During all the trip I thought his would be a sweet and sour moment, like the food. But I’m happy. Happy for having done it, happy for having left home that day with the backpack and for having arrived to China, to Xian and Beijing ten months later, which is what I wanted.
I’m happy for having been able to fulfil my objective, the bitterness of the trip finishing is very small, in one or another way all finishes, and this is a happy ending, like in the horrible Disney movies. All has gone fine, I’ve arrived and I smile. Even though a part of me wants “not to be happy”, doesn’t want the trip to finish, wants to keep being nomad.
As I knew this would be publish later I’m writing this on the plane. I couldn’t writ this a month later.
In the morning I record the last images of the Beijing video so I haven’t had time to have breakfast so I’ve bought something in a smoky stall that threw a good smell while I was recording. It appears in the minute 1;48. It’s good, like a sandwich with meat and soya seeds that fall in every bite. I was hoping to fry by the terminal they built for the Olympics but I’m not lucky.
I love airports, searching for my fight reading quickly the screen and finding it surrounded by other attractive names, seeing people with their bags searching their destinations. I’m sensitive, if I see somebody sad and overwhelmed sad I feel pity and if I see someone happy I euphoric.
But if I like airports , I like planes even more. For me, a plane is a “non temporal window” in which there’s nothing you can do. Before a trip I always have thousand things to do and the plane is a place to relax in which I hardly ever do anything useful. Normally I fall asleep before taking off, when the big airplane moves slowly and clumsy to the runaway. By the time I’m awake, there are times I’ve been hours on the air.
If I’d flight direct I’d had flown by most of my route, of my silk road. Even it’s not the exact terrain I’ve gone by, I look down, I’m crossing Eurasia in the opposite way, gaining the seven hours I had lost the clock. I think in all the things I’ve done, in all the people I’ve talk to, on the times that I’ve sweat and silver, en all the things that have happened to me… I smile
AVION
Coming back would be harder if my time would have finished, something would have happened back home or money had finished. It would have been even harder if I had had to come back after four months of travelling, that would have been horrible! The reason of coming back is strong and appealing. I’ve got a civil servant job organizing the town hall bill in my hometown… OK, I’m joking… The reason is better, o
it’s a live reason full of hope. In a few days I’m going to(I was going to) become an uncle. The rest of China can wait, I can’t miss this.
During all the trip I thought his would be a sweet and sour moment, like the food. But I’m happy. Happy for having done it, happy for having left home that day with the backpack and for having arrived to China, to Xian and Beijing ten months later, which is what I wanted.
I’m happy for having been able to fulfil my objective, the bitterness of the trip finishing is very small, in one or another way all finishes, and this is a happy ending, like in the horrible Disney movies. All has gone fine, I’ve arrived and I smile. Even though a part of me wants “not to be happy”, doesn’t want the trip to finish, wants to keep being nomad.
As I knew this would be publish later I’m writing this on the plane. I couldn’t writ this a month later.
In the morning I record the last images of the Beijing video so I haven’t had time to have breakfast so I’ve bought something in a smoky stall that threw a good smell while I was recording. It appears in the minute 1;48. It’s good, like a sandwich with meat and soya seeds that fall in every bite. I was hoping to fry by the terminal they built for the Olympics but I’m not lucky.
I love airports, searching for my fight reading quickly the screen and finding it surrounded by other attractive names, seeing people with their bags searching their destinations. I’m sensitive, if I see somebody sad and overwhelmed sad I feel pity and if I see someone happy I euphoric.
But if I like airports , I like planes even more. For me, a plane is a “non temporal window” in which there’s nothing you can do. Before a trip I always have thousand things to do and the plane is a place to relax in which I hardly ever do anything useful. Normally I fall asleep before taking off, when the big airplane moves slowly and clumsy to the runaway. By the time I’m awake, there are times I’ve been hours on the air.
If I’d flight direct I’d had flown by most of my route, of my silk road. Even it’s not the exact terrain I’ve gone by, I look down, I’m crossing Eurasia in the opposite way, gaining the seven hours I had lost the clock. I think in all the things I’ve done, in all the people I’ve talk to, on the times that I’ve sweat and silver, en all the things that have happened to me… I smile
AVION
Coming back would be harder if my time would have finished, something would have happened back home or money had finished. It would have been even harder if I had had to come back after four months of travelling, that would have been horrible! The reason of coming back is strong and appealing. I’ve got a civil servant job organizing the town hall bill in my hometown… OK, I’m joking… The reason is better, o
it’s a live reason full of hope. In a few days I’m going to(I was going to) become an uncle. The rest of China can wait, I can’t miss this.
My vegetative plane state get’s altered by my accumulated memories during the trip. The images get amounted in my brain, moreover I’m hearing Radiohead and Thom Yorke’s voice messes my thoughts, the music puts them back in order, I don’t know how this will en up. Is like doing the trip in fast speed. One of my favourites sons sounds; “Idioteque”.
I was sure that I wouldn’t put a plane picture, how unmening. Once I saw the work of a photographer that was a retired Iberia pilot. He had carried his camera during his service years as pilot. Those were truly spectacular pictures.
We make a stop in Moscow. The pilot announces that it’s -22 degrees. They put us the stairs instead of the finger and I have my coat in the luggage for not carrying it. I had always wanted to come to Moscow, but I have only 35 minutes to change flight and there are too many shops and too little amount of signs to find my gate.
Other while seeping and the pilot tells us that we arrive to Madrid, how weird!, he talks in Spanish.
I’ve arrived, all is easy, I know where the underground is, how much it is, the stop where I have to change to another line and in what stop to go out. It’s 12 at night, my street is deserted as usual. They’ve change the business in the corner again. I have no keys, I didn’t know how long would I be away. I call the bell; “Hello. It’s me”.
I still have things to tell you about the trip, some interesting numbers, curiosities, and… maybe another video.
Soon more.
Fernando
During all the trip I thought this would be a sweet and sour moment, like the food. But I’m happy. Happy for having done it, happy for having left home that day with the backpack and for having arrived to China, to Xian and Beijing ten months later, which is what I wanted.
I’m happy for having been able to fulfil my objective, the bitterness of the trip finishing is very small, in one or another way all finishes, and this is a happy ending, like in the horrible Disney movies. All has gone fine, I’ve arrived and I smile. Even though a part of me wants “not to be happy”, doesn’t want the trip to finish, wants to keep being nomad.
As I knew this would be publish later I’m writing this on the plane. I couldn’t writ this a month later.
I was sure that I wouldn’t put a plane picture, how unmening. Once I saw the work of a photographer that was a retired Iberia pilot. He had carried his camera during his service years as pilot. Those were truly spectacular pictures.
In the morning I record the last images of the Beijing video so I haven’t had time to have breakfast so I’ve bought something in a smoky stall that threw a good smell while I was recording. It appears in the minute 1;48. It’s good, like a sandwich with meat and soya seeds that fall in every bite. I was hoping to fry by the terminal they built for the Olympics but I’m not lucky.
I love airports, searching for my fight reading quickly the screen and finding it surrounded by other attractive names, seeing people with their bags searching their destinations. I’m sensitive, if I see somebody sad and overwhelmed sad I feel pity and if I see someone happy I euphoric.
But if I like airports , I like planes even more. For me, a plane is a “non temporal window” in which there’s nothing you can do. Before a trip I always have thousand things to do and the plane is a place to relax in which I hardly ever do anything useful. Normally I fall asleep before taking off, when the big airplane moves slowly and clumsy to the runaway. By the time I’m awake, there are times I’ve been hours on the air.
If I’d flight direct I’d had flown by most of my route, of my silk road. Even it’s not the exact terrain I’ve gone by, I look down, I’m crossing Eurasia in the opposite way, gaining the seven hours I had lost the clock. I think in all the things I’ve done, in all the people I’ve talk to, on the times that I’ve sweat and silver, en all the things that have happened to me… I smile.
Madrid awaits me. This was one year ago, the day before departuring.
Coming back would be harder if my time would have finished, something would have happened back home or money had finished. It would have been even harder if I had had to come back after four months of travelling, that would have been horrible! The reason of coming back is strong and appealing. I’ve got a civil servant job organizing the town hall bill in my hometown… OK, I’m joking… The reason is better, it’s a live reason full of hope. In a few days I’m going to(I was going to) become an uncle. The rest of China can wait, I can’t miss this.
My vegetative plane state get’s altered by my accumulated memories during the trip. The images get amounted in my brain, moreover I’m hearing Radiohead and Thom Yorke’s voice messes my thoughts, the music puts them back in order, I don’t know how this will en up. Is like doing the trip in fast speed. One of my favourites sons sounds; “Idioteque”.
We make a stop in Moscow. The pilot announces that it’s -22 degrees. They put us the stairs instead of the finger and I have my coat in the luggage for not carrying it. I had always wanted to come to Moscow, but I have only 35 minutes to change flight and there are too many shops and too little amount of signs to find my gate.
Other while seeping and the pilot tells us that we arrive to Madrid, how weird!, he talks in Spanish.
How different this is from what I´ve seen the last months!
I’ve arrived, all is easy, I know where the underground is, how much it is, the stop where I have to change to another line and in what stop to go out. It’s 12 at night, my street is deserted as usual. They’ve change the business in the corner again. I have no keys, I didn’t know how long would I be away. I call the bell; “Hello. It’s me”.
I still have things to tell you about the trip, some interesting numbers, curiosities, and… maybe another video.
Soon more.
Fernando
Buena vuelta a casa y a la normalidad . Un abrazo viajero