renaissance has not
yet arrived in Burundi.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It took us four days to finally get to the Tanzanian border. Having an expired visa, we were ready to pay a fine or a bribe (to which I would flatly refuse), but no one noticed in the border crossing and they stamped our passports with a smile. We have to go over another 11 miles through a savage unpaved road that runs on top of the mountains with intense red soil until we get to the Tanzanian border post. It is surprising to see that this no man's land is actually full of small villages and people coming and going to their fields. Luckily, no one here seems to care much about us. We are in the middle of rural Africa where, at the end of the day, women go back home with bags on their heads, wrapped in colourful dresses that contrast with the green mountains. They softly walk barefoot dyeing the soles of their feet red. This is the slow pace of Africa that fascinates me and, luckily, no one cuts off the reigning peace by asking us for money; instead they smile as the sun sets in the lake behind them<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Goodbye Burundi</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i><br />The day comes to an end and before reaching the border, we say farewell under the light of a dazzling sunset over Lake Tanganyika, the kind you never forget. It might be necessary to spend more time in Burundi to fully understand it, 4 days are certainly not enough to assess a country, but the havoc of the economic need and the result of decades of civil war and massacres don’t make Burundi a country easy to travel to. Just as everywhere else in Africa, being white is a synonym of being a millionaire, no matter how muddy and filthy you are in your gypsy bicycle. Colour defines you as an almighty rich person in these people’s minds. It’s not hard to notice that there has been and still is a lot of suffering going on here and when they see a white person they ask him for money because his is obviously rich (which we are indeed compared to them). If he is then, he must have some spare money so he comes to Africa to give the money away (as many Western NGOs do). As a consequence, it is very hard to establish a real bond with local people because, in almost all cases, they will look for a way to get us to give them money and this works as an internal barrier for that disrupts the natural flow of events that lead to the links I usually like to establish with local people. Giving them money is not the solution to anything, if anything, it just aggravates a problem that is already serious enough. In spite of everything, Burundians are very nice, kind and honest; they have not tried to con us with higher prices just for being white, as it is usual in so many other countries in the area. This is a lot to say, taking into account that this is a place where scarcity defines life itself and hunger is a constant feeling that cannot be soothed every day. With the nice memory of these simple smiles in a country full of sorrow, I leave Burundi. </span></span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-42553328794951336662015-11-20T07:53:00.004+08:002015-11-20T07:58:34.538+08:00The land of a thousand ways of suffering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Translation courte<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sy of Dario <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fioravanti</span></span></i></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was the year 1994 and I was 16, when a remote African country virtually unknown to South Americans suddenly echoed in the news. I must say that almost nothing is published about Africa in my country, so I barely remember that moment, but what I do remember is that it was a new tragic story coming from the black continent (after all, bad news is all we hear from Africa). What I did not know until much later in my life was the magnitude of the tragedy that was taking place in Rwanda in those days, which made it unavoidable to get to this tiny country with a picture of deep grief.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Kagame Paul ! </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After having the passport stamped, it won’t take more than riding a few meters by bicycle to understand why Rwanda is known as "The land of a thousand hills", since that’s all there is in Rwanda, an endless succession of hills in every corner of the country. But what is almost imperceptible is the fact that here, 20 years ago, an outbreak of widespread human dementia led the Hutus, an ethnic group, to systematically exterminate the Tutsis, their enemy ethnic group. The result was that in less than 4 months, 1 million people (approximately), of which 800,000 were Tutsis, were massacred in cold blood using mostly machetes. In those days, according to survivors (only those who dare to speak), the bodies piled up in the streets, roads, fields, and the smell of death corroded the lungs. Perhaps the most tragic fact of the Rwandan genocide was that there was no army involved, but it was the very same people, ordinary men and women of all ages pushed by hate speeches of a handful of evil people, who carried out the massacre. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As usual in most of African tragedies, the so venerable European nations (in this case Belgium and France) had a major responsibility for this genocide. In the first place Belgium, which during its colonial rule and using the war technique of "divide and conquer" to exacerbate hatred between the two ethnic groups, gave power to the Tutsi minority to subdue the Hutu majority. As a result, Belgium would subdue both under its control. Then France armed the Hutus, once in power, so they would have the necessary means to carry out the Tutsis genocide. And finally, when the situation was completely out of control, everybody (including all European nations and rich countries) were responsible for looking the other way when it was clear enough that an intervention was necessary. It took four months and a million deaths until they stopped ignoring this situation.</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But all of this seems to be hidden today. Except for the simple memorials, present in almost every village of the country, nothing seems to reflect what has happened here. Instead, what you see is a thriving, vibrant country, with people going back and forth to work, to study. Due to its economic boom, several international media define it as Africa’s great revelation. The villages next to the main routes are neat, tidy and everything seems to be going well, at least on the surface. However, as days pass, each town we go we find more and more difficulties. People seem to be afraid to receive us, not fear of us but to government control. Absolutely everything going on in a city, town or village must be reported to authorities. This is the Rwanda that lies beneath the huge "boom" that many flatter, the police state of Paul Kagame, its president.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During our stay in Rwanda, we couldn’t talk so much to the local people, since they are afraid to talk. All guests must be reported to the authorities. If a police officer or government employee meet new people in a town without previous notice, local people will be severely punished. As foreigners, Rwandan people have nearly always welcomed us very well, but then we run into Kagame's police state that prevents its people to be hospitable. People are afraid not to report us to authorities, and once they do it, authorities forbid them to help us. Priests are forbidden to let us sleep in the church, village chiefs are forbidden to give us a bed in their homes, and local people are forbidden to let us camp. People want to help us, but the government forbids so in the name of our security. This makes the experience of cycling in Rwanda very inconvenient, since when night comes, it’s really difficult to find a place to sleep given that Kagame’s police state controls it all.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You can stay in hotels, sure, but this is not what we look for, and, besides this, there are no hotels in the remote roads we ride. As if that was not enough, the western guilt after the genocide was so huge that they inserted millions of dollars in aid and thousands of NGOs invaded their land to clear their faults. The result was an inflation that brought ridiculous prices for everything. Rwanda is one of the most expensive countries in the region; hotel rooms have Western prices, local food is 3 or 4 times more expensive than in neighboring countries, and even Church leaders prefer to put the profitable business of their inns ahead of the hospitality that we were getting from all priests in the countries we visited before. This is something I see over and over again as I move through the continent, i.e. I see how the West, and by West I mean rich countries, continue to fuck up Africa.</span></span></div>
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</span>Locals fear to speak, the introversion they developed due to their fear and traumas of the recent past, it all conspired to prevent us from getting in touch with them and learn about Rwanda through Rwandans. Thousands of kilometers ahead further south had to pass until I met Father X in another country. Father X asked not to reveal his name or place of residence product of the fear they have of Kagame's government reprisal. Father X, a Hutu that during genocide risked his life to save hundreds of Tutsis and moderate Hutus hiding and protecting them in his church, ran away from Rwanda after being chased by Kagame’s government. He explains how Kagame (Tutsi) keeps purging Hutus disguising his argument under “equality”, reflected on the phrase we heard from all Rwandans almost like a motto: “Now we are a single Rwanda” making reference to the overcome of the conflict between Hutus and Tutsis. People say this over and over product of their fear and not because they mean it nor believe it, Father X says: -“we won’t solve our issues by denying our identity, but rather respecting each other as human beings independently of the tribe we belong, but Kagame doesn’t support that”. Kagame and his government punish with prison anyone who mentions their ethnic group labeling them as having genocide mentality, but the real intention of this is just to keep hunting Hutus as they come out. Government still rules with an iron hand, they don’t tolerate dissidents and they keep pursuing and murdering Hutus across the lake Kivu in D.R. Congo, where Kagame controls diamond extractions and other valuable natural resources with which he enriches himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A challenging experience </i><br />It’s hard to believe that such a small country could have so many deep and serious issues but somehow they still manage to make it. Cycling through Rwanda isn’t easy. From a geographical point of view, it’s exhausting. Flat ground isn’t certainly a thing here but perhaps the toughest part is dealing with Rwandan’s extreme curiosity. It’s true that the concept of western privacy doesn’t apply to a bunch of countries, mainly in Africa, but in Rwanda there’s not even the concept of personal space. As soon as you stop the bike, you get surrounded by dozens of people, mainly kids, and by surrounded I don’t mean the usual approach, I mean sitting to gaze a landscape and after 5 seconds having 25 kids standing right at your face, scrutinizing you with an intensity similar to someone trying to pick lice from your hair. There’s no way to deal with this, it doesn’t matter how you beg over and over to get some space, they won’t go away until you get on your bike and move on, and then the same scenario repeats all over again at the next stop. At the end of the day, exhausted after endless hills, to find a quiet space to have some rest is not easy but rather impossible. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Rwandans are not as evil as Ethiopians, but constantly asking for money is turning into a habit at a speed rate that it’s getting closer and closer to them. Generally, they are simple and pacific people. In fact, I was amazed by the fact that they can play around and smile after the dark past that has left countless orphans and a trauma for all their people. It’s shocking asking people their age, mainly to those who were born around the genocide, and see how they are just guessing their estimated age. There are not such things as records, and that makes countless orphans not knowing where they were born or when. Those are the dimensions of the genocide.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5vqefSIRkkI/VSmcRiNEkOI/AAAAAAAAGxo/bEDIhaNBmZc/s1600/NIC_9546.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jgRDYgCsPwo/VSmcd6aEO4I/AAAAAAAAGxw/H7qUJ0N0oxs/s1600/Rwanpano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jgRDYgCsPwo/VSmcd6aEO4I/AAAAAAAAGxw/H7qUJ0N0oxs/s1600/Rwanpano.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When people don’t get suffocating, it’s possible to find comforting places to stare for hours at their so famous mellow hills, most of them with terraces bordering perfection. Tea plantations on the stone trails bordering the magnificent lake Kivu, with outstanding views of D.R.Congo turned out to be the most beautiful I have ever seen among tea producing countries, including Sri Lanka. You can easily get lost there going from one quiet small village to another, enjoying possibly some of the best landscape on this side of the continent. Not all people turn out to be suffocating, and keeping in mind all the suffering they’ve been through, it’s remarkable to find village kids that are so happy to sing a song and dance around.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQK08DlHSoI/VSmf_hcfniI/AAAAAAAAGyE/9u1OF61qh6E/s1600/NIC_9651.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQK08DlHSoI/VSmf_hcfniI/AAAAAAAAGyE/9u1OF61qh6E/s1600/NIC_9651.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Those are the pictures I took from Rwanda, a country of experts
on what we all try to avoid the most: the suffering and the pain.
It’s hard to imagine how it’d be ever possible to move on after
such an enormous tragedy, but in Rwanda you can get a picture of
that, and actually see that you can raise from ashes and that life
goes on, even after being through the darkest black hole you can
imagine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>It took us 7 days to make it through a
country that could be done in two only if it were flat. It’s been
exhaustive from both points of view, geographical and human, but
honestly, what made me feel I definitely wanted to leave Rwanda were
the countless obstacles from the government forcing their people to deny us help. On the other hand, in several occasions I had to
remember myself the extreme pain they’ve been through to control
the frustration I felt when people became so annoying. However, now
that I look back, I just see people being people, the result of
issues so dark that only Rwandans and no one else could ever
understand. I’ll always remember Rwanda with a melancholic tone,
for being such a beautiful country in which their people have been
punished so badly by some God, karma, destiny, obscurity, or by all
of them at the same time, which will make me remember it as the
country of a thousand hills and also a thousand ways of suffering.</span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-601281843769299702015-11-20T00:21:00.000+08:002015-11-20T08:18:24.596+08:00Land of volcanoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNP6WiRE368/VRDtihLYjSI/AAAAAAAAGvA/B0U5hCDqY2c/s1600/NIC_9354.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNP6WiRE368/VRDtihLYjSI/AAAAAAAAGvA/B0U5hCDqY2c/s1600/NIC_9354.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Translation courtesy of Carolina Ghiggino </span></i><br /> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It
always surprises me how fast the road can change. After the three days
it took me to cross Park Queen Elizabeth through the savannah, followed by the
forest along its beautiful loneliness surrounded by animals, we arrived
finally to a remote village where the simplicity of the plain road
turned suddenly into a hell of slippery slopes. We would start the
arduous way to the remote region of Virungas, the mysterious place where
Diane Fossey, the famous American zoologist, spent 18 years studying
and protecting the gorillas at the mountains. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It
happens almost unnoticed that, after 300 km of valleys, we are again at
the foot of the mountains. We are <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">i<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n</span></span> a remote region at the southwest
of Uganda, cycling along dirt roads that do no appear in maps, crossing
rural villages where electricity is an exception, the land is worked by
hand and women still do the hardest tasks while men chat under the trees
waiting for a job to come from heaven. From picking up <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tree branches</span> for the
fire or for repairing their huts, to carry heavy buckets of water, or to
cultivate the land, in addition of being mothers of several children, all those are
activities usually performed by<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the resilient</span> Sub-Saharan women. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-btmBthkdVnk/VRCHck3DmlI/AAAAAAAAGuA/SPsrKSsu7bQ/s1600/NIC_9069.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-btmBthkdVnk/VRCHck3DmlI/AAAAAAAAGuA/SPsrKSsu7bQ/s1600/NIC_9069.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
rainy season arrives and at every village we visit people warn us that
the road will be like a hell of mud. Some bring news about mud arriving
to the knees and trucks being st<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">uck</span>, but for us there is no other option,
there is only one road to the Lake Bunyoni and there we´ll go. The mud
is everywhere but, fortunately, not deep. Even when we can continue
bicycling, the slopes become more and more difficult and the
concentration to keep the equilibrium and avoid falling is high. My
loyal <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Iron M<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">aiden</span></span> has definitely dominated the art of the mud and advance
like a legionnaire. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cURJ5wFUAjI/VRCJlNrB9VI/AAAAAAAAGuM/A7hE8mNpNh0/s1600/NIC_9073.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cURJ5wFUAjI/VRCJlNrB9VI/AAAAAAAAGuM/A7hE8mNpNh0/s1600/NIC_9073.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On
the contrary, my bicycle is so heavy that I have to push it from time
to time through the slippery road, becoming almost a juggler in order
not to fall. I think I am giving Julia the image of a cartoon, sliding
without moving the bicycle. We make no more than 50km per day, the hills
become incredibly long and hard, with overwhelming slopes and liquid
mud that <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">splats</span> all <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">over</span> the body. The problems with the mud are
several. First of all, it blocks the wheels and makes them heavier.
Secondly, it erodes the breaks. And finally, once it gets dry becomes
like a stone, making difficult to take it out and messing up the shifting.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VAfuvUb3v6g/VRCLOLOPgUI/AAAAAAAAGuY/KSBa2tGXkdk/s1600/NIC_9115.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VAfuvUb3v6g/VRCLOLOPgUI/AAAAAAAAGuY/KSBa2tGXkdk/s1600/NIC_9115.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />We
are surrounded by green mountains with hundreds of little villages we
can see from the distance. Life is reduced to the essential, the kids
roll down with their wooden bikes, others make trucks from wires and
many more are lonely just running after an old bicycle tire that they
keep <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">spinning</span> with a stick. This is probably the most usual way of playing
for the kids in Africa, you can see it once and again in every town or
village. They have a lot of fun out of it. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_3dRPIEtJY/VRDtu9tXT8I/AAAAAAAAGvI/gzrZfQKRa1I/s1600/NIC_9142.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_3dRPIEtJY/VRDtu9tXT8I/AAAAAAAAGvI/gzrZfQKRa1I/s1600/NIC_9142.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once
the hell of mud is behind, we are high in the mountains. I didn´t know
we would have to reach such a height in these hills. Without notice it
we were 2.400 m<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> above the sea level</span>, where the landscape was breathtaking.
We live to experience those moments, where the efforts bring the best
sightseeing as a reward. This is the deep Africa, far from civilization
as we know it, with its simple lifestyle and big smiles. To make a stop
with these views worth to drive along the mud, because the road tires
the body but the landscapes bring peace to mind and soul.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XLgEfn87k18/VQhEnml5B9I/AAAAAAAAGqo/KNknC2UHNJ0/s1600/NIC_9258.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XLgEfn87k18/VQhEnml5B9I/AAAAAAAAGqo/KNknC2UHNJ0/s1600/NIC_9258.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Among
the difficulties of the road and the sublime beauty of the landscape
around us, the day goes by having driven half of the average kilometers
we usually make. The night in the middle of the road is more an
inconvenient than a problem. There is no place to camp in these fanciful
mountains, but there are always people at the villages waiting for us
with open arms. Dennis, a rural teacher who found us arriving at his
town in the most absolute darkness, invited us to sleep at the local church. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">While
his lovely wife cooked piles of food for us, Dennis narrated the same
story that other teachers had told us, that it was 8 moths since the
government started paying them half of their salary, under the excuse of
administrative problems. Many teachers weren’t receiving any money at
all and they were aware that they would never be compensated once the
problem was solved. We weren’t as surprised by the injustice suffered by
them but by the big smile of Dennis while he told us the story. The
capacity Africans have of laughing at the adversity and continue with
their lives heroically, unheard for us, was a characteristic that would
repeat once and again all the rest of my trip along this continent; a
lesson of life. After the story, the meal arrived and we enjoyed of a
beautiful night in family illuminated by the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">parafin</span> lamp.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gjvMOlRn3Wo/VRDt3SLgTWI/AAAAAAAAGvY/OYV7m1Kaky4/s1600/NIC_9197.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gjvMOlRn3Wo/VRDt3SLgTWI/AAAAAAAAGvY/OYV7m1Kaky4/s1600/NIC_9197.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It
took us about 5 days to arrive to the northwest <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">end</span> of Lake
Bunyoni, where we found asphalt roads again after fighting with the endless ups and
downs along the mud. After many days of physical challenges, the
softness of the asphalt was welcome, at least for a while, to give the
butt <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">some re<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">st</span></span> and compensate for the few kilometers we advanced in the
difficult roads. But, how hard can that be when you are with the
Virungas<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> in</span> the horizon, with dozens of women going up and down with 40
kg of potatoes on top of their heads? As usual, the image of women working hard
while men are scratching their balls over boxes of wine, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">get on</span> my
nerves. We should applaud African women for what they heroically
tolerate. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S0PenGfLd_g/VRDt1bDlevI/AAAAAAAAGvQ/wQKlq1QkyNE/s1600/NIC_9341.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S0PenGfLd_g/VRDt1bDlevI/AAAAAAAAGvQ/wQKlq1QkyNE/s1600/NIC_9341.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
have only 25 km to Kisoro, where we found some of the most stunning
views of the Virungas <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">in</span> the stormy horizon, with clouds covering and
uncovering them. High in the mountains, before riding down to Kisoro,
dozens of children come down from the villages to the main road
searching for fun. As in the rest of Africa, there are many kids, maybe
too many; brought to this world irresponsibly, with nothing to do,
little to wear and to eat, victims of the ignorance that seems to be
never-ending in these places. But here they are good an innocent, they
laugh at us, they don’t attack us, they don’t bother us, they just come
around with curiosity and they have fun just by looking at these two strangers
traveling in bikes with lots of stuff hanging from them.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NKvvJuALFFQ/VRCiRuqu-KI/AAAAAAAAGuw/C320rzMh3Hs/s1600/NIC_9337-Edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NKvvJuALFFQ/VRCiRuqu-KI/AAAAAAAAGuw/C320rzMh3Hs/s1600/NIC_9337-Edit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Goodbye dear Uganda. </span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kisoro
is a small town, quiet but not beautiful, surrounded by the most
incredible views of the Virungas. There we were received by the Priest
John Vianney, who looked after us for two days at the church. I am
gladly surprised by the priests in Uganda, so charming and open minded
(except when we talk about homosexuality, but that is an issue for all
Ugandans). They never talk about any God, they talk about life in Africa,
about the Africans, about politics and about the problems of the world
and other stories. They are normal people, they don’t bring the cross
over their shoulders. <br /><br />Certainly, after living in the church for
some days <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">it becomes <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">clearer to me</span></span> (and this is a perspective shared by
others) that the priests make their choice of life based mainly on poverty and
the possibility to have access to a more decent life. Priests in Africa
gave us help and kindness, first of all because they are Africans and
hospitality comes from their souls by nature. The friendship with John
Vianney was a farewell gift from this wonderful country that never
stopped surprising us since we left Kampala, every surprise better than
the other. It’s a country that leaves me sweet memories that would be
very different from the ones we would face in Rwanda, our next country. </span></span></span></span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-33109784415241299432015-09-03T03:00:00.000+08:002015-11-20T09:20:28.220+08:00A new beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Translation courtesy of Cintia Verónica Ortiz</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%;">35
days in the first world</span></i></span><span lang="en-GB"><br /></span><br />I
was born, raised and lived until I was 28 years old in a country called
“developing country”, a political and hypocrite concept recently
created by economists of rich countries when referring basically to the
third world. I am a third-world citizen from Argentina and have spent
most of my life in South American and Asian developing countries, that
is why every time I visit the so nobly called “first world” is when I
most feel what is known as “culture shock”, the opposite effect of what
many first world inhabitants experience when they are horrified after
landing in an unknown poor country. After travelling in Africa for
several months, the shock is even stronger, the first world where
everything is in order, clean and civilized (at least on the surface) is
the one I really find exotic. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We spent 35 days on holidays in the First world in order to visit
Julia’s family and to extend my journey across the Atlantic Ocean to
visit my sister, my brother in law and my lovely niece and nephew who
live in Canada. It was a great time where I was finally able to meet Julia’s
family, which is wonderful and has become part of mine. We were happily
spoiled, got fatter, took daily showers and we enjoyed the comfortable
lifestyle of the old Europe, though the Europeans as good first world
inhabitants do nothing but complaining about everything despite of all
they already have.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That
is why it didn’t take me too long to miss the simplicity of life in
Africa, where people have so few material things that they don’t have
too much to really care about (though they usually lament themselves for
not having money). Life goes by so slowly, smiles are very common even
in bad times and can be easily found. They don’t have to go after the
last electronic device since life involves simpler things.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On
the contrary, European people usually play their worst face nowadays,
are always complaining about economics and unemployment, but you have to
queue up for hours in order to get the last I phone 6 at 900 euros a
piece. I don’t mean to say that there are no problems but the word
“problem” has another meaning for those of us who come from the third
world, and even more after spending a considerable time in the African
continent; the father of the third world where the most valuable lesson I
learn every day is that it’s better to be grateful for what we have
rather than complaining for what we don’t. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />I
am leaving the European and Canadian worlds once again; I have enjoyed
their wonderful historic legacy and material comforts and recharged my
batteries spending time with the family, though the first word rarely
provides me of any valuable teaching for my life. Nonertheless, it
clearly shows me the way the mankind should not follow; a life based
mainly on accumulating stuff, permanent dissatisfaction and selfishness.
I am leaving eager to return to our adventure; to take up the simple
life again when I ride my bike at a slow pace, camp and meet simple and
carefree people on a daily basis, that everyday open their heart with a
big and white smile whenever we come across them. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-GB"><span style="background: #ffffff;"><br /></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Going deep into Uganda</span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
first days before our break after riding to Kampala from
the Kenyan border, hadn’t been so exciting. A mix of exhaustion, the need for a break and the fact that due to my broken rear wheel we had to limit ourselves to the main road (with all the horrible traffic that comes with it) prevented us from appreciating that part of the country. As a result, we returned without
so many expectations because the impression we’ve got from that time wasn’t good at
all. However, everything would change after a few days of leaving
Kampala. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first few days back to cycling after a long break are strenuous, the
body needs to get back on track and it may be a bit hard at first.
Nevertheless, we left Kampala full of energy and ready to go deep into
Uganda. It took us just four days along a hilly road of smooth gradients to get to the
magnificent tea plantations in the surroundings of Fort Portal. The landscape of the tea plantations never ceases to amaze me wherever I am in the world. Rolling
hills of woolen texture and lots of tea leaves pickers with their baskets on their baks
walking along the paths and pulling up the leaves that will lately turn
into a the most relaxing cup of tea. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once
past Fort Portal we finally cycled away from the paved roads and
headed off for the red soil paths that lead to the enigmatic region of
the crater lakes. We are only a few days away from crossing the
Equator and the dark grey colour of the storm clouds, full of
rain, emphasizes the intense green colour of the tropics, while our
bodies are being cover by the tropical humidity. We walked along
several paths and passed through simple villages surrounded by mountains
full of banana trees, and out of the blue the rain-forest clearings
revealed these magnificent hidden lakes that mirror the sky. Thousands
of years ago they originated from inactive volcanoes, there are tens or
maybe hundreds of them scattered all around the region. It is a bit
difficult to reach some of them, but we made an effort and ran off our
route every time we could to enjoy these views in the complete silence
of the forest.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">People
in the villages happily wave at us. Their life consists of cultivating
the land from sunrise to sunset and women are those who usually do the
hard work while men talk underneath the trees in the shade or spend
every penny they earn drinking in some bar of the town. That image has a deep effect on me and it's an image that will repeat again and again throughout the
rest of Africa. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkCg1Ts59tI/VQ2cYsxS3SI/AAAAAAAAGsE/ijlRjiSSr4c/s1600/NIC_8675.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkCg1Ts59tI/VQ2cYsxS3SI/AAAAAAAAGsE/ijlRjiSSr4c/s1600/NIC_8675.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two children in the Savannah</span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After
the crater lakes we changed our route again and headed west
instead of taking the main paved road, in order to go deep into the Queen Elizabeth</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
National Park</span></span></span>, where mountains stay behind and the
landscape turns into the vast plains of the savannah, covered
with high green grass swaying in the soft wind, and decorated with
acacias that are serve wild animals as shade when they need to take a rest
on a sunny day. There is absolute silence except for the sound of our
tires crackling on a gravel road that is completely empty and where
you may eventually come across animals at any time. Elephants,
lions, leopards, buffalos, monkeys, wild boars, lots of different kinds
of gazelles that we know they are wandering around and if we happened to meet some of them for the first time that could be a point of no return in life.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have
never liked zoos, since I was a child I could notice the sadness of
the animals locked up behind the iron bars, and from my child's innocence I already
found it difficult to understand why they were there. That is why, as an
adult, I am still against the existence of zoos. I waited, and waited for years
until I finally got to the savannah. I didn’t want to go on a safari
because for me, they make no sense, and on top of that, they are forbiddingly expensive and not
affordable for me. That is why I reached the Savannah using my favourite means;
my bicycle. During several days in Uganda, and for the next months I went
on travelling throughout the rest of Africa, I planned my own safari on a bicycle selecting the roads that run along the home of all those animals I have
learned of in tales and documentaries. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VK9iAP6yLjk/VQ2uAZiPBHI/AAAAAAAAGsg/aNy9jLR0oYs/s1600/NIC_8948.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VK9iAP6yLjk/VQ2uAZiPBHI/AAAAAAAAGsg/aNy9jLR0oYs/s1600/NIC_8948.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Your
life changes when you come across a wild animal for the first time,
you go back to your childhood in the blink of an eye. One thing is
watching an animal from a truck safe and guarded by armed guides, as
it happens in a safari, and another thing is being face to face with them
on a bicycle. In a long and narrow road, we run into the first elephant, it is so
big that it can completely block the sun setting. Both sides of the road are
empty until groups of gazelles, impalas and sables pass by jumping around the grass until they stay put when they notice us. More elephants
appeared later, eating quietly under the golden sun of the sunset. I look around and I
find it hard to believe it, I feel like a 36-year old boy, which I am, I
am astonished by those giants of the savannah moving in their natural
habitat, so close to us. I get goose bumps when I see them but for some
reason I am not afraid at all and we stop in order to watch them with
childish curiosity. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zj9VwzMAVNg/VQ2wCoOQHCI/AAAAAAAAGss/-kgzWXDPPjQ/s1600/NIC_8814.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zj9VwzMAVNg/VQ2wCoOQHCI/AAAAAAAAGss/-kgzWXDPPjQ/s1600/NIC_8814.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />We spent the whole day we cycling across the Savannah until we arrived, in the
darkness and under the rain, at a village without name next to Lake
Edward where there were about 300 inhabitants most of whom where fishermen. There
is no electricity, running water or infrastructure of any kind. We are welcomed
by the catechist of the village holding a flashlight and then he proceed to takes us
to a little mud house where we are invited to spend the night. We talk
with him under the stars and then we decide to walk towards the bushes to
go to pee. Suddenly, a person grabs me by the shoulder and says to me: <br /><br />- Wait! Where do you think you are going? – a villager says to me </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I want to pee, I am going there since there is nobody – I say to him holding in the pee <br />- But can you see what it is in front of you? – He alerts me <br />-I turn the flash light on; I pointed it towards the bush and find a whole family of hippos grazing just few meters away from me. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- If you stand on their way you will be their dinner – he says to me laughing <br /><br />Those mastodons standing right there, in front of me, in front of my eyes fascinate me so strongly that I find it hard to pay attention to the man
who is talking to me. Julia and I watch them and look at each other in complete awe. Hippos, in front of us, just a few
steps away. They are huge, beautifully ugly, and are grazing in silence.
During the night, they come out of the lake and cross the village to eat
and then return to spend the whole day inside the water. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
slept in the most absolute silence and darkness. The nights in Africa
confirm the nickname given to the continent, the black continent.
Everything turns to black when the sun goes down in Africa, you walk
among the shadows, listening to the whispers of people who are still wandering
around at the door of houses that are invisible to us. The flashlights of worn-out batteries look
like fireflies in the darkness. A bonfire glinting inside a house
indicates that there is place to eat, and when everybosy is sleeping the
spatial silence is broken by the sound of the hippos walking on the grass, and they
will continue eating all night long. The first rays of light mark the return to the hard-working African life, early in the morning, at 5 am, when the sun rises in the horizon and its rays pierce through the cracks of the wooden and mud houses. The roaring of the hippos is an alarm clock that does not bother and reminds me that I'm not in normal 9 to 5 routing life, I'm inside a tale, together with Julia and our bicycles. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
are invited by our dear catechist friend Richard to take a walk along the lake shore. The
magnificent Lake</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Edward</span></span></span>, deeply blue, where fishermen push
their rafts with a row and on the other side the mountains of the D.R.Congo trace the skyline. I see huge rocks but then I realize they are
not what they seem to be since they start moving. Those are the
hippos, dozens of them. They float, keeping their little eyes and
ears above the water, from time to time they dive into the lake to cool down and then come up again to the surface.
Fishermen make their way through them and nobody becomes upset. This is
the first time I feel I am really in Africa. Deep Africa, I let my mind impregnate itself with this first African moment that until now had always been in my imagination alone. It is a
moment of inspiration, of poetry.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
had breakfast with Richard and early at 07:00 am we started a new day
leaving the village, surrounded by warthogs and people who say good
bye to us with a surprised face. The savannah stayed behind and from there
we went into the jungle, deep, full of vegetation and magically quiet. The
humidity makes us soaked in sweat, we are alone and go through a long
gravel road among trees entangled by long vines. The sun heats our backs and a fearful storm ahead of us paint the sky black. Rain falls in the horizon and the winds brings a refreshing breeze filled with the sweet smell of wet soil to our noses. These are unforgettable moments.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xY4ZW06Tyks/VQ23h80Np8I/AAAAAAAAGtY/oCvS4os_G84/s1600/NIC_8959.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xY4ZW06Tyks/VQ23h80Np8I/AAAAAAAAGtY/oCvS4os_G84/s1600/NIC_8959.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We
still haven’t come across any human being or vehicle in our way, though
we know we are not alone and perhaps, we, ourselves are actually bothering our hosts here.
They are not used to visitors, they are shy and when they see us coming
they cross the road running to the other side.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iIZiVLkTiE/VQ24LT_RkdI/AAAAAAAAGtg/F6GRT1YMWd8/s1600/NIC_8921.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iIZiVLkTiE/VQ24LT_RkdI/AAAAAAAAGtg/F6GRT1YMWd8/s1600/NIC_8921.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After
spending three days in the African zoo I have reconnected with the innocence
of a child, a beautiful regression to childhood in which to happily free ourselves
from adult thinking and carelessly have fun on a bicycle like children.
Those are the moments I live and travel for and I never want to stop
doing it. Three days that cost us not even a single dollar, unlike a safari that costs 200
dollars a day per person. We didn’t sleep in the tents of any of those fancy 5
stars lodges of the Savannah, but we did it in the heart of
Africa with African people. We breathed its land, absorbed its customs
and we made ours a place that very few people arrived to on their own.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
park stays behind but now nobody could steal my childhood, although in the
days to come we will have to face, like adults again, the brutal slopes
that are already outlining the horizon in our way to the border with
Rwanda. </span></span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-49439829334373647672015-09-02T18:50:00.000+08:002015-09-03T01:00:08.743+08:00Down to the ground<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kj1ac8u2ORY/VQdP0rTpdoI/AAAAAAAAGpQ/QYluKWaErHk/s1600/NIC_7919.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kj1ac8u2ORY/VQdP0rTpdoI/AAAAAAAAGpQ/QYluKWaErHk/s1600/NIC_7919.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">During our second stay in Khartoum and once the 7 exhausting days of uninterrupted wedding celebrations finally came to an end, we were able to attend and event that we left pending from the first visit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Every Friday, in a far-flung suburb of Bahri district, a big crowd of men looking for some action congregate at a local stadium to witness one of the most ancient forms of wrestling, the <i>nubian fights. </i>After having spent quite some time living with the nubians and delighting ourselves with their incredibly warm affection, it is incredibly hard to associate them to the word "fight". In any case, even though it is a sport of friction, that doesn't mean it is necessarily violent. The goal of the fight is basically to force the opponent to fully lie on the ground but without using any kind of physical agression. No punching, no kicking. Originally, the nubians used to fight naked, with ther bodies fully covered in ashes, and their hands impregnated with some kind of oil from the cow that would allow them to seize the opponent better. However, It has been decades since the repressive government of Al-Bashir has banned nudity and since then, they wear ordinary football shorts and T-shirts or jerseys.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When we arrived at the scene by mid-afternoon, the stadium was already full. A massive crowd of men wearing their <i>galabiyas</i> and turbans surrounded the round ring of sand where the actual fight takes place. The cheering, the screaming, the whistling, follow every single clash of the fighters.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j7W62EpdGSk/VQcs0fltQQI/AAAAAAAAGnY/2G25CT5a4XQ/s1600/NIC_7887.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j7W62EpdGSk/VQcs0fltQQI/AAAAAAAAGnY/2G25CT5a4XQ/s1600/NIC_7887.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once the referee blows his whistle, the wrestles lock their eyes in those of the other, they crouch with their torsos leaning forward and opening their arms, ready to either charge or hold back the other's charge. For several seconds they go around sort of testing the enemy, they carefully go in circles, the pick up sand from the ground and spread it in their hands. The crowd remains silent, the tension rises as seconds pass by.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YwhOkJNTkek/VQctClV3i1I/AAAAAAAAGpA/h7o623YCh8U/s1600/NIC_8141.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YwhOkJNTkek/VQctClV3i1I/AAAAAAAAGpA/h7o623YCh8U/s1600/NIC_8141.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Until one of them suddenly decides to charge. It looks like the most common technique is to try to bring the opponent down by pushing him from the top of his head in order to subdue him. </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G01bjnm9h4k/VQdZtP2A7KI/AAAAAAAAGpg/z6Rjw2Ew6c4/s1600/NIC_8131.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G01bjnm9h4k/VQdZtP2A7KI/AAAAAAAAGpg/z6Rjw2Ew6c4/s1600/NIC_8131.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From the head, they move to the body and the crowd bursts into full excitement. De
la cabeza se pasa al cuerpo y la multitud estalla de excitación.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps"> The strong</span> <span class="hps">push for the</span> <span class="hps">surrender of the</span> <span class="hps">other begins</span>. Arms and legs work their way to be able to lock the enemy's body with the aim of fully dominating him in order to bring him down to the ground. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is a clash of titans, where the struggle, sometimes a bit violent, between these two <i>"</i>hulks" lead them to the most awkard positions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZe_5VgMr20/VQcs5R5Gx1I/AAAAAAAAGoA/afqrmIZvlM8/s1600/NIC_7986.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZe_5VgMr20/VQcs5R5Gx1I/AAAAAAAAGoA/afqrmIZvlM8/s1600/NIC_7986.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a2UT5Kpudm4/VQdccrv7uWI/AAAAAAAAGqA/dbsvoRNGbY4/s1600/NIC_8014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a2UT5Kpudm4/VQdccrv7uWI/AAAAAAAAGqA/dbsvoRNGbY4/s1600/NIC_8014.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At times it looks like one might already have the other fully trapped in between his arms and legs, but it only takes technique to revert their positions and put the other one in the dominating one. They lift each other into the air, they wrestle for minutes to lock the other down or to hold back the charges and get away from the enemy's seizure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PnBLe38DI8Y/VQcs6mXRjrI/AAAAAAAAGoI/L0iDGoGI64s/s1600/NIC_7992.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PnBLe38DI8Y/VQcs6mXRjrI/AAAAAAAAGoI/L0iDGoGI64s/s1600/NIC_7992.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SMAi05KMu1Q/VQctBByQAXI/AAAAAAAAGo4/iU7SDEOE0bA/s1600/NIC_8100.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SMAi05KMu1Q/VQctBByQAXI/AAAAAAAAGo4/iU7SDEOE0bA/s1600/NIC_8100.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Until they finally fall, usually one dragging the other to the ground, but even there, the situation can suddenly change, as long as neither is fully lying on the ground. The bigger the are the harder they fall, they are so heavy that upon their fall the sand splashing in all directions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe1yh48jYzc/VQcsytx_npI/AAAAAAAAGnA/UVRTVoEvGHw/s1600/NIC_7856.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe1yh48jYzc/VQcsytx_npI/AAAAAAAAGnA/UVRTVoEvGHw/s1600/NIC_7856.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YtuqRi9F7uM/VQdcbyjn4CI/AAAAAAAAGps/jw2uBNyKSVU/s1600/NIC_7860.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YtuqRi9F7uM/VQdcbyjn4CI/AAAAAAAAGps/jw2uBNyKSVU/s1600/NIC_7860.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieGURxK6MLU/VQcs7UqNF2I/AAAAAAAAGoQ/unW5-9nDazA/s1600/NIC_7993.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieGURxK6MLU/VQcs7UqNF2I/AAAAAAAAGoQ/unW5-9nDazA/s1600/NIC_7993.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The winner is finally taken up their trainer's shoulders and walked around the ring while he salutes the crowd.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WJ7Uotc42-A/VQcs7gH42lI/AAAAAAAAGoU/hsqrBwMwaAU/s1600/NIC_7996.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WJ7Uotc42-A/VQcs7gH42lI/AAAAAAAAGoU/hsqrBwMwaAU/s1600/NIC_7996.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whether they have won or lost, the bruises and scratches are visible all over.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AE_E8ABVGXo/VQcs2Z--FuI/AAAAAAAAGno/rHzu6YJKROg/s1600/NIC_7913.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AE_E8ABVGXo/VQcs2Z--FuI/AAAAAAAAGno/rHzu6YJKROg/s1600/NIC_7913.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But not always the results is happily accepted and the angry wrestlers throw themselves to the judges at full force without hesitation. The police intervenes while the crow booes and jeer at them adding tension to the situation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The fights go on and on one after another throughout the whole afternoon until the sun goes down. It was one of the most interesting events I have seen in Sudan and I regret not having attended to them every single Friday. Generally speaking I strongly dislike contact sports, but in this case one cannot see explicit violence like in monstrous practices like boxing. Quite the opposite, here you can see the contenders smiling at each other and chatting before, during and after the fight, as though it were a friends' entertainment rather than a fight. </span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-21124506123459890072015-09-02T00:00:00.000+08:002015-09-02T17:51:52.507+08:00The happy return to Sudan <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Translation courtesy of Clara Bonfiglio</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Several posts ago, as I wrote about our journey across Sudan, I have dedicated a great part of my tales to express the immeasurable hospitality of the Sudanese people, who in every corner of the country touched our hearts in such a way that made us stay there quite a lot more than we expected. Our stay in Sudan, as in every other country, started as one of ordinary travelers but ended up becoming pretty much like a family visit. Such is the case, that by the time we left Khartoum, we already knew we were going to return soon. Ahmed, our wonderful friend, was getting married in August, and considered that our presence in his wedding was essential. That's why he decided to treat us both with a plane ticket to Khartoum from wherever we were so we could attend his wedding. We accepted without hesitation because this is what travelling is all about, being surprised, changing direction, establishing bonds around the world and expanding our own family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And that's how we left our bicycles in Kampala and filled with enthusiasm boarded back a plane towards the country we love so much. Nevertheless, such enthusiasm was initially mitigated by a surprise factor. Curse our luck, from all the airlines from across the globe, the only option to fly to Khartoum was with Ethiopian Airlines! Just when we thought our brutal Ethiopian nightmare had been left behind forever, our fate was drawing us back to it. The mere fact of thinking of the reencounter with the Ethiopians on the plane and on the layover in Addis Ababa altered my pulse. Evidently, I hadn't got over my anger yet. For a moment, before leaving for the airport, I thought of travelling with the helmet I never use but carry around hanging on my bike, because I was convinced that the flight attendants were going to throw stones at us on the plane, while the pilot was going to shout through the speakers “give me money, give me money, give me money, give me money, give me money” non-stop, instead of the usual announcements. Luckily my post-trauma fantasies never occured, but the savage take-offs of both flights reminded me of the suicidal act of putting yourself in the hands of Ethiopians at the helm of an aircraft. </span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The wedding </span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Describing with words a Sudanese wedding could take a whole chapter of a book about Sudan, and would probably be the most extensive one of all, for what it exceeds the capacity of this blog. Briefly speaking, our dear Ahmed's wedding lasted no more and no less, than 5 full days. Days in which people celebrate continuously day and night. All the family, both nuclear and extended, friends, friends of friends, acquaintances and acquaintance's friends attended the party or parts of it, making up thousands of people. The affection seen between the people, is, as usual in Sudan, overwhelming, and like we had already experienced in the Nubian wedding, this is the most pure and genuine form of entertainment, because there´s not a single drop of alcohol around and nevertheless the people spring, dance and overflow with joy, which makes their eyes sparkle and draw smiles on them without the need of any body altering substance. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The “<i>henna parties</i>” are the ones that generally precede the wedding itself. In them, the groom celebrates every night with his people while the bride celebrates somewhere else with her's. During these days, they can't be together. Ahmed celebrated 4 consecutive nights of “<i>henna parties</i>”, of pure eating, dancing and of course the henna ritual for Ahmed and all the close men and women. A different band every night, a different tradition every night. During the day, the celebration isn't less intense, with different types of ceremonies and an endless series of encounters and visits that must be carried out so as everything turns out successfully, which leaves the groom with no more than a couple of hours a day to sleep. Their parties took us from ancient <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">S</span>udanese traditions to the contemporary ones. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The wedding in pictures</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every night Ahmed enters sitting on the shoulders of a relative or a friend. All the guests wait for him anxiously, men on one side an women on the other.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Every night, a diferrent band plays traditional sudanese music. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Traditional music has its corresponding traditional dance. Two dancers delight us while the band plays squandering energy and everyone else dances around it. The energy of its pace raises the sand of the desert which covers Khartoum.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">One friend of the family is in charge of the henna ritual itself. Ahmed lays back while his hands and feet are dealt with and women surround him and sing to him without a pause.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Until well into the night women surround Ahmed with improvised drums, play and continue singing traditional songs whose rythm make us vibrate with emotion.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">His sisters encourage him from the public. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">During the day Ahmed is drifted around his neghbourhood along his neighbours clapping and singing.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Some days he arrives on someone's shoulders, and others mounted on a horse.</span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But everyone in the neighbourhood always wait for him anxiously to sing for him and honor him. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Nights go by, the tireless celebration continues. The vals is not a custom here, Ahmed dances with his mother and everybody jumps around them. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Always a different dress. Ahmed's grandmother and mother look stunning in their <i>tobs </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As well as his aunts, cousins and friends </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I hand myself over to the women so they can apply henna on my hands and feet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">While Julia, radiant, has fun dancing with Mohammed, our Sudanese father.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Together with Ahmed, my Sudanese self and Julia, my Sudanese love, the most beautiful woman in the whole party.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On the final day of the wedding, tradition is left aside and Ahmed and Wamda dress in sync with the contemporary, Western custom, combining the tradition of the henna on their hands. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This has been one of the most touching experiences of my life in which I feel I settled even more my deep love for this country and it's wonderful people. Julia and I continue to seed the best friends of the world we run into on our jurney, we bring them into our lives and we grow with them, we feel blessed by the people who come across it. I'll carry this memory for some months in the henna staining my hands and feet.</span></span><br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-89536259216956770802015-09-01T22:16:00.000+08:002015-09-02T09:33:59.706+08:00Towards black Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Translation courtesy of Juan Vanecek</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #434343; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Once we arrived in Lodwar we finally left </span><span style="color: #434343;">the "<i>sandpit"</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #434343; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> we had gone through to enter Kenya along the west coast of the lake Turkana. In this little city we thought the worst had been over, but leaving Lodwar would only show us that we were just moving on to a new tough stage in our journey to Black Africa.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My references had already told me that even though the road to Lokichar was not-so-good, at least there wouldn't be sand anymore, thus no more pushing. However, what they didn’t warn me about was how freaking corrugated and full of craters the road was. Such was the conditions that we couldn’t ride faster than 5 km/h despite being a completely flat road. A new hell of unbearable sweat was beginning, and an even tougher one for me. A few weeks earlier, in the Omo Valley, I had found a slight crack in the rim of my rear wheel, but I had no other choice but to continue the trip, given the impossibility to find a place in which to get a new one. By the time we arrived in Lodwar, what initially was a slight crack had now grown into a fully visible one. The rim was literally cracking open with every kilometer I cycled, and as a result of this, a secondary and much worse problem arose. Due to the crack, I had to deflate the tire till half-way its capacity, because the higher the pressure, the bigger the crack would open. But Schwalbe tires need a strictly high level of pressure otherwise they break as well (it's their weakest point), thus I had to replace it for the 5 dollars Chinese spare tire I had got in Sudan as a backup. As a result, I ended up with a bicycle whose original weight of approximately 70 kg, were now horribly duplicated for having one half-deflated tire and one rim on the verge of collapse</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Pure love</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It was a long and endless 10 hours long day on the saddle to get to Lokichar with a shattered ass. The endless succession of deep potholes, the unbearable corrugations extending tens or hundreds of meters at once, the remnants of what once was tarmac now reduced to mere pieces of sharp stones, made me believe that pushing 5 days in a row on the sand hadn’t probably been that bad at all. In addition, I was dealing with the uneasy feeling that for every bump, every bounce, every impact on a sharp stone, the crack on my rim would crack open even more and would force me to take some form of transportation, something that barely exists in this God-forsaken stretch, where there is no more than harsh desert, dry acacias and the few last Turkana villages. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Late at night we arrived to Lokichar, exhausted and filthy, but there we would find asylum in the orphanage John Paul II, where three outstanding women -Sister Josephine, Sister Bernadetta and Sister María- give love and care to 85 kids from the Turkana and Pokot tribes, who have been literally left to die by their own families due to having disabilities and all different kinds of malformations. This is considered a burden and bad luck by the culture of these tribes, and the solution they adopt is leave them to die. The three sisters gave us a bed and plenty of food whilst they told us each of the children’s tragedies. Hearing them talk, with the huge humility and intense love in their words thrills me as it makes me think about how little I do for those in real need.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />On the next day Sister Bernadetta gave us a tour around the orphanage and introduced us to little Kep, a shy and lovely kid suffering from hydrocephalus and several malformations in the legs. When Kep saw us, his instinctive reaction was to crawl away to seek hideout. This is the result of a family hiding him under a table for several days until he would die. Sister Josephine rescued him before that happened. Stories like Kep’s repeat over and over again as we get to know more kids with different kind of afflictions. But something stands out above all in every exchange we have with them: their bright smiles, their eyes full of hope, their words expressing dreams, dreams they may never accomplish but at least they dare to dream. It's marvelous. These nuns’ work earned my absolute admiration but on top of it all, it served as a profound inspiration to do good. Watching them with <i>their kids</i> is like watching pure love radiating from these women. I leave deeply touched with a lump in my throat, and this experience will stay with me during the next days to come.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Black Africa</i><br />From Lokichar we still had 200km ahead of us up to Kitale, but this stretch was not to be taken lightly, as it is the transition from Turkana to Pokot country, two arch-enemy tribes. However, the Pokot people, unlike the Turkana, have adopted vandalism as a mean for survival. The result is a highly dangerous area where daily armed ambushes and robberies to the few vehicles passing through are very common. Having consulted repeatedly with locals in Lodwar and Lokichar, we realized that it was nonsense taking the risk of an imminent assault. Even if we had wanted to take that risk it would have probably not been even possible as the police forbids to transit the area without armed escorts. That’s why we waited in the military roadblock, right out of Lokichar to be placed in the back of a truck that would take us to safe ground.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We took a ride with 30 others, most of them Turkana women, some Kenyans and two armed soldiers. The walls of the truck's cage were very high and we couldn’t see anything. Judging by the terrible bounces of the road, it was easy to figure we were driving through hell. Every time the truck stopped, we waited the unexpected, staying absolutely silent whilst the soldiers stood up to check the reason for the stop. They were high-tension moments. In one of the stops I decided to jump out of the cage to stretch the muscles and start a conversation with the driver. He tells me he hates this road but he gets well paid, even though one out of three times he is assaulted. He also tells me he definitely prefers to drive with no escorts, because every time he is escorted usually there are confrontations, shootings and people die. It took about 7 hours for the truck to drive along the high-risk 120 km-long-road, we got off physically exhausted, with all the body aching due to the merciless bumps, bouncing up and down against the hard metal planks of the base of the cage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Shortly after we got off, already at night and pouring we cycled up to Makutano, and after going round and round in complete darkness we found the house of Father Daniel and Father Cornelius, right beside the local Catholic church. They welcomed us with arms wide open and broad smiles, very Kenyan style. What was initially going to be a one night stop, ended up being a three-day break, in which each morning they transmitted their joy to us and convinced us to stay a little longer. The Fathers gave us a beautiful room in their house and fed us until our bellies couldn't take any more food. While we were there, we had the honor to be invited to a traditional Kenyan wedding to be celebrated in their church. They are a true display of joy, singing, dancing, fun and 100% of African blood, not even close to the awfully serious and boring western Catholic weddings I witnessed. The Fathers saw us enjoying it so much and was such the bond we created with them, that they warmly invited us to come back to get married at their church. Though none of us is Catholic, we didn’t hesitate a bit to gladly accept their proposal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Sunday after the wedding, they invited us to be part of a very special mass celebrated exclusively for a group of Pokot people who personally invite the Fathers to conduct it. With them we were part of a kind of traditional Catholic mass but with African roots that would have never ever been possible, in my opinion, in what mostly is the obscure and <i>cold</i> western mass. Here everything is different, we breath joy not guilt, we eat big time, we dance, we sing with the Pokot, and the women dance and sing around us in a big circle paying homage to us, while the time men brought us presents. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It is a moment I treasure as one of the happiest of all this trip. We arrived to sub-saharan Africa going through enormous (and dangerous) challenges in thousands of kilometers and we are safe, strong as an Oak Tree, we are happy as a team and I, personally, for being so privileged for having by my side a beautiful iron maiden that makes this experience much more real than my previous lonely adventures. These are moments where at the end of the day, while I watch the sun go down, I look at the horizon and I feel small and infinitely grateful to have the invaluable opportunity to discover the wonders of this world and its people. In spite of all the problems and conflicts that exist, I have the hope that good and good people will always prevail. Together with our beloved Father Daniel and Cornelius we rise into the air to celebrate this happiness and levitate of out of sheer joy!</span></span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Road to Kampala</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The days of my rear wheel are counted, the crack is now huge and the inner tub is beginning to come out of it. But I don’t care, I’m happy, full of energy and I decided to stick with it until it falls apart, there will be enough time to replace it in the next well-deserved break we are due to take soon. Everything became easier when we left Makutano, the asphalt was perfect, we had plenty of food and drinks available any time, and despite the unbearable traffic, full of kamikaze trucks coming and going to/from Nairobi, and my super-heavy bike thanks to the broken rim, we spent very quiet days of little adventure.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Two days before arriving at the border with Uganda we started coming across</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> teenagers walking half-naked wearing a colorful apron</span></span>, with the face and body covered in chalk powder and carrying a stick. At the end of each day, we found them surrounded by people from their villages singing and cheering as if taking part of some kind of celebration. Shortly after we learned that they were youngsters of the Bukusu tribe and August is the month they celebrate their circumcision. For the whole month these kids wander throughout the villages and surrounding roads, wearing a few clothes and with such a face filled with fear that you kind of feel sympathy for them.<br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />And it is no wonder because it’s a very bloody ritual. The circumcision is undertaken in public in front of both close and extended family, and an aunt (don’t ask me why), who sing, cheer, yell and shake maracas and feathers. The ritual, practiced without any type of anesthetics, is the final step into adulthood. These kids soon-to-be adults, are held by their fathers, brothers and cousins, and must not show any flick of pain when their foreskins are cut off. No frowning, no tears, no screaming, they have to hold the intense pain like… men? Some people tend to romanticize tribal life, but it is not an easy life, it's sometimes harsh and sometimes even shitty, and it includes some ancient costumes that are very hard to understand nowadays. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Kenya had an immense meaning to us, even when it was a country where we spent a relatively short time in and we rode across a remote area that has almost nothing to do with the Subshara-African culture. Nonetheless, our short experience was marked by a positive event after another. In the beginning, it was feeling the unimaginable relief of the simple act of leaving Ethiopia behind, then it was followed by the intensity of feeling the adrenaline in our bodies when dodging the dangers of the adventure across the wonderful tribal lands of the northwest, and finally by the warm welcome we had from the first people of black Africa that we met. Kenya will remain in my heart as the place that I will definitely like to come back to, to spend more time and, why not, to get married as well.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />A few days later, already on the roads of Uganda, we spent the last 5 days before our break riding along the soft hills of sugar cane plantations, bananas and avocados. The colors of the tropics began to appear in the form of exuberant greens, red soil, big and dark clouds in the sky holding heavy downpours, and although we are very close to Equator, the average altitud of 1200m makes the weather not so humid as it uses to be in the tropics. These days were very quiet, we are going slow, we passed through the allegedly source of the Nile River in Jinja (although in this region more than 5 places claim that honor) but it is not very interesting. The Ugandans we got to know kept showing us more of this beautiful African spirit that Kenya introduced us to. Finally, we had the first sight of the magnificent lake Victoria before getting to Jan’s house in Kampala, where we would leave our bikes for the next month and a half to take a break. There is a wedding waiting for us and a very special return to our beloved Sudan, Julia’s family is waiting for us in Barcelona and my niece and nephew in Canada. It a very well deserved break in a moment full of happiness. And my rim, with almost 1000 km ridden since the crack appeared, collapsed happily after completing the hard work of bringing me here, there will be plenty of time to replace it, now there is nothing more but resting ahead.</span></span><br />
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-87525832058217937242015-08-26T08:58:00.000+08:002015-09-01T23:27:22.430+08:00Land of warriors <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Translation courtesy of Natalia Gouric</i></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Getting to Omo valley had already been a transfer in time and
space to a completely different dimension, different to everything that I have ever experienced.
However, that experience was stained by the deeply negative effects of
tourism in that region. But after crossing the Omo river at Omorate
everything would be radically transformed. There, with the exit stamp of
Ethiopia already in the passport, we put the bikes into a
traditional Dassanech canoe to cross the legendary river and set upon
one of the most rigorous, remote and unpredictable stretches of the entire
East of Africa: the unstable no-man’s land of the triple border between
Ethiopia, Kenia and South Sudan. Very few times in my life I have waited for
something </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">with such an anxiety and now, I</span> was finally
about to receive the great dose of adrenaline that this experience would
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When you get off the canoe </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">across the Omo,</span></span> everything
becomes immediately different, something that is largely due to the infamous 4x4 tours not getting to this side of the river. You clearly
feel it on the attitude of the tribes people, their behavior, and their way of looking at us
timidly with the same intense curiosity that we look at them. But above all
things, it does because they don't ask us for nothing anymore. We pass by the first
huts of the Dassanech villages by the shore of the Omo, women wrapped around their necklaces made of little blue and red balls, water
containers on top of their heads and their breasts swaying from side to side while walking.
Children, boys and girls, come out of the igloos made of sheets of corrugated metal where they live and run to meet us. They don’t annoy us like on the Ethiopian side, but they
laugh, follow us, and try to help pushing our bikes instead. They look
at all our equipment and want to touch everything like if they were
completely unknown objects, which they are for them actually. Julia let
them try her sunglasses, and I let others ride up my bike.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> We head across no-man’s land to the invisible border with Kenya,
following the errant tracks that whimsically appear and disappear among the dry bushes of this desert. Only the compass and the GPS can
guide us while we are heading forward to a faraway black point (the Ethiopian </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">military </span>post), far away in a diffuse horizon of mirages,
where the world splits perfectly in two halves, between an immaculate blue sky
and a yellow carpet of sand. Sporadic wind gusts spit us out sand while
we constantly alternate between cycling and pushing along the first few kilometers in the
middle of nowhere as we slowly move on towards Kenya. </span></div>
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<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> At times we think we are completely alone, but then suddenly
a series of thin silhouettes are drawn on the distance. Dassanech
children approach rapidly, they seem to have no any idea of the objects we
have. As soon as I make a move to pull the camera out of my bag,
they run away terrified and shrieking. It takes me a few minutes to gain their confidence so they can finally come closer, step by step, cautiously,
almost on tiptoes, and lose their fear. They look at the camera without
understanding what it is, but their staring is priceless, and even more so are their gestures and reactions
when they see themselves pictured on the camera's LCD.</span> </div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5djJKud5poY/VOo62uopfaI/AAAAAAAAGec/icnNVA5QZIw/s1600/GOPR0686b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5djJKud5poY/VOo62uopfaI/AAAAAAAAGec/icnNVA5QZIw/s1600/GOPR0686b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">This is a legal border crossing but not official, there aren’t any
roads, any kind of sign posts, there is neither a border post nor
immigration officers, just a military garrison on each side. I turn around 360
degrees and everything looks exactly the same, empty, huge,
inhospitable, only the low hills of South Sudan raise up on the right
side breaking down the perfect monotony of the environment. With the GPS
in hand, I move forward the last meters until I finally cross the imaginary
border line. I step on the other side of it and we are already in Kenya.
An enormous feeling of happiness that I can’t control overflows me like
a waterfall. Spontaneously, I start jumping, shouting and vomiting a
catharsis of contained emotions that instantly gives me a gratifying
physical sensation of liberation, like if I'd been carrying an incredible burden
on my shoulders all this time and now suddenly disappeared. The long awaited moment in which I can look
back to those 52 damned days we spent in that country called Ethiopia has finally arrived a</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">nd I
feel ecstasy for burying it in the past</span>. It’s time
to move forward and don't look back.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MheIqcm0aLQ/VOo5ap_EAEI/AAAAAAAAGeQ/_fKFV1OekSE/s1600/NIC_6364.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MheIqcm0aLQ/VOo5ap_EAEI/AAAAAAAAGeQ/_fKFV1OekSE/s1600/NIC_6364.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><i> In the middle of nowhere </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">If anyone asked me where my favorite place in
the world is, I would </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">answer</span> quickly without hesitation that it is in the middle
of nowhere. The middle of nowhere is both a place and not a place. It is that place where the inevitable universal reality of the uncertainty
becomes the only certainty that rules the existence, leaving
no place for the mind to keep believing in the fiction of a world where
everything is tangible and certain. That’s why in that very same
uncertainty, we, adventurers, find the perfect environment where we
see our lives thrive in a spontaneous way; it’s in that space where we
finally let go the last claw that hangs onto the illusion of a world
where we believe that we can have control of things. The reward is
nothing but the gift of freedom, and when we arrive to that conclusion, the uncertainty not only doesn’t scare us but it feeds us,
because it aligns us with the most certain of the universal realities:
everything is constant change, everything is uncertain. </span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y5x-6YPc_h4/VOo7KBCSgCI/AAAAAAAAGek/cCppE50l6To/s1600/NIC_6539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y5x-6YPc_h4/VOo7KBCSgCI/AAAAAAAAGek/cCppE50l6To/s1600/NIC_6539.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> That’s how we move forward on this remote land in the middle of
nowhere, where I feel aligned with the universe and the adrenaline flows
through my body in the shape of electric stimulus of pleasure that have no
parallel. Adrenaline is the gasoline that feeds my muscles when pedaling
or when I push on the sand, but it’s also the one that keeps my wits in a
state of constant alert here, where there are no defined boundaries and the possibility of conflict is always latent. We are
right at the heart of a land of warriors, going from Dassanech country
to Turkana country, two arch-enemy tribes that constantly engage into battles that turn quickly into bloodbaths in order to control the pastures where they take their animals to feed. Everybody is armed around here, each pastor is a
warrior on guard ready to resist a sudden ambush from the enemy tribe
and die defending his tribe and cattle. Turkana warriors are tough men of such an intense look that they emanate an extreme sense of confidence in
themselves. Their lives are scared by an inhospitable
environment, and by the marks left on their bodies product of scarification, where each round bump on their skin computes the quantity of enemies (or wild animals) they have killed in
battle.</span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rB0uEuNywhU/VOo7gsO8ykI/AAAAAAAAGes/3VPHFZ5kn-E/s1600/NIC_6531.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rB0uEuNywhU/VOo7gsO8ykI/AAAAAAAAGes/3VPHFZ5kn-E/s1600/NIC_6531.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> On the way, as we keep going pushing painfully on the thick sand sand passing by Turkana’s villages, we also find the Catholic Missions that are active in the region, some of them have turned into onerous luxury
castles which even include vineyards in what is one of the most deserted regions
of Africa. As someone who has always been against any kind of impossition of religion (any kind), It’s difficult for me to find an
unselfish reason behind their beneficence work here. However, we have found
exceptional people, like Father Andrew who risks his own life going to
the villages to talk with the chief of the tribes to disarticulate imminent
wars that will derive in an unpredictable number of casualties. He does
it in the name of peace, not in the name of the god he believes in.
Also, we’ve met many exceptional volunteers that go there with
the only aim of genuinely helping people, providing medical and sanitary attention
without charging them with the high price of evangelization, to those who could otherwise die of
afflictions that are easy to avoid.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-WzDN3M8n4/VOo7_HfYqLI/AAAAAAAAGe0/ZMdl2eRTZos/s1600/NIC_6495.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-WzDN3M8n4/VOo7_HfYqLI/AAAAAAAAGe0/ZMdl2eRTZos/s1600/NIC_6495.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">While men are herding their goats, Turkana women do housework, take care
of their children and spend long hours a day sitting in groups working
on their personal decoration under the relative freshness of the
acacias. In our view, their lives are very primitive, so much that until
nowadays Turkana people have rejected the use of the wheel, but they seem
living without any hurry for getting to work early.</span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wx48xWIioTk/VOo8cnS2YQI/AAAAAAAAGfE/rc_2HqFh03I/s1600/NIC_6477-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wx48xWIioTk/VOo8cnS2YQI/AAAAAAAAGfE/rc_2HqFh03I/s1600/NIC_6477-2.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span>
</div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-83lPMeloAH0/VOo8L29n4iI/AAAAAAAAGe8/EB3YhPMLLQA/s1600/NIC_6465.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-83lPMeloAH0/VOo8L29n4iI/AAAAAAAAGe8/EB3YhPMLLQA/s1600/NIC_6465.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> The exquisite decoration of little colorful ball collars, and trinkets
one above another, indicate women status and their “value” within the village. The
more quantity they have, the higher their status. Painful scarification
is also part of their body decoration.</span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MrLjXxrVo3E/VOo9DvAtAUI/AAAAAAAAGfM/1DGkhn0T9Vw/s1600/NIC_6505.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MrLjXxrVo3E/VOo9DvAtAUI/AAAAAAAAGfM/1DGkhn0T9Vw/s1600/NIC_6505.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> The villages are of the most simple I’ve seen in the whole region of
Omo valley and lake Turkana, consisting of </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">groups</span> of half-dome huts built
with a structure of tree branches covered of dry leaves. The family
sleeps directly on the ground, and unlike traditional homes of
many tribes of the world, for obvious reasons, fire for food is lit
outside and not in the center of the hut like it's usualy the case.</span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DtRchc-8j-E/VOpDIjDIVHI/AAAAAAAAGf0/OMnwOyoyufk/s1600/NIC_6576.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DtRchc-8j-E/VOpDIjDIVHI/AAAAAAAAGf0/OMnwOyoyufk/s1600/NIC_6576.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It took us five physically tough days to pedal, but mostly push on the
sand up to 8 hours a day, the 167 km of vanishing tracks in this forgotten land between Omorate
and Lodwar, the first small city of Kenya. When I look back in hindsight at
the images of these infernal stretches, like the sandpit we just crossed,
sometimes I find it hard to believe (as in previous occasions in
jungles, deserts, etc.) the enormous challenges that I put myself in,
because as always, I could have chosen a simpler and safer route. But
this isn’t something new for me, it is part of my personality. What brings
me much more surprise and admiration is seeing my iron maiden, Julia,
tolerating the "tortures" to which this terrible knight subdues her. She pushes
always forward without any complaints or disgusts, with the mettle of
someone who gives everything before complaining or giving up. Behind her, in silence, I start to realize why I’ve fallen in love with this
woman of indomitable character and spirit of steel. </span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzaqVKQPVmA/VOo9n-uiUDI/AAAAAAAAGfU/zqKp627eSq4/s1600/NIC_6601.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzaqVKQPVmA/VOo9n-uiUDI/AAAAAAAAGfU/zqKp627eSq4/s1600/NIC_6601.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our journey turned out to be a success and an extraordinary life
experience, one of those that will be forever remembered among the most
incredible memories that I collect while traversing the world by
bicycle. Spending these weeks with the Turkana people and previously with
the ancient tribes of the Omo valley have been as fun as exhausting, and
sometimes quite tense, but mostly, they have been fascinating to the point of
leaving me speechless. We have been the stars of our own
documentary; we’ve lived very close to these people, that we usually see as
something as distant as unconnected to us, in a National Geographic
documentary. The result was a unique and unforgettable life experience.</span></span></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--1Pz2IzS5AE/VOo_9MjtzXI/AAAAAAAAGfg/LnoN5p8sDN8/s1600/NIC_6563.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--1Pz2IzS5AE/VOo_9MjtzXI/AAAAAAAAGfg/LnoN5p8sDN8/s1600/NIC_6563.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="es-ES" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="es-ES">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><i>NOTE: After reading this, and maybe other stories from other cyclists
that crossed this region, it’s very easy to fall into the belief that going through
it doesn't have its own risks. However, as a warning to those who aspire
visiting this fascinating place in the world, risks are big and many.
Every people you see pictured here, don’t see the world as you and I.
They live in a completely different dimension, which turns their
character totally unpredictable for us. This is a place where EVERYTHING
can happen at any time. You can end up in the middle of a crossfire in the frequent tribal wars, or you can be mugged by factions that start to
see the economic value of a foreign. You can be a victim of what could be an
irrational whim for us, like the example of a Dutch cyclist that got
back home with a shot in his chest after refusing to share his water
with a Dassanech, or like my friends Sarah and Scott who have been
recently robbed at gunpoint and knifepoint, and she has been groped by a
group of Dassanech teenagers, and later they had to postpone their
march because of a shooting. After reading so many stories of other
people about this region and having perceived a tendency to minimize the
risks, and after I have assumed myself the personal risks of crossing
it, I’d like to make clear, like my friend Salva (a legendary cyclist
from Granada) made clear to me one time: you can't underestimate
the potential risks of venturing here with people, like I said before,
that live under radically different codes from ours. Just as until now,
the experience was mostly safe and positive for almost everyone that has
been here, potential dangers are certain and constant all the time and you do need to evaluate them seriously before venturing through there.</i></span></div>
</div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-1988629501193834122015-08-07T18:03:00.004+08:002015-08-07T18:17:07.699+08:00ETHIOPIA, NEVER AGAIN!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sjP3xr3KoT8/VNSvhsW3eOI/AAAAAAAAGdU/SWTZo9jDBR8/s1600/NIC_6362.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Liberation. With the GPS in one hand, I determined the exact point on which to kneel down, just right behind the border line. Here I am, in Kenya, overwhelmmed with joy and sending Ethiopia my most heartfelt farewell gesture.<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Translation courtesy of Dakota Bloom</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i> </i><br />I have thought of more than a dozen titles for this closing passage
about Ethiopia. From all possible aberrations that came through my mind,
the lightest and the one that I consider the original is: “Fuck you
Ethiopia”. However I have wisely let 6 months pass to write about this
country with the simple aim of avoiding my lowest instincts and my darkest
thoughts to dictate the words that I write today. So I have decided to go for the most
moderate title: “Ethiopia, Never again”. And very moderated were the harshest words that I have written in all the posts that <span style="font-size: small;">preceded</span> this one. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> 52 are the days that this long torture </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">have lasted</span>, days that </span>have
seen moments of intense grandeur, where fascination has exalted my
senses like never before, and moments of the deepest misery, where my
spiritual skills to develop compassion have been repeatedly defeated by the uncontested evil of this country, sometimes leaving me sinking
in the nastiest feelings of hatred. Traveling by bicycle across Ethiopia essentially means being submerged in a state of permanent
contradiction, an overwhelming dichotomy from which escape is not
possible. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On its brightest side, Ethiopia is one of the most stunning countries I
have ever visited. Its majestic landscapes are breathtaking. From
the dramatic intricacy of the geography of the northern highlands to the
desertic south, after each bend of the road, the country reveals a beauty that makes it truly unique. The
cultural legacy is equally impressive. For those of us who enjoy extraordinary
cultural experiences where ancient aspects of history still prevail without having been swallowed by the imminent pace of globalization, Ethiopia, in its positive side,
offers riches that have unequal match neither in the African
continent or the whole world.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> However, on Its darkest side, which is as alive and certainly even more
powerful than its bright side, the Ethiopian experience has no rival either.
Ethiopians, at least the immense majority of those who crossed paths
with us, have turned out to be the most horrible and despicable people
whom I have had the disgrace of meeting. Coming from Sudan, the jump
from hospitality to hostility is as radical as jumping into an abyss.
From a heart warming farewell full of smiles and hands placed on the heart, we
passed to a welcoming shower of stones and mocking hysterical laughter. Ethiopians
had the enormous ability of finishing with my patience, my tolerance and
even temporarily the love for the people of this world: the very reason for which I
love traveling! In this country we have had to repeatedly escape from
the people, to only be able to find peace within the four walls of some grimy guest house,
because outside of them, the experience could reach intolerable limits
that at times I felt as though would lead me to madness. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ethiopia is a country where its people have made me feel that I am not a
person; that as a white men and women, we are nothing else but walking ATM's that have the obligation of giving them something, whatever it is. Decades of mostly irresponsible action from the western countries and
their ever so honourable NGO's, that have come in herds to this country to throw
them fish without teaching them how to fish, are in great part to blame
for creating the distorted image that Ethiopians have of the concept of
help. Ethiopians often pride themselves openly about being the only country in
Africa that has not fallen pray to any of the colonial powers, however
they lose this pride in the blink of an eye when they pull down their
trousers and bend over so that a white man throws them something,
anything, as a present.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From the scenes of harassment that I have described so far, it is very likely that the image that will come to your mind is that of
a country where misery is so devastating, that
forces people to crawl and beg for money, but you would be wrong, because
this image is very far from the truth. Poverty is a fact but it is very
far from explaining the sick and almost pathological behaviour of
Ethiopians with respect to money. Ethiopians beg to us just for entertainment, to
annoy the hell out of us, get us pissed off and pretty much because we basically are <i>faranjis</i> (white people). These days
nobody dies of hunger in Ethiopia and yet the general belief installed in people's
psyche, is that white people are there only to give things (thanks for the
magic Western world!). In any scenario of rural Ethiopia, a rich
Ethiopian might get off his luxurious SUV and the kids will not even
bother to ask for anything, he will just pass unnoticed. The begging I experienced throughout this country is not a begging
out of necessity, but it is what I could only described as selective begging, deliberately and exclusively
directed at the white people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But above all, what I have managed to realise with great clarity, is that
harassing <i>faranjis</i> is more like an entertainment to them; a fun pastime that
helps break the monotony of the daily lives of tens or even hundreds of
thousands of kids, who are left drifting away from the very beginning of their lives,
because they have come into this world as a product of ignorance and the uttermost lack of basic education of the general population. Here, people reproduce like
rabbits, without the slightest regard for the disgraceful life that the newborns
will surely be subjected to. When I think about it objectively, I cannot feel anything
other than compassion, because behind every child that I have seen
enjoying with impunity trying to fuck up our lives so he/she and buddies can have a good
laugh, what there is, is exactly that, a defenseless child that smiles and has fun (albeit in a
twisted way) that has just happened to have been born in a shit circumstance and doesn't know no better. But in reality, compassion does not suffice, at least
not for me today, to justify and accept the overwhelming degree of harassment that we were
victims of.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Ethiopian challenge goes far beyond any challenge I have had to endure, and I have
to admit that this country has defeated me internally: I have lost to
the Ethiopians. I am leaving this country feeling my body sick of
something as horrible as hate, which is so intense sometimes that I feel
that if I stay here any longer I am actually going to cause great harm to myself. I am
leaving this country with the feeling of wanting to come back, but not
on a bicycle to be able to enter in intense communion with the culture (as it is the case everywhere),
but with a tank and a rocket launcher so I can blow them up and enjoy
the experience of watching them tear apart in the air. This is exactly why I never want to come back to Ethiopia,
because I do not want to carry this perverse and hurtful feeling which
does not do me any good. This is the wise lesson that Ethiopians have
left me with: That if you can't transform a negative emotion then you'd better
run away from it, and that is exactly what I will do, never again Ethiopia!</span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-23174729412101241522015-08-04T19:20:00.002+08:002015-08-04T19:20:20.188+08:00The Omo Circus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Uga6rboKAQo/VMvr4OM2QCI/AAAAAAAAGc0/2wSM8EhQAnQ/s1600/NIC_6299.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Uga6rboKAQo/VMvr4OM2QCI/AAAAAAAAGc0/2wSM8EhQAnQ/s1600/NIC_6299.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Warning: many of the
commentaries and opinions that you will be about to read might sound
very harsh, but I promise they are the most accurate account of the
frequently miserable experience that is crossing Ethiopia by bicycle.
Given the radical difference that exists between those of us who travel
by bicycle across this country (and those who walk the world too) and
those who travel by any kind of motorised transport, I don't feel
particularly well predisposed to accept any objections coming from those
who haven't crossed it in the same way.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i></i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Translation courtesy of Pato Stickar</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The departure from Addis was the starting point of our long scape from Ethiopia. We had already spent a month and a half in the middle of the country, and our general state of mind and predisposition was exponentially decreasing each extra day we spent there. Leaving Addis was unusually calm, we passed pretty much unnoticed and barely bothered by anyone. So much that, at the end of the second day, a fresh optimistic air filled our lungs; the worst seemed to had been left behind and the last days seemed as though they were going to be good. We were on our way to the remote and inhospitable lands of the tribal countries and one of the most enigmatic crossing borders of the continent, but to get there, we would discover that the worst hadn’t yet even happened.</span></span> <br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>A hell that never ends</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The third day after leaving Addis we arrived to Shashamane, the home place of the Rastafaris in Ethiopia. They arrived there from Jamaica in the forties invited by the grand Rastafari, Haile Selassie, emperor of Ethiopia for 44 years. It’s a place of bad reputation already, and there, hell would start (or continue) . If the north of Ethiopia sometimes looked like a zoo of uncivilized people, the south was more likely an outdoor madhouse full of lunatics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The people, this damn devilish Southern Ethiopian people added to the already remarkable habit of their northern counterparts to throw stones, a much bigger and varied repertoire of harassment. We got out of Shashamane and the hordes of children harassing us just for fun became the worst of all. Not only for how many they were, but because here, unlike in the north, adults just stand aside laughing their asses off while watching how their children make our lives miserable as we pass by. They encourage them, cheer them and watch pleasantly how we get furious. Now they were running alongside us, sticking sticks in our wheels, hanging from our bicycles, shouting us and pushing them for us to fall. Teenage girls would smile at me in a charming way as they saw me coming, but would surprisingly hit me hard in the arm when I passed by them. The youngsters approached up to a few centimeters of our faces and burst out in hysterical laughs that seemed of psychiatric nature. Going downhill, the only time when traditionally nobody could do us anything, this time they would throw trunks and branches on the way so we would fall while going down at high speed. As if it hadn't been enough, the last touch: going downhill at high speed, an Ethiopian little devil of some 11 years old, managed to fiercely whip Julia's back, with those long leather whips used for herding cows. Julia screamed in the air and luckily she didn’t fall off the bike, while those pre-teenagers Ethiopian bastards sons of a bitch kept rolling on the floor laughing their asses off while watching how they had left a 40 cm bruise between her back and her butt. Some kilometers later, a child about 9 years old who was caring firewood, suddenly picks up a stone from the ground and strongly throws it to me from a distance of about 2 meters and hits me in the chest. It’s useless to chase them, they keep vanishing in seconds.</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">During the three days that would take us to get to Konso, at the gates of the Omo Valley, we would end up riding with our bamboo sticks permanently in our hands, wielding them like a sword we used to threaten those who approached us, so that we could keep them at a distance from us. Later, when we reached Arba Minch, feeling our body sick of hatred, we came to realize very quickly that the people there had a higher cultural level, their English was better: to the "give me ... this or that" now they added the frequent <i>"fuck you faranji"</i> (fuck you white man) followed by a burst of hysterical laughter mockingly arrogant. </span></span><br /> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The redemption that I had slowly begun to grant to this country through the experiences of Wukro, Mekele and Addis, now would be buried forever. I confirm what again and again, cyclists and walkers and even many other people say about Ethiopians: most of them are really pieces of fucking shit, at least those we've crossed these so incredibly-hard-to-describe 52 days.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Entering another planet</i></span></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After the hellish days we had spent and with our spirit badly damaged by many poisonous feelings, we arrived to Konso. After a last long climb we had in front of our eyes the legendary Omo Valley, which is said to be the cradle of civilization. It was on the banks of the Omo River where the first fossils of Homo sapiens were found, and until today, is home to a population of some 200,000 people spread over more than a dozen different tribes, who maintain ancestral customs and live primitively.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Out of Konso and down into the Omo valley feels already like a partial departure from Ethiopia, and is the most similar to entering a parallel universe. Ethiopians are reduced to a small minority, the landscape becomes more arid to gradually become a desert, the road becomes completely flat and after a while of rolling around, we started to come across their inhabitants. We are no longer in any country, we are in a world apart</span>.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">One thing is having watched the tribes of the world in the fascinating documentaries of National Geographic, but quite another is to be riding in one of them. It's an indescribable feeling to go on these dusty roads and suddenly, out of nowhere, come across with a young Konso guy who strangely watches you and soon after one Hamar woman with the body exquisitely decorated passes by, then a Karo child watching the bicycles as an object from outer space. Gradually one is slowly surrounded by people whose ways, customs and image, make you feel like as though you have just left the place you, until now used to recognize as the world itself. This is another planet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We left the road that is being paved by the Chinese to go to Turmi and go through the Arbore villages. Pretty much every time people see us, they either choose between completely ignoring us, or to stop and watch us with the same curiosity with which we look at them. It is the first place in the world where what I feel is a moment of mutual fascination. These people seem to come and go from nowhere. You look around and all you see is a vast desert with dry bushes, but life is present everywhere. </span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Not everything is rose-colored though, the effects of tourism quickly become visible, not that much on the roads we travel or the people of the tribes who we come across in them, but when we reach specific villages, where there are groups of tourists arriving in air-conditioned 4x4's without a grain of sand in their hair. Watching the arrival of them to one of these villages is a scene worth of being filmed to clearly see the destructive effects of irresponsible tourism. Tourists get off while the whole village is already waiting for them. As soon as they open the doors of their fancy Land Cruisers, people jump on them shouting: "PHOTO, PHOTO, PHOTO PHOTO ME ME ME ME, pick me!". People are desperate to be chosen for the photo, and the proudly tourists take their cameras to pose next to this "so exotic" people. The members of the tribe that were chosen then tell them the price per photo! While the photos are taken they even count the number of "clicks" !!!! When tourists are done, they run back to the enclosed tranquility of the 4x4, while villagers chase them grabbing their clean shirts telling them to pay for the 8,10 or 14 clicks they’ve heard !! The saddest thing of all is when the tourists agree and pull out the cash. As a person, I left these villages with my stomach feeling unsettled, and as a photographer, I left having lost all desire in taking a photo .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MUb5pOfne_w/VMtyUnrtruI/AAAAAAAAGbs/ETWrVYpSDQw/s1600/NIC_6275.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MUb5pOfne_w/VMtyUnrtruI/AAAAAAAAGbs/ETWrVYpSDQw/s1600/NIC_6275.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then there are the villages where weekly markets take place. There, members of all the tribes of the region come to sell the characteristic products that each of them produces. They are fascinating places until one tries to go to walk through them and an Ethiopian teenager approaches you to tell you that the walk in there requires a guide, and that it will cost 10 dollars. "Ten dollars for what?" - I told one of them while trying to contain the internal fury that wants to grab him by his neck and snap it. - Because it's the law here – he answers and adds - "if you want to walk through this market you need a guide". A guide for what? - I repeated! For walking ???. Yes – he answered defiantly. I won’t pay a penny, go away. And they don’t leave, and one walks with three or four of them trying to escort you outside the village. They are not people of the tribe, they are opportunistic Ethiopians who just want money for themselves, at the expense of those who live there.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Finally there are the rituals like jumping on the backs of the bulls, dances, cow blood drinking, whipping of the women, children circumcisions and so much more. Events that are sold to tourists with the same frivolity as any other circus show. I have no doubt that they might be very interesting, and a part of me is completely willing to participate in them. However we’ve chosen to give up all of them, because paying for them would mean to perpetuate the trivialization of these traditions and to contribute to undermine the habits of these people, which in turns goes against the very principles of those of us who intend to travel in a way that has the least impact on local tradtions.</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Along the road, where the 4x4’s pass at 120 km/h leaving us all covered under a choking cloud of dust, the situation is very different because the tribal people just ignore us or look apathetically silent. But even so, when trying to engage them in a dialogue or anything that would result in a photograph, the demands of money for it are imminent everywhere you are. It’s cents they ask for, but still the whole situation becomes very little genuine. It is perhaps one of the most fascinating places in the world where I’ve been as a photographer and paradoxically, the one where fewer photos I've taken in my life. The whole situation is likebeing splashed with a big bucket of cold water for those of us who like to engage in an intimate and disinterested bond with the people we photograph. As a photographer, I have also changed the idea I had about the photography, often impressive, that I've seen of these tribes in the past. But above all, it has changed the idea I had of those photographers who passed through here. Now that I know what goes on here in the background with photography, those same photos that I once found dazzling have now lost all their value for me.</span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>The advent of an impending catastrophe. </i><br /><br />This extraordinary cultural amalgam of ancient life that has found a way to stay alive in the XXI century, is finally to receive one of the worst hits in its history in the name of false progress. In 2006, the Ethiopian government closed a multimillion dollar corrupt contract with an Italian company to construct the Gibe III dam on the Omo River. When operational, it will destroy the entire ecosystem and the livelihood of the tribes that have lived here for centuries. It will force internal displacements and inevitable inter tribal conflicts for land in a place that, despite its historical infighting, was always essentially peaceful. Two hundred thousand people spread over more than a dozen ancient tribes will probably see the end of their lives and their tradition itself. All cultural legacy will eventually be seen in a museum, while the last inhabitants will probably end up begging in Ethiopian towns, and others will eventually leave their attires to join the immense chain of accumulators of stuff to which we belong. Saddest of all, perhaps, is that none of these people whose universe is so radically opposed to ours, has an idea of what it is to come to them. Everything is done behind their backs in the name of progress. A progress that kills as it very well explains the excellent report from Survival International:</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i><a href="http://www.survivalinternational.org/progresscankill" target="_blank">Progress can kill</a></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To inform your self better about the devastating effects of "progess" in the Omo region, </span></span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">have a look at this dedicated report from</span></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.survivalinternational.org/tribes/omovalley" target="_blank">Survival International</a></span></span> </i></span></span><br /><br /> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The experience of crossing the Omo Valley by bicycle has made me feel as much as dazzlement as sadness. Being around these people and live on their land during our journey, has revolutionized my world and has turned it upside down again and again from head to toes. I could clearly feel how our way of living and our school of thought, run through radically different levels from that one of these people, making this place literally a planet apart. However it is a fascination that was accompanied by a strong sadness. Sad to know that this whole parallel world is going to be destroyed with impunity, extinct, wiped off the face of the earth forever by us. And on the other hand, to prove once again the destructive effects of irresponsible tourism, which serves people who pay fortunes to be brought for a human zoo experience in an inhospitable place viewed from the comfort of a 4x4. They pay to watch these people and their customs and rituals of daily life as if it were a show on Broadway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The excess and irresponsibility with which the access to this place is handled, has undermined the very values of these cultures that are so fragile to our influence, causing many of these people to become mere pathetically desperate beggars, who are willing to fight for a few coins. Coins that are thrown to them by those who come here in order to later return home, with the photos of that very rare woman with lips and lobes stretched, filled with colored necklaces, bare breasted, that walks barefoot, sleeps on the floor in a thatched hut and that eats the same tasteless food every day. They go back happy with the photo of the "exotic" places they visit in exchange of some pennies thrown into the air and by which the tribal people fight to pick up. Meanwhile, they paid hundreds of dollars to some Ethiopian agent who is only interested in making money by trivializing these cultures, taking them in a 4x4 "little adventure". Everything is shaping up to get even worse, since the Chinese are paving almost all roads leading to the most remote tribes. With asphalt, the end of innocence will reach even those that still live deep into the bush.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After several days we finally arrived to Omorate, a small filthy and unattractive village which is again full of evil Ethiopians. This distant corner of the globe marks for us the long-awaited end of this damn country. From here we have to cross the Omo River and now, venture in one of the most fascinating stretches this world has to offer, but also one of the most unpredictable, unstable and insecure: the triple border between Ethiopia, South Sudan and Kenya, a tribal planet. We will have a huge corridor of inhospitable sand all along Lake Turkana. It is one of the moments that I have most anxiously waited for to reach in my life, and that moment is finally there, under the wheels of my bicycle.</span></div>
Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-57988850975598667252015-08-04T08:29:00.003+08:002015-08-04T08:29:42.775+08:00An urban monster called Addis Abeba<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0VpTmo-TuKA/VMF3tYmloTI/AAAAAAAAGZ0/C_peBMvA63Y/s1600/NIC_6083.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0VpTmo-TuKA/VMF3tYmloTI/AAAAAAAAGZ0/C_peBMvA63Y/s1600/NIC_6083.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Warning:
many of the commentaries and opinions that you will be about to read
might sound very harsh, but I promise they are the most accurate account
of the frequently miserable experience that is crossing Ethiopia by
bicycle. Given the radical difference that exists between those of us
who travel by bicycle across this country (and those who walk the world
too) and those who travel by any kind of motorised transport, I don't
feel particularly well predisposed to accept any objections coming from
those who haven't crossed it in the same way.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977798468=26f3b27ea53454a9d07.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><i>Translation courtesy of Thomas Benitex</i></span></span> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">I have said it more than once already and I like to say it again: the entrance to </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">(and exits of)</span></span></span></span> the great cities of the world by bicycle is not easy and it is rarely a simple experience. It is a stressful process where you have to go around finding your way in a completely unknown metropolis, while keeping your concentration to protect yourself from a traffic that is potentially dangerous at any time. Added to that, in some cities, it is vital to remain alert at all times, since one may be going unknowingly</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436971838218=2791d48b3d893907754.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"> through</span></span></span></span> generally peripheral areas, where the risk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time increases considerably. But as much as it can be a stressful process, it can also be a fascinating experience, as is the case of large African cities, and Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, is a good example of them.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RCv0GaSWKlk/VMF4HP-JUmI/AAAAAAAAGZ8/sWU9EDhKS00/s1600/NIC_6169.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RCv0GaSWKlk/VMF4HP-JUmI/AAAAAAAAGZ8/sWU9EDhKS00/s1600/NIC_6169.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436972060434=2e6f88d052beed05529.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">The rural world of the Ethiopian highlands dramatically stops at the great ring road around the big Addis. The chaos is imminent, a cramped mass of improvised houses, made of wood, cardboard, corrugated steel, grows organically on a still rigorously mountainous terrain at an average altitude of 2400 m. We keep descending and ascending slowly to keep the balance, along dirt and stony streets muddied by the rain. We pass along street markets selling every imaginable piece of cheap Chinese stuff, dodging people walking in all directions, donkeys, goats. Nilotic, Bantu, Trigrayans, Afaris, Somalis, Oromos, the cultural mix is amazing. Street vendors carrying more junk hanging on their bodies than a Christmas tree on December 25th, seeking to earn a few cents a day. Chaos, bustle, shattered vans</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436972060434=2e6f88d052beed05529.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"> acting as public transport, </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436972060434=2e6f88d052beed05529.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436972060434=2e6f88d052beed05529.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436972060434=2e6f88d052beed05529.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">overflowing with people, </span></span></span></span>make their way through every possible opening. The driver's assistant with his body half-way out of the window yells out the destinations as he hits the door to draw the attention of potential travelers. So we go, plunging into the incredible universe of Addis, a city as ugly as dazzling.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwGmWDof93Q/VMF6FZF7q_I/AAAAAAAAGaM/pjweo8a_7PI/s1600/NIC_6100.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwGmWDof93Q/VMF6FZF7q_I/AAAAAAAAGaM/pjweo8a_7PI/s1600/NIC_6100.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436975711427=2004302aa36b7cf3496.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">We have to get to the very heart of the city, where Claudio lives. He is an Ethiopian whose grandfather arrived with the Italian forces of Mussolini, later married an Ethiopian woman whom gave birth to Claudio's mother, who later married the Italian man who became his father. Claudio is now indistinguishable from an ordinary Italian but has grown up and lived all his life in Ethiopia.
He and his friends show us a new Ethiopia, a very different one, that one of people with higher levels of education, a reality that reaches only 15% of this country.
We welcome this change as a new relief from the constant harassment, because they are really lovely people and obviously they do not welcome us (or say farewell) by stoning us. Sometimes it becomes so clear the immeasurable value of having been able to access education.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436975726463=2acf07a79d33a283b38.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">It takes us until mid-afternoon to get to Claudio's house, Addis' chaos puts constant hindrances on the way and last but not least the ups and downs of the hills continue well within the city's boundaries, which right in the urban chaos are significantly worse and more dangerous than in the rural areas.
As if the wild nature of this urban jungle were not enough, the government had the brilliant idea of calling the Chinese to make an urban plan for them and build a train. Only an Ethiopian mind can conceive an idea of such a degree of stupidity, or perhaps a degree of corruption, to have the Chinese, who are not precisely characterized by having a well-adjusted urban vision for places so foreign to their own culture, build them and urban train that contradicts the very intrinsic nature of the city. Although Addis is hell, it is an organic urban hell that has found its own, even though naturally twisted, logic and it is a "logic" that allows it to function and serve its citizens; the day that urban train planned and built by the Chinese is ready to run, the whole city will collapse, that is my guess.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Ethiopian culinary delights </span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">In this African megacity, it becomes very evident, more than in any other region of the country, the remnants of the influence of the years of the Italian occupation.
The food is superb in Ethiopia, not only the local flavors such as the <i>fuul</i>, the <i>shiro</i>, the <i>tibs</i> saturating the cavernous interior of the ever omnipresent <i>injera</i> , a giant foamy pancake made from <i>tef</i>, with a slightly acidic taste, which absorbs the spicy sauces that are spread on it. The mix is eaten right before the <i>injera </i>disintegrates. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Aside from all these local delicacies, there's the Italian legacy, quite a blessing for those of us who from time to time need a break from the average African menu. In any canteen you may find in Addis, you can get a massive plate of spaguettis <i>al dente</i> for a dollar, served with delicious gravy and fresh <i>panini. </i>At best comes at night, when you can go belly up with pizza with real <i>mozarella</i> cheese and tomato sauce. A pizza with a dough so good that could match that one of Italy or Argentina and likewise, cooked in a stone oven!! </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436976528189=260cf2010948c905619.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Finally there is the coffee, which in Ethiopia is extraordinary and that apart from being able to drink it in the traditional ceremonial way, it comes in all the Italian versions: <i>cappuccino, espresso</i> and our favorite, the <i>macchiato. </i>It is served for pennies in any little bar anywhere in Ethiopia, and we have drunk so much that it has contributed to add stress to the already stressful experience of cycling across this country. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Udtj0JVS7T0/VMF5kDp4UwI/AAAAAAAAGaE/RhwKIutMFrc/s1600/NIC_6185.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Udtj0JVS7T0/VMF5kDp4UwI/AAAAAAAAGaE/RhwKIutMFrc/s1600/NIC_6185.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977121053=26435eae84b38d65870.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><i>The Merkato</i></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977121053=26435eae84b38d65870.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Back in 1999 I set foot on Asia for the first time.
I had dreamed all my life to get there and in that very first trip I would find myself fallen into a constant state of fascination.
At every step I took, I felt like a sponge trying to absorb absolutely everything and not to miss a thing.
It was the people, the streets, architecture, the traffic, the food, the odors, but of that all, it was the markets and their hustle and bustle what truly captivated me. Years passed by and I would returne to Asia again and again until I made it my home. I would spend nine years in the continent traveling, living and working, slowly, those markets that I had originally been so fascinated by, ended up turning into an ordinary part of my everyday life.
Although I never stopped enjoying them, they lost that element of fascination that I had formerly found in them. And by the time I had spent enough time already convinced that I would never recover that initial feeling, I arrived to the huge <i>merkato</i> of Addis Ababa and almost like a shock of adrenaline, I recovered that original excitement of the first time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iY44kZ2SK60/VMq1osV9W4I/AAAAAAAAGaw/hRegOoj0hBg/s1600/NIC_6151.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iY44kZ2SK60/VMq1osV9W4I/AAAAAAAAGaw/hRegOoj0hBg/s1600/NIC_6151.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-swJN1PJQ8/VMF1CRmUq5I/AAAAAAAAGZs/4Ml3FRyFaKc/s1600/NIC_6148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977201906=2a2f2c4d25711d28501.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">The <i>Merkato</i> is the huge heart of Addis, a massive urban stain that spreads in all directions following the</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977201906=2a2f2c4d25711d28501.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977201906=2a2f2c4d25711d28501.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"> organic</span></span></span> logic of an amorphous living organism. It nourishes itself from the tens of thousands of people passing through the endless maze of narrow alleys that make up the channels of its internal structure.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9YOW9FRU50g/VMq0qKRAo6I/AAAAAAAAGak/iQ_ZY2gM_Ms/s1600/NIC_6157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9YOW9FRU50g/VMq0qKRAo6I/AAAAAAAAGak/iQ_ZY2gM_Ms/s1600/NIC_6157.jpg" width="266" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977274575=23425c7864bde25e317.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977274575=23425c7864bde25e317.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"> You can find everything you need in the thousands of stalls</span></span></span> built from stilts, wood, corrugated metal sheets, cardboard, tarps, forcefully compressed within. Each may have as little as 50 cm wide and to take the compression even further, they often are two stories high and vendors squeeze themselves inside them to work.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VJV8qccUTo/VMq0GxhksVI/AAAAAAAAGac/1t5hr_yW-zg/s1600/NIC_6129.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VJV8qccUTo/VMq0GxhksVI/AAAAAAAAGac/1t5hr_yW-zg/s1600/NIC_6129.jpg" width="266" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977352216=25eebcc6e89a311c028.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Within the chaos there seems to be an intrinsic order that allows only those who frequent the place to navigate seamlessly, make the necessary purchases and move through the frenetic pace without problems, amid the noise and mess with the tranquility of an aristocrat wandering the gardens of Versailles on a Sunday afternoon.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VogqYQKdgNw/VMq7MlP0TmI/AAAAAAAAGbA/j3cWOcmCQZw/s1600/NIC_6113.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VogqYQKdgNw/VMq7MlP0TmI/AAAAAAAAGbA/j3cWOcmCQZw/s1600/NIC_6113.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977439850=2906afcc5fbd0fdba37.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Compression in certain sectors is such that it seems as though the improvised walls of corrugated metal sheets would be holding so much pressure that they could burst at any time. Through the interstices and passageways squeeze those who come and go from the workshops where they repair absolutely everything. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wr4mHvHiHGc/VMrEa5bxKKI/AAAAAAAAGbQ/BuqObUnz_mY/s1600/NIC_6140.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wr4mHvHiHGc/VMrEa5bxKKI/AAAAAAAAGbQ/BuqObUnz_mY/s1600/NIC_6140.jpg" width="290" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977565139=2245ee916740bf61555.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">Finally there's the repulsively fascinating restrooms area, a public space within the <i>Merkato </i>that has so much garbage, urine and so many accumulated piles of human shit that it is impossible to overlook even if one wanted to.
In case of an emergency, it is very easy to get to it, just follow the path indicated by the smell, following the stench that permeates the nostrils making them burn by the pestilence. Upon arrival, the show is nothing short of surreal. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T8NZWhgwCaA/VMrE-erv-XI/AAAAAAAAGbY/arTkR952vbA/s1600/NIC_6155.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T8NZWhgwCaA/VMrE-erv-XI/AAAAAAAAGbY/arTkR952vbA/s1600/NIC_6155.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977670261=2bb7ac90e77ba651d16.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">The <i>merkato</i> is not a static place, is a cellular ever-growing urban monster that seems to breed at the same reckless rate of Ethiopians themselves.
With its growth, it seems to be devouring Addis itself on the way and making it part of its digestion.
It is as repulsive as incredibly fascinating of a place, where I could spend days if not weeks getting lost in it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-swJN1PJQ8/VMF1CRmUq5I/AAAAAAAAGZs/4Ml3FRyFaKc/s1600/NIC_6148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-swJN1PJQ8/VMF1CRmUq5I/AAAAAAAAGZs/4Ml3FRyFaKc/s1600/NIC_6148.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977798468=26f3b27ea53454a9d07.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">After a few days of resting among friends in this fascinating mess of a metropolis called Addis Ababa, eating Italian delicacies and chewing khat with sophisticated locals, we set off for the final stretch to escape from this hell of a wicked country.
After more than a month and a half crossing it, I can now easily affirm that it is the country where I spent the worst time in the whole world, thanks to the overwhelming hostility of its people, towards whom I can not </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977798468=26f3b27ea53454a9d07.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="_3qi9" data-reactid=".b6.0.1.0.$1.$1.0.1.0.0.0.0.1:$mid=11436977798468=26f3b27ea53454a9d07.0.$1.0.$right.0.0.1.0">even </span></span>generate slightly postive feelings for more than a few minutes a week.
Therefore, the plan was to use all of our strength and energy, taking advantage of the less mountainous terrain ahead, to get as fast as possible to the Kenyan border, traversing the mythical Omo valley. We set off believing that the worst had already passed, what we didn't know actually, was that it was just about to begin..... </span></span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823643012629618744.post-70687968776125598992015-04-21T23:41:00.001+08:002015-07-14T22:00:45.730+08:00Where are you go? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wGdUrYFTWpY/VL6WzvSDOLI/AAAAAAAAGYk/J1FL6hf4Wes/s1600/NIC_5980.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wGdUrYFTWpY/VL6WzvSDOLI/AAAAAAAAGYk/J1FL6hf4Wes/s1600/NIC_5980.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-42cf23fe-d84a-6636-0cbe-08f0fbc142f6" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Warning: many of the commentaries and opinions that you will be about to read might sound very harsh, but I promise they are the most accurate account of the frequently miserable experience that is crossing Ethiopia by bicycle. Given the radical difference that exists between those of us who travel by bicycle across this country (and those who walk the world too) and those who travel by any kind of motorised transport, I don't feel particularly well predisposed to accept any objections coming from those who haven't crossed it in the same way.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />After four days of resting in Wukro and recovering a bit of the lost faith in the Ethiopians thanks to father Ángel and his mission, we resumed the long journey to Addis Ababa. We had already crossed tens of mountain passes to get to the Tigray and go across it, bearing the tireless harassment from the evil Ethiopians, and tens of mountain passes we still had to go across to get to the capital, but to our surprise and relief, we would experience a calmer Ethiopia, at least for a little while. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Afar land</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i> </i><br />With a shield and a sword we left Wukro, ready to continue battling the everyday harassment, but miraculously the miles began to go by without major problems. After a couple of days I began to wonder whether Ángel was indeed an angel whose compassion influence extended to his surroundings, taming the wild behaviour of these demons. In Mekele, a city famous for its nice people in this country of bad people, we met for the very first time charming ethiopians who made justice to such fame. Among other things, the Mekele cycling club members helped us repairing Julia’s bicycle, gave us shelter and food and helped us to continue believing that not all is lost in this country. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The days became noticeably easy even though we had to climb and descend mountains over and over again, each afternoon reaching an accumulated ascent of over 2000 m! But our journey seemed to go unnoticed to the people of the south of Tigray. We started to gradually descend, pass after pass, until losing altitude and find ourselves in the line that separates the highlands plateau from the famous Danakil depression, the lowest place on earth with a maximum of 117 meters below the sea level. The land of the Afar is not an easy land, it is land of tough men who traverse the depression by foot bearing temperatures of more than 60 C. We came across them in the towns where they arrive from the depression with their camels loaded with salt. Their faces show apathy and sometimes even some apparent contempt. We went through, however, without major problems. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After the Afar region, we finally got out of the Tigray and began a new climb to the highlands. Valley after valley, endless climbs followed by descents so ephemeral that they made of the days feel like a constant endless climb. We left the arid lands of the Tigray behind and the mountains dressed up in intense green again, but together with fertility the devils came back like mushrooms after the rain. We gradually had to bear the continuous harassment again, this time with new variations but now done by both children and adults. To the common “give me...” now we also had the “where you go?”. In each town, each corner, there’s always someone shouting with disdain “ehhh <i>faranji </i>(white man) where are you go?”. Great power for synthesis these ethiopians who seem to have fusioned two tenses of the English language: simple present “where do you go?” and present continuous “where are you going?” inventing what I like to call, the Simple Ethiopian: “Where are you go?”... A question apparently so harmless but almost always said in a way where the tone sounds taunting and arrogant which I don’t like a single bit. <br /><i><br />World Cup loss</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i> </i><br />Once again in the Ethiopian highlands, a plateau higher than 2000 m above sea level, we are in the middle of July when, passing by a coffee shop in a small town, I see lots of people surrounding a TV watching a football game. I remembered the football World Cup must've been taking place. Football is a sport that I’ve always found as incomprehensible as terribly boring. But not only I got to know we are two days away from the grand final but also that Argentina will play in it against Germany. With the only purpose of putting my heart together with those I love who like this sport, I decide to leave my indifference aside and stop at the end of the day in a place where I could watch the final. In a small town before a hard climb, the locals take me to a small adobe made hut where in a small room with unpainted wall, around 20 excited ethiopians crowd behind a small TV set. The TV requires someone standing next to it, moving the antenna, in order to get enough signal to be able to see the little coloured points who run from one side to the other, although the ball, if there is one, I have no idea where it is. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We are tighter than 4 elephants in a Smart, but the mood has plenty of emotion. I come in, the Argentine <i>faranji,</i> and everybody cheers and I get emotional because they are good Ethiopians. They turn on my side against Germany right away. I think to myself that in the end, football can’t be such a bad thing if it has the power to turn the Ethiopians into good people so I sit down to watch and suffer together with them. Not to suffer the missed shots from the Germans, nor the missed shots from the Argentines, not even to suffer the Ethiopians! Suffer for the torture of so much boredom. How can someone enjoy watching this sport is so far from my understanding as trigonometry is. I don’t understand it and won’t be able to ever understand it and to make things worse, after 90 minutes we have 15 in the middle and 30 minutes more of extra time! Why does this happen to me? Can’t they simply accept a draw and go home? And even waiting all those 30 minutes for what? So that Germany scores! Damn, I wish I could get back these 135 lost minutes of my life because tomorrow we have a 65 km long climb to a 3300 m pass and it’s more than 1 am, but I must admit I had a good time with these Ethiopians. <br /><br />Deja-vu for me, as in 2006 when I was doing my first long bicycle trip from Iran to China I was crossing Uzbekistan when in the great city of Bukhara, in a similar self-torturing mood I decided to suffer the Argentina-Germany game of that time, when Germany also beat and left Argentina out of that World Cup. Different to that occasion, this time I didn’t have to watch the game next to 5 drunk germans who didn’t stop making stupid jokes, as if I cared at all about the final score! The moral of the story is that I believe I don’t bring much luck to my home country in World Cups and next time I should choose not to watch the game to see if they finally win once and for all. <br /><br /><i>Arriving to Addis</i><br /><br />I knew we had a hard climb the day after the World Cup final but I didn’t know it was going to be 65 km! I had barely slept and to make things worse I had to do it alone because my iron maiden woke up with a stomach sickness and she decided to jump in a pick up truck and wait for me in the late afternoon in Debre Birhan. From the early hours of the morning until the last hours of the afternoon I didn’t do anything other than climbing the endless succession of bends and switchbacks which go up in the steep hills, something akin to climbing a vertical wall from a high to an even higher place, reaching the highest point at 3300 m, where the change in the climate brings conifers and a cold wind that sticks to my sweat and freezes my muscles. The views are, as always, the great reward for the effort, because if there is anything extraordinary about this country is its magnificent scenery.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the final days before Addis, we entered into the rainy season and the strong, cold and sporadic storms would be with us for the rest of the way. The rural life gets into the very boundaries of the capital, where farms continue to be ploughed by hand and farmers live knee deep in the mud all day under the sun or the rain. Sunsets paint plantations in gold and the clouds of the storms reveal splendid rainbows in this part of the country which is, fortunately, quieter than the rest. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">900 km have passed since Wukro and I lost count of the number of mountain passes and valleys that we have had to tackle to arrive to the dramatic chaos of the outskirts of the city, as well as the thousands of meters of ascents we have done, but I suspect that since we left Sudan until we arrived in Addis we have gone up and down mount Everest no less than a dozen times. We finally arrive to Addis Ababa, the capital of this rabbit hutch called Ethiopia. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Translation, courtesy of J.P. Guerschman </i> </span></span> </span></span></div>
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Nicohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423229868936486975noreply@blogger.com0