tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70878329687877428192024-02-19T15:35:13.048-08:00On The RoadViajes, gente, diversas culturas y el sentido de la vida... Encontrá toda la información sobre el fino arte de viajar 'low-cost'.//////Travel, people, different cultures and the meaning of life... Find all the info about the fine art of travelling 'low-cost'.Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-5448496965380881502011-09-09T16:31:00.000-07:002011-09-09T16:34:32.381-07:00Lithuania, 2nd part: Bicycle trip across the country, and Rainbow Gathering.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVRvtMFXzuAbgG5ggbO1hsPCXnYOVfm0jjY7dMDPS9Cwy_5WbapSL2jKEt-oO_7hTN4gkpsguyKKmTpTqG8DBLvLWyoTszM3xunBaZef-OdtNtmomr2Z9oxMahjZfZb7KejcFjuQuU6nq/s1600/SDC10566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVRvtMFXzuAbgG5ggbO1hsPCXnYOVfm0jjY7dMDPS9Cwy_5WbapSL2jKEt-oO_7hTN4gkpsguyKKmTpTqG8DBLvLWyoTszM3xunBaZef-OdtNtmomr2Z9oxMahjZfZb7KejcFjuQuU6nq/s320/SDC10566.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span lang="en"><span title="">From 10th of August and for about twenty days was the celebration of the Baltic Rainbow Gathering in a forest near Anyksciai, some 160 kms. </span><span title="">from Kaunas. </span><span title="">The Rainbow Gatherings are temporary egalitarian communities that have been held worldwide since the 70's, in contact with nature, and exposing the ideals of peace, love, nonviolence, respect for the environment and freedom as a counterculture opposed to </span><span title="">consumerism and mass media. </span><span title="">Basically, a bunch of hippies meeting! </span><span title="">Indre (now my host) and I had never attended one, so we decided it would be cool to join the brothers for a few days.<br />
</span><span title="">The idea was to hitchhike, which would take about three hours. </span><span title="">But it was too easy, so with a smile I asked, "What if we go by bike?". </span><span title="">So I borrowed Tuchkus' bike, Hercules, who would become my partner in this first trip on two wheels of my life. </span><span title="">Hercules was about 30 years, and the truth is that he had better times. </span><span title="">Only two of the three shifts worked, the brakes were not working well and the seat (a beautiful vintage 80's Brooks, must be said...) was wobbly. </span><span title="">But he proved his name right carrying over 40 kilos of luggage (mine and Indre) among clothes, sleeping bags, tents, food and kitchen utensils. </span><span title="">Didn't do it to be a gentleman, but for practical reasons (as I like to pedal faster, decided it was a good idea to carry all the weight to make our pace even). </span><span title="">Moreover, it was the perfect argument in case of discussion: "Don't you see I'm carrying all on my own?!". </span><span title="">It did not to stop her from being behind me, so I had to tease her to pedal harder... </span><span title="">The first day we left Kaunas in the afternoon (about 1pm) and took small regional roads, unpaved but with almost no traffic, going through small towns and villages in the countryside, with the kind of views and scenery that only in this kind of forgotten roads</span><span title=""> and going by bicycle can you find. </span><span title="">We stopped for lunch in Jonava, where for 2€ I ate a generous portion of fish with melted cheese and baked potatoes, and kept going. </span><span title="">We soon realized that going by bike was the best choice, with a beautiful landscape that looked like out of a fairy tale and beautiful wooded trails to ourselves. </span><span title="">Here's a little video on the landscapes of Lithuania to give you an idea:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<span lang="en"><span title=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OStISjdmmSI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></span><span title="">The sun began to fall on the horizon when we decided to stop to eat and camp near Ukmerge in some plantations behind the trees, off the road and hidden from curious eyes. </span><span title="">We had covered 80 kms. </span><span title="">in half a day, not bad for the first time. </span><span title="">Early the next morning we packed the stuff and prepared to start the day. </span><span title="">But there was a problem: the unaccustomed bottom of Indre refused to continue. It</span><span title=""> was enough for him 6 hours cycling the day before on the umcomfortable sporty saddle her bicycle had, now she was paying the consequences. </span><span title="">We tried to put a towel as cushion to minimize the martyrdom, and we managed to continue slowly. </span><span title="">After noon we stopped to rest in a small village on the road called Kavarskas. </span><span title="">We enjoyed a good cold beer (in the country is normal to drink at room temperature. Yakkk...) and smoked a cigarette (nothing better after exercise, kids!) on the green grass and under the warm sun of late </span><span title="">August.<br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7NDpUcnRlVHaeXxXO0ukJZiDpArquNo_CDkRVXmy9-95VLBv_4DaXkMKaSyD9nkITUdeabc4uId2PbNNeWQ6EqJm4fImPcTN4pG-BTKiUzyb7bwMukhOswmzq-_FS22M8Ej7NQ-CsLQf/s1600/SDC10567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7NDpUcnRlVHaeXxXO0ukJZiDpArquNo_CDkRVXmy9-95VLBv_4DaXkMKaSyD9nkITUdeabc4uId2PbNNeWQ6EqJm4fImPcTN4pG-BTKiUzyb7bwMukhOswmzq-_FS22M8Ej7NQ-CsLQf/s320/SDC10567.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x24nNt95ZJKxnRETgfn9RLg2U0aMHHxJK8H-vyJQgECFIRz4qcZKrSMxwcMzdz2a9NV8VmOgFGH7AjiAPUsRzOhEpLOrXDl6WwJaxiy5EYwhXpzq9AVUmg7tAIvTLewRAK5p9y3xBeSR/s1600/SDC10568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x24nNt95ZJKxnRETgfn9RLg2U0aMHHxJK8H-vyJQgECFIRz4qcZKrSMxwcMzdz2a9NV8VmOgFGH7AjiAPUsRzOhEpLOrXDl6WwJaxiy5EYwhXpzq9AVUmg7tAIvTLewRAK5p9y3xBeSR/s320/SDC10568.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4ivSPx7ZFJ4VAKYDSZ0_uRWoXdd_xcO-EY55JYlZ2gV28nTAE2DpQwlfrXnC2fEuRqk7PvL1zT8kw14qJ7puoqh2V_63dscRNEK-G4wgkxI5uZU3u8sVZb6JH5yn6uc0CRNU690LLZ-q/s1600/SDC10572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4ivSPx7ZFJ4VAKYDSZ0_uRWoXdd_xcO-EY55JYlZ2gV28nTAE2DpQwlfrXnC2fEuRqk7PvL1zT8kw14qJ7puoqh2V_63dscRNEK-G4wgkxI5uZU3u8sVZb6JH5yn6uc0CRNU690LLZ-q/s320/SDC10572.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span title="">We passed Anyksciai and found a beautiful lake of fresh blue waters inviting us to swim. </span><span title="">Indre wanted to stop, but I had enough of stopping and stopping here and there, and all I wanted to do was to reach the final destination before the night and leave all the crap I was carrying. </span><span title="">So in spite of Indre's dissapointment we kept cycling, and in a small town called Andrioniskis, close to the meeting, we stopped to ask directions. </span><span title="">The lady was super friendly and knew about the Rainbow, so it was pretty easy to find the place.</span><br />
<br />
<span title=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNSiUcCfI9Afa9LgP6soRKkdhnWAe1tGR7gIY-bmG8n8JzvVQUjSn39ETpeIB8cxgj4erAerXdr3oH1XcHHR19MAxsfeMQImrSHiatayLYkecbOkydvQ43-8dxcQZvQ_iBJIA3f_Y0dkD/s1600/SDC10574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNSiUcCfI9Afa9LgP6soRKkdhnWAe1tGR7gIY-bmG8n8JzvVQUjSn39ETpeIB8cxgj4erAerXdr3oH1XcHHR19MAxsfeMQImrSHiatayLYkecbOkydvQ43-8dxcQZvQ_iBJIA3f_Y0dkD/s320/SDC10574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wF_2JhW0xHizq9TQSEutA8xU_xFn0B2acl2pQF-tOQDeLJQiaMVnQj42ZrTtIzS1o1lYpJQNbX2mknbb5ekdS9Prk_XI3ieBKPYymBW5u-WbZdiK28g7eaInkUulTTHmBWcGFB0xzNiK/s1600/SDC10575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wF_2JhW0xHizq9TQSEutA8xU_xFn0B2acl2pQF-tOQDeLJQiaMVnQj42ZrTtIzS1o1lYpJQNbX2mknbb5ekdS9Prk_XI3ieBKPYymBW5u-WbZdiK28g7eaInkUulTTHmBWcGFB0xzNiK/s320/SDC10575.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxNE-HfOUABNcleVxtbkp1zRYLch0_E-Dtwn2vkVo8CKJrnm3ZoImaI-6wwnS3Q0tsFaTzq8_soJQno3tzXIQMlI4kmhHmLwbnwh41AtROSu55eF3kirBcofQUUSUUhjh8d8pcXlmedHU/s1600/SDC10581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxNE-HfOUABNcleVxtbkp1zRYLch0_E-Dtwn2vkVo8CKJrnm3ZoImaI-6wwnS3Q0tsFaTzq8_soJQno3tzXIQMlI4kmhHmLwbnwh41AtROSu55eF3kirBcofQUUSUUhjh8d8pcXlmedHU/s320/SDC10581.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></span><span title="">We traversed Lasiniai and Inkunai on small roads through the forest until we finally met Urtas, who showed us the path. </span><span title="">We saluted some of the guys that were there and went looking for a place to drop things and pitch the tent. Then</span><span title="">, socializing a bit, the usual presentations and a good swim in the crystaline waters of the river passing by. </span><span title="">We met all the people, who were already there for two weeks, drank some tea and they told us a little about the meeting. </span><span title="">I also met Airida and Gabriela, whom I met at the ecofestival, of which Gabriela was also an organizer. </span><span title="">When night fell, we ate under the stars and around the campfire the delicious traditional dish of Uzbekistan (Plov) that Sergei had prepared. </span><span title="">Before eating, we all standed in a circle around the fire holding hands, and began to sing songs and praises giving thanks. </span><span title="">I ate three huge plates, with my stomach open for both days of cycling, and we were drinking tea and chatting until midnight, when I decided to go to my lovely tent to rest and recharge batteries. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWHR6CWJJXIe2J6t4yGHQPWJEU30nWmSIx9korcrMdNYM8nTlJzI1xiqMd_x55rWUGLFa4041rITl97Iza9vto8-1Z-r84eOSBVBgmLZEyRwJttj0mQl9mud92a-A-DOT4GlEbPp4Vdq4/s1600/SDC10582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWHR6CWJJXIe2J6t4yGHQPWJEU30nWmSIx9korcrMdNYM8nTlJzI1xiqMd_x55rWUGLFa4041rITl97Iza9vto8-1Z-r84eOSBVBgmLZEyRwJttj0mQl9mud92a-A-DOT4GlEbPp4Vdq4/s320/SDC10582.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span title="">W</span><span title="">oke up early next morning and had a tea with Urtas' brother and Katja. </span><span title="">She was German and had been for a few years traveling the world. </span><span title="">That day was Saturday, main day of the biggest folk music festival of the country, so many people had left. </span><span title="">I wanted to go, but it was too late and now it was difficult to get there on time, so we planned to spend the day in the woods. </span><span title="">We helped Serguei to cook "borsch" and delicious mushrooms that they had brought the forest and had an amazing flavor of chicken and fish. </span><span title="">We spent the night playing some guitar with a guy from Norway while Ehres played the didgeridoo, and talking about things.<br />
</span><span title="">But the forecast for the next day was heavy rain and thunderstorms after noon, so we decided that the most sensible option would be to wake up at dawn and get out as early as possible, and to pedal strong to have halfway done and be camped </span><span title="">in good spot when eventually the storm came. </span><span title="">So we woke up early and said goodbye to the kids. </span><span title="">Ricardas, who had made many bike trips and sometimes fixed bikes in his spare time, gave me some advice and checked Hercules. </span><span title="">We started, and after 15 kms. we stopped at Andrioniskis to buy supplies and eat something. </span><span title="">From there, keep going and another stop in Kavarskas, where Hercules and me faced a pretty decent climb. Standing on the pedals</span><span title="">, trying to keep balance with the excessive baggage, and zigzagging from edge to edge of the road to minimize the slope. </span><span title="">It wasn't much, but given my condition of beginner looking back from the top while trying to recover my breath I felt like the first man to climb Mount Everest. </span><span title="">I decided I deserved a good cold beer (Svyturios, Lithuania's most popular) to celebrate, and stop with Indre for a bit. </span><span title="">I started trying to provoke her gently to make her go faster, and the strategy worked: a little angry and frowned began to pedal as crazy to prove she wasn't a weak woman. </span><span title="">Finally! </span><span title="">For a couple of hours we moved at over 30 km/h. </span><span title="">I was trying to keep up the pace with all the load, tailgating wheel to wheel to cut the strong headwind, when she suddenly decided to brake in front of me. My brakes were not really working, so i</span><span title="">t wasn't perhaps the smartest choice, and I ended up smashed in the middle of the road. </span><span title="">Luckily, no cars were coming at the time and I suffered no more inconvenient than a few scrapes on the knees... </span><span title="">The good news was that at least it was not raining, and although the sky was overcast, it seemed unlikely that the feared storm was coming.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw-iH3dR5CiZVM3X0wtH_nUDmC_bsryMDZL30qEXApyh-DAVzzcQWOfgGmmxHDYarrdKwpNVmM6V_uvSMyIbBDvSJsb-7bHjqtqGynXi3rfa5N8pQWybOXgspnwJaZw6zxFXWZk-2KNUp/s1600/SDC10583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw-iH3dR5CiZVM3X0wtH_nUDmC_bsryMDZL30qEXApyh-DAVzzcQWOfgGmmxHDYarrdKwpNVmM6V_uvSMyIbBDvSJsb-7bHjqtqGynXi3rfa5N8pQWybOXgspnwJaZw6zxFXWZk-2KNUp/s320/SDC10583.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPHcLtKkH2uY24kJpOIRRmN5KGCL7hpPzZB4WzNr9O6SMdyPXv7ElbJShzCXDzb8tzX3N67iBw39Nvjbjwj2AqqnvjUIF_SmqOab1MGEgHL1O8h0l6ypQgmP4kaqh9rZEN8_ss-wkNsqE/s1600/SDC10588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPHcLtKkH2uY24kJpOIRRmN5KGCL7hpPzZB4WzNr9O6SMdyPXv7ElbJShzCXDzb8tzX3N67iBw39Nvjbjwj2AqqnvjUIF_SmqOab1MGEgHL1O8h0l6ypQgmP4kaqh9rZEN8_ss-wkNsqE/s320/SDC10588.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span title="">Past Jakutiskiai, Indre's batteries ran out and started again the pain in the buttocks, so we returned to the weary speed of 10 km/h. </span><span title="">But we were not far from our destination and had covered a good chunk of the way so we could relax a little. </span><span title="">A beautiful golden sun began to shine, illuminating the cotton puffy clouds and the green fields the men worked, as their parents and the parents of their parents did from ancient times, in their simple lives, devoted to the Mother Earth and the eternal circles of life.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhYv7LsBWJrkOKxEZ-UwAuG0Wcmk5L_0ppar89WWHJW_0ODz32CJkuoHYvXi3gn2JBmGK7UBNgq_FyXePT2Ii1O8pt5v8u9F0KOI-wkfu5JGfIzyhgwxrTQd6YyucZolWmqTLjz1elQt6/s1600/SDC10591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhYv7LsBWJrkOKxEZ-UwAuG0Wcmk5L_0ppar89WWHJW_0ODz32CJkuoHYvXi3gn2JBmGK7UBNgq_FyXePT2Ii1O8pt5v8u9F0KOI-wkfu5JGfIzyhgwxrTQd6YyucZolWmqTLjz1elQt6/s320/SDC10591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBVFgBrV42CC3q15HTH0Ow9zM3N3SYu-7YhPweXCEMm5SOcib79uIQLBGI968gk7Dqu6qH0HKWxs_k0q5yDHZTQhyphenhyphenPXTH2Z44llvx8XQDnMOOxqROb5NmnLG_HkpQ3TRqISrOh_U-OGKG/s1600/SDC10592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBVFgBrV42CC3q15HTH0Ow9zM3N3SYu-7YhPweXCEMm5SOcib79uIQLBGI968gk7Dqu6qH0HKWxs_k0q5yDHZTQhyphenhyphenPXTH2Z44llvx8XQDnMOOxqROb5NmnLG_HkpQ3TRqISrOh_U-OGKG/s320/SDC10592.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span title="">In the small town of Bukonys we stopped to refill the water bottle and buy cigarettes and chocolates, essential supplies on any good trip that deserves to be regarded as such. </span><span title="">We asked a few locals that were spending the hours sitting on a bench and staring at life passing by for directions, and I laughed inside of their stupor when Indre told them where we came from. </span><span title="">I think I could have told them we were from another planet and they wouldn't have been more astonished. </span><span title="">So we ate some chocolates in a bench by a pond as rumors spread in the village and people passed looking at us.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SMPV4mEkFWXzKEp3jtRekNu8xl0ptGuVtfFQoRd59OWaYF3d0I4wUJZjTdZ19Burm4QiP_XiPjb60PzAiUdX5Y6alJwWDOZ02g_AOl4zddbyiTYDgze6IUiRh5HoVua0bn-ugGwS1tQb/s1600/SDC10594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SMPV4mEkFWXzKEp3jtRekNu8xl0ptGuVtfFQoRd59OWaYF3d0I4wUJZjTdZ19Burm4QiP_XiPjb60PzAiUdX5Y6alJwWDOZ02g_AOl4zddbyiTYDgze6IUiRh5HoVua0bn-ugGwS1tQb/s320/SDC10594.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpL8LQiQ323UrlKuYOLSfE2Smh32OEYz1YZcArYtw5ucMSjClhJEC1sIzDl8cRoeQiJ2xTZZ5PTQQ3s7Jkgw4y7118LxOa8WpmirTCVxtns8MJG0AVNT4KRDEJtop7TDBtA9KdlzXliYPD/s1600/SDC10595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpL8LQiQ323UrlKuYOLSfE2Smh32OEYz1YZcArYtw5ucMSjClhJEC1sIzDl8cRoeQiJ2xTZZ5PTQQ3s7Jkgw4y7118LxOa8WpmirTCVxtns8MJG0AVNT4KRDEJtop7TDBtA9KdlzXliYPD/s320/SDC10595.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">We reached Jonava (25 km. from Kaunas) whit a couple of hours of sunshine left, but decided to cheat and take a train (at the end of the day we realized we would have done it faster by bike ...).</span><span title=""> 120 kms. </span><span title="">in a day was fine and we could treat ourselves to rest on the station and sip a coffee. It was the end for now. But</span><span title=""> the seeds of the idea of another adventure, this time much larger, were already planted in our minds ...</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-29803112010439936672011-09-09T02:56:00.000-07:002011-09-09T02:56:03.175-07:00Lituania, 2da. parte: Primer trip en bici a través del país, y Rainbow Gathering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVRvtMFXzuAbgG5ggbO1hsPCXnYOVfm0jjY7dMDPS9Cwy_5WbapSL2jKEt-oO_7hTN4gkpsguyKKmTpTqG8DBLvLWyoTszM3xunBaZef-OdtNtmomr2Z9oxMahjZfZb7KejcFjuQuU6nq/s1600/SDC10566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVRvtMFXzuAbgG5ggbO1hsPCXnYOVfm0jjY7dMDPS9Cwy_5WbapSL2jKEt-oO_7hTN4gkpsguyKKmTpTqG8DBLvLWyoTszM3xunBaZef-OdtNtmomr2Z9oxMahjZfZb7KejcFjuQuU6nq/s320/SDC10566.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Entre el 10 de agosto y por espacio de unos veinte días se celebraba el Baltic Rainbow Gathering en un bosque cerca de Anyksciai, algo de 160 kms. desde Kaunas. Los Rainbow Gatherings son comunidades igualitarias temporarias que se celebran desde los '70 en todo el mundo, en contacto con la naturaleza, y exponiendo ideales de paz, amor, no-violencia, respeto al medioambiente y libertad como propuesta contracultural a la cultura pop, consumismo y medios masivos. ¡Básicamente, un montón de hippies! Indre (que ahora me estaba hospedando en su casa) y yo nunca habíamos asistido a uno, así que decidimos que sería buena idea sumarnos a los hermanos por unos días. <br />
La idea era hacer dedo, lo que nos llevaría algo de tres horas. Pero era demasiado fácil, así que con una sonrisa complice le pregunté: "¿Y si vamos en bici?". Así que pedí prestada Hércules a Tuchkus, la bici que se convertiría en compañera en este primer trip en dos ruedas de mi vida. Hércules tenía unos 30 años, y la verdad es que había tenido tiempos mejores. Sólo dos de los tres cambios andaban, los frenos no funcionaban del todo y el asiento (un hermoso Brooks vintage de los '80 eso sí...) se movía para todos lados. Pero hizo honor a su nombre cargando con más de 40 kilos de equipaje (míos y de Indre) entre ropa, bolsas de dormir, tienda, comida y utensillos de cocina. No para ser un gentleman, sino por motivos prácticos (como me gusta pedalear rápido, decidí que era buena idea cargar todo el peso para igualar el ritmo). Además, era el perfecto argumento en caso de discusión: "¡¿No ves que estoy cargando todo yo solo?!". Igualmente ello no previno que se quedara atrás y tuviese que provocarla con suaves injurias para que pedaleáse más fuerte... El primer día salimos tarde de Kaunas (a eso de la 1) y tomamos pequeñas carreteras regionales, asfaltadas pero casi sin tráfico, por el medio de pequeños pueblos y caseríos en medio del campo, con vistas y paisajes que sólo en esta clase de rutas perdidas y en bicicleta se pueden encontrar. Hicimos una parada en un restaurant barato en Jonava, donde por 2€ me comí una porción abundante de pescado con queso gratinado y papas al horno, y seguimos camino. Pronto nos dimos cuenta que la travesía en bici fue una buena eleccion, con un hermoso paisaje que parecía salido de un cuento de hadas y hermosas rutas arboladas solo para nosotros. Acá va un pequeño video sobre los paisajes de Lituania para que se den una idea: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OStISjdmmSI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
El sol comenzaba a caer en el horizonte cuando decidimos parar a comer y acampar cerca de Ukmerge en unas plantaciones detrás de unos árboles, lejos de la carretera y al refugio de miradas curiosas. Habíamos cubierto 80 kms. en medio día: nada mal por ser la primera vez. Temprano al día siguiente levantamos campamento para seguir ruta. Pero se presentó un inconveniente: el poco acostumbrado trasero de Indre se rehusó a continuar. Habían sido suficiente para él las 6 horas del día anterior sobre el poco cómodo asiento deportivo que montaba su bicicleta y ahora pagaba las consecuencias. Tratamos de poner un toallón como acolchado para minimizar el martirio, y si bien el dolor continuaba pudimos proseguir lentamente. Pasado el mediodía paramos a descansar en un pequeño pueblecito sobre el camino llamado Kavarskas. Disfrutamos una buena cerveza fresca (un lujo en un país donde se bebe a temperatura ambiente. Puajjj...) y fumamos sendos cigarrillos (¡nada mejor después de hacer ejercicio, niños!) en el césped y bajo el cálido sol de finales de agosto. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7NDpUcnRlVHaeXxXO0ukJZiDpArquNo_CDkRVXmy9-95VLBv_4DaXkMKaSyD9nkITUdeabc4uId2PbNNeWQ6EqJm4fImPcTN4pG-BTKiUzyb7bwMukhOswmzq-_FS22M8Ej7NQ-CsLQf/s1600/SDC10567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7NDpUcnRlVHaeXxXO0ukJZiDpArquNo_CDkRVXmy9-95VLBv_4DaXkMKaSyD9nkITUdeabc4uId2PbNNeWQ6EqJm4fImPcTN4pG-BTKiUzyb7bwMukhOswmzq-_FS22M8Ej7NQ-CsLQf/s320/SDC10567.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x24nNt95ZJKxnRETgfn9RLg2U0aMHHxJK8H-vyJQgECFIRz4qcZKrSMxwcMzdz2a9NV8VmOgFGH7AjiAPUsRzOhEpLOrXDl6WwJaxiy5EYwhXpzq9AVUmg7tAIvTLewRAK5p9y3xBeSR/s1600/SDC10568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x24nNt95ZJKxnRETgfn9RLg2U0aMHHxJK8H-vyJQgECFIRz4qcZKrSMxwcMzdz2a9NV8VmOgFGH7AjiAPUsRzOhEpLOrXDl6WwJaxiy5EYwhXpzq9AVUmg7tAIvTLewRAK5p9y3xBeSR/s320/SDC10568.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4ivSPx7ZFJ4VAKYDSZ0_uRWoXdd_xcO-EY55JYlZ2gV28nTAE2DpQwlfrXnC2fEuRqk7PvL1zT8kw14qJ7puoqh2V_63dscRNEK-G4wgkxI5uZU3u8sVZb6JH5yn6uc0CRNU690LLZ-q/s1600/SDC10572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4ivSPx7ZFJ4VAKYDSZ0_uRWoXdd_xcO-EY55JYlZ2gV28nTAE2DpQwlfrXnC2fEuRqk7PvL1zT8kw14qJ7puoqh2V_63dscRNEK-G4wgkxI5uZU3u8sVZb6JH5yn6uc0CRNU690LLZ-q/s320/SDC10572.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Pasamos Anyksciai y nos encontramos con un hermoso lago de frescas aguas azules que invitaban al baño. Indre quería parar, pero yo había tenido bastante de parar y parar aquí y allá, y lo único que quería era llegar a destino antes de la noche y dejar toda la porquería que cargaba. Así que muy a pesar de Indre continuamos, y en un pequeño poblado llamado Andrioniskis, cercano al meeting, paramos a preguntar direcciones. La señora fue super amable y estaba al tanto del Rainbow, así que fue bastante fácil encontrar el lugar. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNSiUcCfI9Afa9LgP6soRKkdhnWAe1tGR7gIY-bmG8n8JzvVQUjSn39ETpeIB8cxgj4erAerXdr3oH1XcHHR19MAxsfeMQImrSHiatayLYkecbOkydvQ43-8dxcQZvQ_iBJIA3f_Y0dkD/s1600/SDC10574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNSiUcCfI9Afa9LgP6soRKkdhnWAe1tGR7gIY-bmG8n8JzvVQUjSn39ETpeIB8cxgj4erAerXdr3oH1XcHHR19MAxsfeMQImrSHiatayLYkecbOkydvQ43-8dxcQZvQ_iBJIA3f_Y0dkD/s320/SDC10574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wF_2JhW0xHizq9TQSEutA8xU_xFn0B2acl2pQF-tOQDeLJQiaMVnQj42ZrTtIzS1o1lYpJQNbX2mknbb5ekdS9Prk_XI3ieBKPYymBW5u-WbZdiK28g7eaInkUulTTHmBWcGFB0xzNiK/s1600/SDC10575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wF_2JhW0xHizq9TQSEutA8xU_xFn0B2acl2pQF-tOQDeLJQiaMVnQj42ZrTtIzS1o1lYpJQNbX2mknbb5ekdS9Prk_XI3ieBKPYymBW5u-WbZdiK28g7eaInkUulTTHmBWcGFB0xzNiK/s320/SDC10575.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxNE-HfOUABNcleVxtbkp1zRYLch0_E-Dtwn2vkVo8CKJrnm3ZoImaI-6wwnS3Q0tsFaTzq8_soJQno3tzXIQMlI4kmhHmLwbnwh41AtROSu55eF3kirBcofQUUSUUhjh8d8pcXlmedHU/s1600/SDC10581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxNE-HfOUABNcleVxtbkp1zRYLch0_E-Dtwn2vkVo8CKJrnm3ZoImaI-6wwnS3Q0tsFaTzq8_soJQno3tzXIQMlI4kmhHmLwbnwh41AtROSu55eF3kirBcofQUUSUUhjh8d8pcXlmedHU/s320/SDC10581.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasamos Lasiniai e Inkunai en pequeñas carreteras atravesando el bosque y finalmente nos encontramos con Urtas, que nos mostró el camino. Saludamos a algunos de los chicos que estaban por ahí y fuimos a buscar un lugar para dejar las cosas y poner la tienda. De ahí, socializar un poco, las consabidas presentaciones y pegarnos un buen baño en las cristalinas aguas del río que pasaba por ahí. Conocimos a la gente, que llevaba ya unas dos semanas en el lugar, tomamos un té y nos contaron un poco de que iba el tema. Me encontré también con Gabriela y Airida, a quienes había conocido en el ecofestival y del que Gabriela era también organizadora. Al caer de la noche, comer bajo las estrellas alrededor del fogón la deliciosa comida tradicional de Uzbekistán (Plov) que Serguei había preparado. Antes de comer, todos nos pusimos de pie en círculo alrededor del fuego tomados de las manos, y comenzamos a cantar canciones y alabanzas de agradecimiento. Me comí tres platos gigantescos, con el estómago abierto por los dos días de bicicleta, y estuvimos de sobremesa y tomando té hasta la medianoche, cuando decidí irme a descansar a mi hermosa carpa y recargar energías. Me desperté temprano a la mañana siguiente y desayuné un té con el hermano de Urtas y Katja. Ella era alemana y llevaba unos cuantos años viajando por el mundo. Ese día era sábado, y día fuerte del festival de música folclórica más grande del país, por lo que mucha de la gente se había ido. Yo quería ir, pero me había enterado demasiado tarde y ahora era difícil llegar a tiempo, así que quedamos a pasar el día en el bosque. Ayudamos a Serguei a cocinar "borsch" y unas deliciosas setas que habían traído del bosque y que tenían un sorprendente sabor entre pollo y pescado. Pasamos la noche tocando algo de guitarra con un chico de Noruega mientras Ehres tocaba el didgeridoo y charlando de cosas. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWHR6CWJJXIe2J6t4yGHQPWJEU30nWmSIx9korcrMdNYM8nTlJzI1xiqMd_x55rWUGLFa4041rITl97Iza9vto8-1Z-r84eOSBVBgmLZEyRwJttj0mQl9mud92a-A-DOT4GlEbPp4Vdq4/s1600/SDC10582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWHR6CWJJXIe2J6t4yGHQPWJEU30nWmSIx9korcrMdNYM8nTlJzI1xiqMd_x55rWUGLFa4041rITl97Iza9vto8-1Z-r84eOSBVBgmLZEyRwJttj0mQl9mud92a-A-DOT4GlEbPp4Vdq4/s320/SDC10582.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pero el pronóstico para el día siguiente era de lluvia fuertes y tormenta después del mediodía, así que decidimos que la opción más sensata sería despertar al alba y salir lo más temprano posible, pedaleando fuerte para ya tener mitad de camino en el bolsillo y estar acampados en buen lugar cuando se largase el diluvio. Así que despertamos temprano y nos despedimos de los chicos. Ricardas, que había hechos muchos trips y a veces arregalaba bicis en sus ratos libres, me dió algunos consejos y revisó a Hércules. Salimos, y después de 15 kilómetros paramos en Andrioniskis a comprar provisiones y comer algo. De ahí, bordear Anyksciai y otra parada en Kavarskas, donde con Hércules nos enfrentamos a una subida bastante decente. Pedaleando de pie, tratando de mantenerme en equilibrio por el exceso de equipaje, y zigzagueándo de borde a borde del camino para minimizar la pendiente. No fue una hazaña, pero dadas mis condiciones de principiante al mirar hacia atrás desde la cima mientras trataba de recuperar el aliento me sentí como el primer humano al subir el Monte Everest. Decidí que me merecía una buena cerveza fría (Svyturios, la más popular del país báltico) para celebrar y paramos con Indre un buen rato. Yo empecé a tratar de provocarla suavemente tocando su orgullo para que fuese más rápido, y la estratégia dió resultado: un poco enojada y con el ceño medio fruncido empezó a pedalear como posesa para demostrarme que no era una mujer débil. ¡Finalmente! Por un par de horas nos movimos a algo más de 30 km/h. Yo iba tratando de mantener el ritmo con toda la carga, chupando rueda para cortar el fuerte viento de frente, cuando a ella se le ocurrió frenar de repente enfrente mío. No fue la opción más inteligente quizás, y terminé desparramado en medio de la carretera. Por suerte, no venía nadie en ese momento y no sufrí más inconveniente que unos raspones en las rodillas... La buena noticia era que no llovía, y si bien el cielo estaba cubierto, no parecía probable que se avecinara mal tiempo. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw-iH3dR5CiZVM3X0wtH_nUDmC_bsryMDZL30qEXApyh-DAVzzcQWOfgGmmxHDYarrdKwpNVmM6V_uvSMyIbBDvSJsb-7bHjqtqGynXi3rfa5N8pQWybOXgspnwJaZw6zxFXWZk-2KNUp/s1600/SDC10583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw-iH3dR5CiZVM3X0wtH_nUDmC_bsryMDZL30qEXApyh-DAVzzcQWOfgGmmxHDYarrdKwpNVmM6V_uvSMyIbBDvSJsb-7bHjqtqGynXi3rfa5N8pQWybOXgspnwJaZw6zxFXWZk-2KNUp/s320/SDC10583.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPHcLtKkH2uY24kJpOIRRmN5KGCL7hpPzZB4WzNr9O6SMdyPXv7ElbJShzCXDzb8tzX3N67iBw39Nvjbjwj2AqqnvjUIF_SmqOab1MGEgHL1O8h0l6ypQgmP4kaqh9rZEN8_ss-wkNsqE/s1600/SDC10588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPHcLtKkH2uY24kJpOIRRmN5KGCL7hpPzZB4WzNr9O6SMdyPXv7ElbJShzCXDzb8tzX3N67iBw39Nvjbjwj2AqqnvjUIF_SmqOab1MGEgHL1O8h0l6ypQgmP4kaqh9rZEN8_ss-wkNsqE/s320/SDC10588.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasado Jakutiskiai, a Indre se le acabaron las baterías y comenzó de nuevo con dolores en las posaderas, así que volvimos al cansino ritmo de 10 km/h habitual. Pero ya faltaba poco y habíamos cubierto un buen trozo del trayecto, así que podíamos relajarnos un poco. Un hermoso sol comenzó a brillar, iluminando las esponjosas nubes de algodón y los campos verdes que los hombres trabajaban, tal como habían trabajado sus padres y los padres de sus padres desde tiempos inmemoriales, en sus vidas simples, devotos a la Madre Tierra. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhYv7LsBWJrkOKxEZ-UwAuG0Wcmk5L_0ppar89WWHJW_0ODz32CJkuoHYvXi3gn2JBmGK7UBNgq_FyXePT2Ii1O8pt5v8u9F0KOI-wkfu5JGfIzyhgwxrTQd6YyucZolWmqTLjz1elQt6/s1600/SDC10591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhYv7LsBWJrkOKxEZ-UwAuG0Wcmk5L_0ppar89WWHJW_0ODz32CJkuoHYvXi3gn2JBmGK7UBNgq_FyXePT2Ii1O8pt5v8u9F0KOI-wkfu5JGfIzyhgwxrTQd6YyucZolWmqTLjz1elQt6/s320/SDC10591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBVFgBrV42CC3q15HTH0Ow9zM3N3SYu-7YhPweXCEMm5SOcib79uIQLBGI968gk7Dqu6qH0HKWxs_k0q5yDHZTQhyphenhyphenPXTH2Z44llvx8XQDnMOOxqROb5NmnLG_HkpQ3TRqISrOh_U-OGKG/s1600/SDC10592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBVFgBrV42CC3q15HTH0Ow9zM3N3SYu-7YhPweXCEMm5SOcib79uIQLBGI968gk7Dqu6qH0HKWxs_k0q5yDHZTQhyphenhyphenPXTH2Z44llvx8XQDnMOOxqROb5NmnLG_HkpQ3TRqISrOh_U-OGKG/s320/SDC10592.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
En el pequeño pueblo de Bukonys paramos a cargar agua y comprar cigarrillos y chocolates, provisiones indispensables en cualquier viaje que se precie. Preguntamos a unos locales que miraban pasar las horas en un banco por direcciones, y me reía por dentro de su estupor cuando supieron de donde veníamos. Creo que haberles dicho que veníamos de otro planeta no les habría causado mayor impresión. Así que comimos unos chocolates en un banco mientras los rumores se extendían en el pueblo y la gente nos miraba de reojo. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SMPV4mEkFWXzKEp3jtRekNu8xl0ptGuVtfFQoRd59OWaYF3d0I4wUJZjTdZ19Burm4QiP_XiPjb60PzAiUdX5Y6alJwWDOZ02g_AOl4zddbyiTYDgze6IUiRh5HoVua0bn-ugGwS1tQb/s1600/SDC10594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SMPV4mEkFWXzKEp3jtRekNu8xl0ptGuVtfFQoRd59OWaYF3d0I4wUJZjTdZ19Burm4QiP_XiPjb60PzAiUdX5Y6alJwWDOZ02g_AOl4zddbyiTYDgze6IUiRh5HoVua0bn-ugGwS1tQb/s320/SDC10594.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpL8LQiQ323UrlKuYOLSfE2Smh32OEYz1YZcArYtw5ucMSjClhJEC1sIzDl8cRoeQiJ2xTZZ5PTQQ3s7Jkgw4y7118LxOa8WpmirTCVxtns8MJG0AVNT4KRDEJtop7TDBtA9KdlzXliYPD/s1600/SDC10595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpL8LQiQ323UrlKuYOLSfE2Smh32OEYz1YZcArYtw5ucMSjClhJEC1sIzDl8cRoeQiJ2xTZZ5PTQQ3s7Jkgw4y7118LxOa8WpmirTCVxtns8MJG0AVNT4KRDEJtop7TDBtA9KdlzXliYPD/s320/SDC10595.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Llegamos a Jonava (a 25 kms. de Kaunas) cuando quedaban un par de horas de sol, y decidimos hacer trampa y tomar el tren (al final del día nos dimos cuenta que hubieramos tardado menos en bici...). Pero 120 kms. en una jornada estaba bien, y podíamos darnos el lujo de descansar en las vías tomando un café. Aunque las semillas de la idea de otra aventura, esta vez mucho más grande, ya estaban plantadas en nuestras mentes...Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-44544748987561223092011-09-08T08:15:00.000-07:002011-09-08T08:15:24.604-07:00Lithuania, 1st part: Ecofestival, and an adventurous week in Kaunas.<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh322fnYlwLSCHu5JHifqvavYmVTH5fs4t76aiHKXawX-nGhC8x02DA50dwDrEzCSR_Tlognl8sExPXsS1oYOHlWwnwlO5NRHnvyiywbt7QTrdTRtPDJKRuEqgMzfmByg7RgL2UJNx7vHY6/s1600/SDC10463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh322fnYlwLSCHu5JHifqvavYmVTH5fs4t76aiHKXawX-nGhC8x02DA50dwDrEzCSR_Tlognl8sExPXsS1oYOHlWwnwlO5NRHnvyiywbt7QTrdTRtPDJKRuEqgMzfmByg7RgL2UJNx7vHY6/s320/SDC10463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trakai's Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We met Tuchkus, Paulius and Edvinas late in the dark night, and headed in the car straight to the festival. </span><span title="">Some girls with angelic voices were singing Lithuanian folk music and people watched the show at the starlight. </span><span title="">We put the tents, all baggage and went to check the field. </span><span title="">While it was an eco-festival where no alcohol or meat was allowed, we went with Tuchki and the people to a far corner eating a salami washed down with a good bottle of wine. </span><span title="">Always like the salmon, swimming against the current... </span><span title="">The sky that day was special: it was going to be the largest meteor shower in few years, and although the sky was partially covered and we didn't stay until the proper time, we saw a good number of them performing their igneous dances through </span><span title="">the skies.<br />
</span><span title="">We spent the weekend at the festival, meeting local people and learning a little of their culture. </span><span title="">Paulius's (Ponulis, for friends) girlfriend, Vaida, organized the event. </span><span title="">There was not many people (about 200), but it was the right people, all very cool. </span><span title="">I learned some phrases in Lithuanian, to weave typical bracelets and belts in the traditional local style, went to workshops on various topics (although I didn't understand much since they were in Lithuanian), and learned to sing some 'sutartinės', one of the oldest and most outstanding examples of traditional music, considered </span><span title="">Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo8M83yfuBWp98jeqoCrSZTZfhEpN_T1tv8-nQCUQliyHJTxuARTBkS4v_EYky27F614b6cAsPSb6q9RzZf4MS8eUzlfQ-eRb86V2sAPUPO_tPrJc5yIMFrjwLm7Frb574BA9jeOIQ7VC/s1600/SDC10426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo8M83yfuBWp98jeqoCrSZTZfhEpN_T1tv8-nQCUQliyHJTxuARTBkS4v_EYky27F614b6cAsPSb6q9RzZf4MS8eUzlfQ-eRb86V2sAPUPO_tPrJc5yIMFrjwLm7Frb574BA9jeOIQ7VC/s320/SDC10426.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The great Tuchkus and Jovita</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPWfBh4mukbMWNW9NLsK-cMTg60ee6Hdx6jPnmBgcLU4yD71Rk98YsIm1tf6M4q1c7v5eUD9S4hPivTdhlnm2qS1sk943fmtMjS5CyBEh7ZQnmqDMqY157kr0dzx2ypONBz6X-_jPcoXT/s1600/SDC10438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPWfBh4mukbMWNW9NLsK-cMTg60ee6Hdx6jPnmBgcLU4yD71Rk98YsIm1tf6M4q1c7v5eUD9S4hPivTdhlnm2qS1sk943fmtMjS5CyBEh7ZQnmqDMqY157kr0dzx2ypONBz6X-_jPcoXT/s320/SDC10438.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNm4Ww4IOxwwfAxWI-Vbrl6eHBcIlIPCnQTuPGxQrY612JIjv98sJVF0fFmHj5i7HnFL_Tzh82jU7KMI6A5U0AD9Cnz_HtQFfIRgcTLz8buapVt7RxmsL0xv9lxYb1Wsqow02GyMpvhOV/s1600/SDC10432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNm4Ww4IOxwwfAxWI-Vbrl6eHBcIlIPCnQTuPGxQrY612JIjv98sJVF0fFmHj5i7HnFL_Tzh82jU7KMI6A5U0AD9Cnz_HtQFfIRgcTLz8buapVt7RxmsL0xv9lxYb1Wsqow02GyMpvhOV/s320/SDC10432.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYqmThKijovLPdUM4B1MDOkF1cn88AOy4J4PuNNNZ3aRd_OOqT39whiBLf3acHGe2b1PYIhib4jArevLkpynyU2BTlfoSuE_T9rFLQzQjSmBsUdtU6ua3TBVPFX1GEfzMLQ3sJ2FcMKD/s1600/SDC10433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYqmThKijovLPdUM4B1MDOkF1cn88AOy4J4PuNNNZ3aRd_OOqT39whiBLf3acHGe2b1PYIhib4jArevLkpynyU2BTlfoSuE_T9rFLQzQjSmBsUdtU6ua3TBVPFX1GEfzMLQ3sJ2FcMKD/s320/SDC10433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jEi_JxzpvAKOcCBFpn_3JMf0yk3OBoApszRQhJf5zZba9vVRNwZ3WR8KiBAIwLhh19zdZ7Zo6gpzMipdoUtEJsn_9Ka8m4qz7I6t4nc78AS_W33InVELOKGYtPJIKq6xH4sPpHsOxWuN/s1600/SDC10437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jEi_JxzpvAKOcCBFpn_3JMf0yk3OBoApszRQhJf5zZba9vVRNwZ3WR8KiBAIwLhh19zdZ7Zo6gpzMipdoUtEJsn_9Ka8m4qz7I6t4nc78AS_W33InVELOKGYtPJIKq6xH4sPpHsOxWuN/s320/SDC10437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosJjpb-1Pwh-nTABE1ivmoNmD0XnxUhKucXpuqZbnbsACUzy3Urah1fcACXoUnQJ2n1DNIbg-YC6jyR00IeiKkq4ijB6FkbInzTFABGXsWK9ZQBoIB30q3KLDWVR6oSTCIYkPIl1kjiej/s1600/SDC10440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosJjpb-1Pwh-nTABE1ivmoNmD0XnxUhKucXpuqZbnbsACUzy3Urah1fcACXoUnQJ2n1DNIbg-YC6jyR00IeiKkq4ijB6FkbInzTFABGXsWK9ZQBoIB30q3KLDWVR6oSTCIYkPIl1kjiej/s320/SDC10440.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We passed Trakai's Castle, a beautiful construction from the early </span><span title="">XV century and symbol of Lithuania, and went to Tuchkus' house in Kaunas, to try to organize a little some activities to do on the week. </span><span title="">The next day we went all around Kaunas by bike, passed the Yacht Club and the beautiful Pazaislis, Lithuania's largest monastery and best example of Italian Baroque architecture in the country.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIP_v3ftzI9D2Q6L8mN-TQKCTALmWrDjub9Y4Cbq-BziTCcvMoNWzwNOBdmoYVslaDFV7114U3BfRJOfYhJTbomjJctdTb8kY2WNfJvA9iB96DdZKREVP3XpBjgQq-L9i3H4fx8FWvDpMh/s1600/SDC10474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIP_v3ftzI9D2Q6L8mN-TQKCTALmWrDjub9Y4Cbq-BziTCcvMoNWzwNOBdmoYVslaDFV7114U3BfRJOfYhJTbomjJctdTb8kY2WNfJvA9iB96DdZKREVP3XpBjgQq-L9i3H4fx8FWvDpMh/s320/SDC10474.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXOzH9UjLmUadnyONJp1coYwvrOTeuGGQaBeDazPXHI95bCKv8DenDyoBDJfz1RbEZdo29BEaB4UCshv4Q6PvdCSmu-TYA2vpn_io0U46maNXo8pUzmgK_vtb2mbFqqY9OGsC8l4U5o9v/s1600/SDC10481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXOzH9UjLmUadnyONJp1coYwvrOTeuGGQaBeDazPXHI95bCKv8DenDyoBDJfz1RbEZdo29BEaB4UCshv4Q6PvdCSmu-TYA2vpn_io0U46maNXo8pUzmgK_vtb2mbFqqY9OGsC8l4U5o9v/s320/SDC10481.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cfSkodozk57jM3sMjiveEUFavUjn-U1cF-nEnked_4lkcea5sLc9_pRyuEmPnFThIkfn0ddL7E0Q2nfoYH8lsBtt_8kYhwheoWRyHigM5jw_b7K9kvHx5lNHLI4JbmGgMz7A7wd_8V63/s1600/SDC10487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cfSkodozk57jM3sMjiveEUFavUjn-U1cF-nEnked_4lkcea5sLc9_pRyuEmPnFThIkfn0ddL7E0Q2nfoYH8lsBtt_8kYhwheoWRyHigM5jw_b7K9kvHx5lNHLI4JbmGgMz7A7wd_8V63/s320/SDC10487.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">Later we met Giedrius for a bit of history in a place sacred to the ancient pagans, the confluence of the two largest rivers in Lithuania: Niemunas and Neris. </span><span title="">Giedrius is the Kaunas' ambassador for the CouchSurfing website, and knows a lot of history and traditional legends, so it was very interesting for me to hear a bit of their world. </span><span title="">From there we went to try some local beers with Knut from Germany and Gintare and her friend. </span><span title="">The next day we meet again with Giedrius, Ponulis, Vaida, Knut and a couple of guys to go to the VI Fort of Kaunas, one of the many forts of the city (now abandoned), built in the late XIX </span><span title="">century by the Russians to protect the western border of the Empire, and during World War II (with the invasion of Lithuania by Germany) served as a prison and death camp for 35,000 Jews and prisoners of war from the Red Army. </span><span title="">The place was overgrown by nature and in ruins, and we had to walk amongst wild plants to enter the hidden places armed with flashlights to explore the broken fragments of forgotten stories beneath the sands of time. </span><span title="">The rooms where the bodies were burned were still covered by a cloud of black ash that made breathing almost impossible.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMREpzgJAWc23uhGIFYZXDB4qk9RezVShFxVkFGw3yWYF0cQAAHsKvLH_NZxpq4A6DA0XFP1E5GXQXtLKl4oUohT82kKFq7pcXbJAkEPKc3_9GKLZi9DSvSG48DxTMxfpBLrP4hLxfrfLN/s1600/SDC10506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMREpzgJAWc23uhGIFYZXDB4qk9RezVShFxVkFGw3yWYF0cQAAHsKvLH_NZxpq4A6DA0XFP1E5GXQXtLKl4oUohT82kKFq7pcXbJAkEPKc3_9GKLZi9DSvSG48DxTMxfpBLrP4hLxfrfLN/s320/SDC10506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8t0Ec5iQ2mNTDeAF-PJDLves2vVkVt90EFjRnswBYkTsIvc1i1X9fsXpnZkpVRvSUeIofdxHwsdKVZLdQfnk0ezLAr-hDFatGVHpRwhJQUo2kJkN2TtA6ORsyFSJI-A84MANlcCjtkXiO/s1600/SDC10511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8t0Ec5iQ2mNTDeAF-PJDLves2vVkVt90EFjRnswBYkTsIvc1i1X9fsXpnZkpVRvSUeIofdxHwsdKVZLdQfnk0ezLAr-hDFatGVHpRwhJQUo2kJkN2TtA6ORsyFSJI-A84MANlcCjtkXiO/s320/SDC10511.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijCXUHdielnDCsYDHFCdx4nLNpptKQEUKpBK4ci6zegN_JPbh2yNy_KGUQ-LnmiTPVYFpjxBS8X3qDdWP1xLskSgTy7tzKubEVidDUwtr9sr-0Ex6Q7GnBlAoTaQnSvm9H72ZD5S9fUng/s1600/SDC10517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijCXUHdielnDCsYDHFCdx4nLNpptKQEUKpBK4ci6zegN_JPbh2yNy_KGUQ-LnmiTPVYFpjxBS8X3qDdWP1xLskSgTy7tzKubEVidDUwtr9sr-0Ex6Q7GnBlAoTaQnSvm9H72ZD5S9fUng/s320/SDC10517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0wyfBcVvK74lqzfD4I3dx-7DFboDG0bQPw4Kptz_8LAzDRurU6Yo5Z5t-de61ZQ4I_LUh9V1Xmc7GLJTqbtLpdR1r2SfHODJ-6FBNf_jIBKOYihU8ing4khN0jOaRIS4CnqM7Plt0kxJ/s1600/SDC10518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0wyfBcVvK74lqzfD4I3dx-7DFboDG0bQPw4Kptz_8LAzDRurU6Yo5Z5t-de61ZQ4I_LUh9V1Xmc7GLJTqbtLpdR1r2SfHODJ-6FBNf_jIBKOYihU8ing4khN0jOaRIS4CnqM7Plt0kxJ/s320/SDC10518.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giedrius, great storyteller and CS City Ambassador</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8M-DpeM9GdUmn-kHTVkzSdO4Fv9FlUFgJHoFLsuWI-cB-2jsugSsAHLSG1-WThRbcb9R1bDSn38obvm7uTxKVd6DAKJsd6G1QTqHNOccTm6pAByvwvyS4J-lA5AnNnGqsZszY-uTe5GfM/s1600/SDC10526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8M-DpeM9GdUmn-kHTVkzSdO4Fv9FlUFgJHoFLsuWI-cB-2jsugSsAHLSG1-WThRbcb9R1bDSn38obvm7uTxKVd6DAKJsd6G1QTqHNOccTm6pAByvwvyS4J-lA5AnNnGqsZszY-uTe5GfM/s320/SDC10526.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We ended up covered in soot and mud, and with those looks we went to a remarkable 'bar'. </span><span title="">In Lithuania it is forbidden to sell alcohol after 10 pm, so what the ingenious local businessmen did was simply to put a table and two chairs inside and pretend to be a bar, and sell alcohol </span><span title="">24 hours to thirsty throats. </span><span title="">This particular one was full of curious specimens of local wildlife that came to socialize and enjoy 50 cents pints of beer ('alus', in Lithuanian). </span><span title="">So we were for some time enjoying the holy malt brew and chatting with the locals. </span><span title="">Our looks should not have been the best because one of them, far from dressing elegant, asked: "So you are gypsies, eh?". </span><span title="">Paroxysms of laughter.<br />
</span><span title="">Another day Tuchkus had the idea to go rowing on the Nemunas River. </span><span title="">The boat in question was an inflatable one that had passed its best days and was patched on all sides. </span><span title="">As you may imagine, we arrived late on the scene, we set the boat in the wrong way, so when we finally got into the water it was nine o'clock. </span><span title="">So we started rowing. </span><span title="">Well, James began to row. Because Tuchkus spent over an hour on the phone and I was wedged between the seats unable to move, so it was him who had to do the effort, sweating and mumbling swearwords a good part of the15 kms we had to cover. </span><span title="">The current was extremely slow, so we had to rush over the last hour and paddle all the time because we had to meet Indre, Jovita and Thomas for a few beers.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hW-Ytyll2h27nLy9Kazp4WLgGLt912PJeSJwGARqiEcO01-_wP_Eiw_-sf1HVeLse4WhFJ5EvIE8o45SB25fwWEeOnvsBbIpBV7M2Z3CAWJw2Uh1yaOUt2JAqnfjeyAyst0GSuGDZF8I/s1600/SDC10541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hW-Ytyll2h27nLy9Kazp4WLgGLt912PJeSJwGARqiEcO01-_wP_Eiw_-sf1HVeLse4WhFJ5EvIE8o45SB25fwWEeOnvsBbIpBV7M2Z3CAWJw2Uh1yaOUt2JAqnfjeyAyst0GSuGDZF8I/s320/SDC10541.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHQq3HGpfRRmub_UuisSsnGzVI2IzmwpB7qQ9sD6leIiKJxn8auzX_BaIfEqWO4ot7eO_VLVHo8seQUW-4ZqQR32cZ-GcUdduBjupcBTGNouD8Cdc2DfkACla2b2M_LyBrgtAeeOT6hiV/s1600/SDC10544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHQq3HGpfRRmub_UuisSsnGzVI2IzmwpB7qQ9sD6leIiKJxn8auzX_BaIfEqWO4ot7eO_VLVHo8seQUW-4ZqQR32cZ-GcUdduBjupcBTGNouD8Cdc2DfkACla2b2M_LyBrgtAeeOT6hiV/s320/SDC10544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq3Uu7wBtwosvtsUjGmFJvaN8QB0pBq8Er-TB81mAsJUuxezyFiETdSUemsTTuBeNfRSl6YQ3G8MnKvtuztjoa_eQXYuCnJblGPQZ3oPohry-7L0Q6YKrLQhWJxkbtbaWkhH12aykPZvZ/s1600/SDC10545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq3Uu7wBtwosvtsUjGmFJvaN8QB0pBq8Er-TB81mAsJUuxezyFiETdSUemsTTuBeNfRSl6YQ3G8MnKvtuztjoa_eQXYuCnJblGPQZ3oPohry-7L0Q6YKrLQhWJxkbtbaWkhH12aykPZvZ/s320/SDC10545.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We also did a dinner with friends for some 15 people in Tuchkus' house that week. </span><span title="">I prepared a few litres of delicious Sangria and James cooked and incredible double baked pork belly with chimichurri sauce and God knows what else, maybe the tastiest food I've ever tasted. </span><span title="">He finished his Chef studies and apprenticeship in New Zealand, and now wants to travel around Europe (especially Italy) to learn more about the different culinary traditions. </span><span title="">And I, of course, was delighted to be his companion...</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t92naWGZOcmkVCwaPYxj5a1qhrza2ZcvblFoiH-WPcd4ZFGEHYQAfGNPMUcm6AXh6NAtVPMdlb8_UV75rB643DFfiJ5Rw219Qkp_NLj6K1-OD7mjdK8i0d2RTZgAdZ-BVrCC9zqJ00ov/s1600/SDC10546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t92naWGZOcmkVCwaPYxj5a1qhrza2ZcvblFoiH-WPcd4ZFGEHYQAfGNPMUcm6AXh6NAtVPMdlb8_UV75rB643DFfiJ5Rw219Qkp_NLj6K1-OD7mjdK8i0d2RTZgAdZ-BVrCC9zqJ00ov/s320/SDC10546.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We organized that weekend an event on the small local group of CouchSurfing. </span><span title="">The idea was to get together in Tuchkus' parents' summer house, playing guitar around the campfire and perhaps a dip in the river at night. </span><span title="">We arrived with James after cycling 15 kms. </span><span title="">between wooded dirt roads and small towns. </span><span title="">The place and the house were beautiful, and soon came Indre, her younger sister Julija and two CouchSurfers, Dave from Australia and Andre from Brazil. </span><span title="">Then Tuchki came, and later Ponulis, Vaida, Giedrius and Dovile (Tuchki's girlfriend) completed the cast. </span><span title="">The warm beer, snacks and music flowed, and the rain did not stop a good time. </span><span title="">Late at night Ponulis, Vaida and Giedrius returned to the city and we stayed overnight. </span><span title="">The next day we woke up and ate something, w</span><span title="">atched a good movie, Andre returned to the city and the other guys decided to go shopping and picking mushrooms in the forest despite the rain. </span><span title="">I'm not a friend of bad weather, so decided to stay at home taking a nap under a beautiful blanket and the heat of the fire. </span><span title="">Indre's later tonsillitis proved that mine was the best choice. </span><span title="">Later James, with the help of the boys, cooked a really good pasta with mushrooms and white wine sauce that we quickly devoured. </span><span title="">We spent another night together in the house, and the next day we returned to Kaunas.<br />
</span><span title="">As Tuchkus parents were staying in his apartment, me and James decided to stay with Indre and Julija, with Dave and cats Panda and Salomas as great company. </span><span title="">We played the 'chancho' (a classic Argentinian card game. Very simple, but a good excuse for drinking and having fun). </span><span title="">Julija was the first to lose, and as punishment we throwed 20 liters of cold water and over 2 kgs of flour, which took her like an hour to take off her hair. </span><span title="">James was next to lose, and he had to drink a fair amount of '999 '(a green herb liqueur typical of Lithuania) and run naked around the block ...<br />
</span><span title="">The next day was James' last day in Lithuania, and now he had to hitchhike about 2000 kms in three days to be on time at the farm in northern Italy where he was going to spend some time doing wwoofing volunteering. </span><span title="">So we parted ways with some sadness after all the miles and the stories together, but with the certainty of seeing each other again soon down on the road ...</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-55077003786380355312011-09-08T05:03:00.000-07:002011-09-08T05:03:03.493-07:00Lituania, 1ra. parte: Ecofestival, y una semana movida en Kaunas.<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Y_MlovUhlSQelpnzF5YF_J5Hnk6-p-SZxcIijT8GZJD6rpQ3Fdo44itVkTcXdQpQL8Eq7ziIFRlCCtN95NZ78RM23y9MV5zlr09pnDuqtwgzHqzyt6QAANJmn0KyxUgO1RLNGiDNx3u1/s1600/SDC10463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Y_MlovUhlSQelpnzF5YF_J5Hnk6-p-SZxcIijT8GZJD6rpQ3Fdo44itVkTcXdQpQL8Eq7ziIFRlCCtN95NZ78RM23y9MV5zlr09pnDuqtwgzHqzyt6QAANJmn0KyxUgO1RLNGiDNx3u1/s320/SDC10463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castillo de Trakai</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Nos encontramos con Tuchkus, Paulius y Edvinas ya bien entrada la noche, y nos dirigimos en el coche derecho al festival. Unas chicas con voces angelicales cantaban música tradicional lituana, y la gente contemplaba el espectáculo a la luz de las estrellas. Pusimos las carpas (tiendas de campaña), dejamos todo el equipaje y fuimos a hacer reconocimiento de terreno. Si bien era un eco-festival donde no se permitía el consumo de alcohol o carne, nos fuimos con Tuchki y la gente a un rincón alejado a comer un salame regado con una buena botella de vino. Siempre como el salmón, contra la corriente... El cielo ese día era especial: estaba prevista la lluvia de estrellas más grande en unos cuantos años y, si bien el cielo estaba parcialmente cubierto y no nos quedamos hasta la hora debida, pudimos ver un buen número de ellas bailar sus danzas ígneas a través del cielo.<br />
Pasamos todo el fin de semana en el festival, conociendo gente local y aprendiendo un poco de su cultura. La novia de Paulius (Ponulis, para los amigos), Vaida, organizaba el evento. No era mucha gente (algo de 200 personas), pero era la gente adecuada, todos muy buena onda. Aprendí algunas frases en lituano, a tejer pulseras y cinturones al estilo típico del lugar, fui a talleres sobre variados temas (aunque no entendí nada porque eran en lituano), y aprendí algunos 'sutartinės', antiguos y muy singulares ejemplos de música tradicional considerados Obra Maestra del Patrimonio Oral e Intangible de la Humanidad por la UNESCO. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo8M83yfuBWp98jeqoCrSZTZfhEpN_T1tv8-nQCUQliyHJTxuARTBkS4v_EYky27F614b6cAsPSb6q9RzZf4MS8eUzlfQ-eRb86V2sAPUPO_tPrJc5yIMFrjwLm7Frb574BA9jeOIQ7VC/s1600/SDC10426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo8M83yfuBWp98jeqoCrSZTZfhEpN_T1tv8-nQCUQliyHJTxuARTBkS4v_EYky27F614b6cAsPSb6q9RzZf4MS8eUzlfQ-eRb86V2sAPUPO_tPrJc5yIMFrjwLm7Frb574BA9jeOIQ7VC/s320/SDC10426.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPWfBh4mukbMWNW9NLsK-cMTg60ee6Hdx6jPnmBgcLU4yD71Rk98YsIm1tf6M4q1c7v5eUD9S4hPivTdhlnm2qS1sk943fmtMjS5CyBEh7ZQnmqDMqY157kr0dzx2ypONBz6X-_jPcoXT/s1600/SDC10438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPWfBh4mukbMWNW9NLsK-cMTg60ee6Hdx6jPnmBgcLU4yD71Rk98YsIm1tf6M4q1c7v5eUD9S4hPivTdhlnm2qS1sk943fmtMjS5CyBEh7ZQnmqDMqY157kr0dzx2ypONBz6X-_jPcoXT/s320/SDC10438.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNm4Ww4IOxwwfAxWI-Vbrl6eHBcIlIPCnQTuPGxQrY612JIjv98sJVF0fFmHj5i7HnFL_Tzh82jU7KMI6A5U0AD9Cnz_HtQFfIRgcTLz8buapVt7RxmsL0xv9lxYb1Wsqow02GyMpvhOV/s1600/SDC10432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNm4Ww4IOxwwfAxWI-Vbrl6eHBcIlIPCnQTuPGxQrY612JIjv98sJVF0fFmHj5i7HnFL_Tzh82jU7KMI6A5U0AD9Cnz_HtQFfIRgcTLz8buapVt7RxmsL0xv9lxYb1Wsqow02GyMpvhOV/s320/SDC10432.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYqmThKijovLPdUM4B1MDOkF1cn88AOy4J4PuNNNZ3aRd_OOqT39whiBLf3acHGe2b1PYIhib4jArevLkpynyU2BTlfoSuE_T9rFLQzQjSmBsUdtU6ua3TBVPFX1GEfzMLQ3sJ2FcMKD/s1600/SDC10433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYqmThKijovLPdUM4B1MDOkF1cn88AOy4J4PuNNNZ3aRd_OOqT39whiBLf3acHGe2b1PYIhib4jArevLkpynyU2BTlfoSuE_T9rFLQzQjSmBsUdtU6ua3TBVPFX1GEfzMLQ3sJ2FcMKD/s320/SDC10433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jEi_JxzpvAKOcCBFpn_3JMf0yk3OBoApszRQhJf5zZba9vVRNwZ3WR8KiBAIwLhh19zdZ7Zo6gpzMipdoUtEJsn_9Ka8m4qz7I6t4nc78AS_W33InVELOKGYtPJIKq6xH4sPpHsOxWuN/s1600/SDC10437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jEi_JxzpvAKOcCBFpn_3JMf0yk3OBoApszRQhJf5zZba9vVRNwZ3WR8KiBAIwLhh19zdZ7Zo6gpzMipdoUtEJsn_9Ka8m4qz7I6t4nc78AS_W33InVELOKGYtPJIKq6xH4sPpHsOxWuN/s320/SDC10437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosJjpb-1Pwh-nTABE1ivmoNmD0XnxUhKucXpuqZbnbsACUzy3Urah1fcACXoUnQJ2n1DNIbg-YC6jyR00IeiKkq4ijB6FkbInzTFABGXsWK9ZQBoIB30q3KLDWVR6oSTCIYkPIl1kjiej/s1600/SDC10440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosJjpb-1Pwh-nTABE1ivmoNmD0XnxUhKucXpuqZbnbsACUzy3Urah1fcACXoUnQJ2n1DNIbg-YC6jyR00IeiKkq4ijB6FkbInzTFABGXsWK9ZQBoIB30q3KLDWVR6oSTCIYkPIl1kjiej/s320/SDC10440.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasamos por el castillo de Trakai, hermosa construcción de comienzos del s. XV y símbolo de Lituania, y llegamos a la casa de Tuchkus en Kaunas, y tratamos de organizar un poco la semana para hacer algunas actividades. Al día siguiente fuimos por todos los alrededores de Kaunas en bicicleta, pasando por el Yacht Club y el hermoso monasterio de Pazaislis, el más grande de Lituania y mejor ejemplo de arquitectura barroca italiana en el país.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIP_v3ftzI9D2Q6L8mN-TQKCTALmWrDjub9Y4Cbq-BziTCcvMoNWzwNOBdmoYVslaDFV7114U3BfRJOfYhJTbomjJctdTb8kY2WNfJvA9iB96DdZKREVP3XpBjgQq-L9i3H4fx8FWvDpMh/s1600/SDC10474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIP_v3ftzI9D2Q6L8mN-TQKCTALmWrDjub9Y4Cbq-BziTCcvMoNWzwNOBdmoYVslaDFV7114U3BfRJOfYhJTbomjJctdTb8kY2WNfJvA9iB96DdZKREVP3XpBjgQq-L9i3H4fx8FWvDpMh/s320/SDC10474.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXOzH9UjLmUadnyONJp1coYwvrOTeuGGQaBeDazPXHI95bCKv8DenDyoBDJfz1RbEZdo29BEaB4UCshv4Q6PvdCSmu-TYA2vpn_io0U46maNXo8pUzmgK_vtb2mbFqqY9OGsC8l4U5o9v/s1600/SDC10481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXOzH9UjLmUadnyONJp1coYwvrOTeuGGQaBeDazPXHI95bCKv8DenDyoBDJfz1RbEZdo29BEaB4UCshv4Q6PvdCSmu-TYA2vpn_io0U46maNXo8pUzmgK_vtb2mbFqqY9OGsC8l4U5o9v/s320/SDC10481.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cfSkodozk57jM3sMjiveEUFavUjn-U1cF-nEnked_4lkcea5sLc9_pRyuEmPnFThIkfn0ddL7E0Q2nfoYH8lsBtt_8kYhwheoWRyHigM5jw_b7K9kvHx5lNHLI4JbmGgMz7A7wd_8V63/s1600/SDC10487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cfSkodozk57jM3sMjiveEUFavUjn-U1cF-nEnked_4lkcea5sLc9_pRyuEmPnFThIkfn0ddL7E0Q2nfoYH8lsBtt_8kYhwheoWRyHigM5jw_b7K9kvHx5lNHLI4JbmGgMz7A7wd_8V63/s320/SDC10487.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Más tarde nos encontramos con Giedrius para un poco de historia en un lugar sagrado para los antiguos paganos, la confluencia de los dos ríos más grandes de Lituania: Niemunas y Neris. Giedrius es el embajador de la ciudad por la página de CouchSurfing, y sabe mucho de historia y leyendas tradicionales, así que fue interesante para mí escuchar un pedacito de su mundo. De ahí a probar unas cervezas locales con Knut de Alemania, y Gintare y su amiga. Al día siguiente nos encontramos nuevamente con Giedrius, Ponulis, Vaida, Knut y un par de chicos para ir al VI Fuerte de Kaunas, uno de los numerosos fuertes de la ciudad (hoy abandonado), construido a finales del s. XIX por los rusos para proteger el límite occidental del Imperio, y que durante la II Guerra Mundial (con la invasión de Lituania por parte de Alemania) sirvió como prisión y campo de exterminio para 35.000 judíos y prisioneros de guerra del Ejército Rojo. El lugar estaba cubierto por la maleza y en ruinas, y teníamos que abrir camino entre los herbajos para entrar en los lugares escondidos armados con linternas para explorar los fragmentos rotos de historias olvidadas bajo las arenas del tiempo. Las salas donde se incineraban los cadáveres todavía estaban cubiertas por una nube de ceniza irrespirable.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMREpzgJAWc23uhGIFYZXDB4qk9RezVShFxVkFGw3yWYF0cQAAHsKvLH_NZxpq4A6DA0XFP1E5GXQXtLKl4oUohT82kKFq7pcXbJAkEPKc3_9GKLZi9DSvSG48DxTMxfpBLrP4hLxfrfLN/s1600/SDC10506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMREpzgJAWc23uhGIFYZXDB4qk9RezVShFxVkFGw3yWYF0cQAAHsKvLH_NZxpq4A6DA0XFP1E5GXQXtLKl4oUohT82kKFq7pcXbJAkEPKc3_9GKLZi9DSvSG48DxTMxfpBLrP4hLxfrfLN/s320/SDC10506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8t0Ec5iQ2mNTDeAF-PJDLves2vVkVt90EFjRnswBYkTsIvc1i1X9fsXpnZkpVRvSUeIofdxHwsdKVZLdQfnk0ezLAr-hDFatGVHpRwhJQUo2kJkN2TtA6ORsyFSJI-A84MANlcCjtkXiO/s1600/SDC10511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8t0Ec5iQ2mNTDeAF-PJDLves2vVkVt90EFjRnswBYkTsIvc1i1X9fsXpnZkpVRvSUeIofdxHwsdKVZLdQfnk0ezLAr-hDFatGVHpRwhJQUo2kJkN2TtA6ORsyFSJI-A84MANlcCjtkXiO/s320/SDC10511.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijCXUHdielnDCsYDHFCdx4nLNpptKQEUKpBK4ci6zegN_JPbh2yNy_KGUQ-LnmiTPVYFpjxBS8X3qDdWP1xLskSgTy7tzKubEVidDUwtr9sr-0Ex6Q7GnBlAoTaQnSvm9H72ZD5S9fUng/s1600/SDC10517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijCXUHdielnDCsYDHFCdx4nLNpptKQEUKpBK4ci6zegN_JPbh2yNy_KGUQ-LnmiTPVYFpjxBS8X3qDdWP1xLskSgTy7tzKubEVidDUwtr9sr-0Ex6Q7GnBlAoTaQnSvm9H72ZD5S9fUng/s320/SDC10517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0wyfBcVvK74lqzfD4I3dx-7DFboDG0bQPw4Kptz_8LAzDRurU6Yo5Z5t-de61ZQ4I_LUh9V1Xmc7GLJTqbtLpdR1r2SfHODJ-6FBNf_jIBKOYihU8ing4khN0jOaRIS4CnqM7Plt0kxJ/s1600/SDC10518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0wyfBcVvK74lqzfD4I3dx-7DFboDG0bQPw4Kptz_8LAzDRurU6Yo5Z5t-de61ZQ4I_LUh9V1Xmc7GLJTqbtLpdR1r2SfHODJ-6FBNf_jIBKOYihU8ing4khN0jOaRIS4CnqM7Plt0kxJ/s320/SDC10518.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8M-DpeM9GdUmn-kHTVkzSdO4Fv9FlUFgJHoFLsuWI-cB-2jsugSsAHLSG1-WThRbcb9R1bDSn38obvm7uTxKVd6DAKJsd6G1QTqHNOccTm6pAByvwvyS4J-lA5AnNnGqsZszY-uTe5GfM/s1600/SDC10526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8M-DpeM9GdUmn-kHTVkzSdO4Fv9FlUFgJHoFLsuWI-cB-2jsugSsAHLSG1-WThRbcb9R1bDSn38obvm7uTxKVd6DAKJsd6G1QTqHNOccTm6pAByvwvyS4J-lA5AnNnGqsZszY-uTe5GfM/s320/SDC10526.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Terminamos cubiertos de hollín y barro, y así como estabamos fuimos a un 'bar' digno de mencionar. En Lituania está prohibido vender alcohol después de las diez de la noche, así que lo que los ingeniosos negociantes inventaron fue simplemente poner una mesa y un par de sillas adentro y pretender ser un bar, con lo que pueden burlar la ley y vender alcohol las 24 horas a las gargantas sedientas. Este en particular estaba poblado de curiosos especímenes de la fauna local que venían a socializar y disfrutar las jarras de cerveza ('alus', en lituano) por 0,50€. Así que estuvimos un buen rato degustando el bendito brebaje de malta y charlando con los locales. Nuestras pintas no debieron haber sido las mejores porque hasta ellos, que distaban de vestirse elegantes, nos preguntaron: "¿Así que son gitanos, eh?". Paroxismos de risa. <br />
<br />
Otro día Tuchkus tuvo la idea de ir a navegar al río. El bote en cuestión era un inflable que ya había pasado sus mejores días y estaba emparchado por todos lados. Como no podía esperarse menos, llegamos tarde al lugar, armamos mal el bote y para cuando finalmente estuvimos en el agua ya eran las nueve de la noche. Así que empezamos a remar. Bueno, James empezó a remar, porque Tuchkus se pasó más de una hora hablando por teléfono y yo estaba incrustado entre los dos asientos sin poder moverme, así que le tocó a él el esfuerzo, sudar y putear bajito buena parte de los 15 kilómetros. La corriente era extremadamente lenta, así que nos tocó apurar el paso la última hora y remar sin parar porque teníamos que encontrarnos con Indre, Jovita and Tomas para unas cervezas.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hW-Ytyll2h27nLy9Kazp4WLgGLt912PJeSJwGARqiEcO01-_wP_Eiw_-sf1HVeLse4WhFJ5EvIE8o45SB25fwWEeOnvsBbIpBV7M2Z3CAWJw2Uh1yaOUt2JAqnfjeyAyst0GSuGDZF8I/s1600/SDC10541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hW-Ytyll2h27nLy9Kazp4WLgGLt912PJeSJwGARqiEcO01-_wP_Eiw_-sf1HVeLse4WhFJ5EvIE8o45SB25fwWEeOnvsBbIpBV7M2Z3CAWJw2Uh1yaOUt2JAqnfjeyAyst0GSuGDZF8I/s320/SDC10541.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHQq3HGpfRRmub_UuisSsnGzVI2IzmwpB7qQ9sD6leIiKJxn8auzX_BaIfEqWO4ot7eO_VLVHo8seQUW-4ZqQR32cZ-GcUdduBjupcBTGNouD8Cdc2DfkACla2b2M_LyBrgtAeeOT6hiV/s1600/SDC10544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHQq3HGpfRRmub_UuisSsnGzVI2IzmwpB7qQ9sD6leIiKJxn8auzX_BaIfEqWO4ot7eO_VLVHo8seQUW-4ZqQR32cZ-GcUdduBjupcBTGNouD8Cdc2DfkACla2b2M_LyBrgtAeeOT6hiV/s320/SDC10544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq3Uu7wBtwosvtsUjGmFJvaN8QB0pBq8Er-TB81mAsJUuxezyFiETdSUemsTTuBeNfRSl6YQ3G8MnKvtuztjoa_eQXYuCnJblGPQZ3oPohry-7L0Q6YKrLQhWJxkbtbaWkhH12aykPZvZ/s1600/SDC10545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq3Uu7wBtwosvtsUjGmFJvaN8QB0pBq8Er-TB81mAsJUuxezyFiETdSUemsTTuBeNfRSl6YQ3G8MnKvtuztjoa_eQXYuCnJblGPQZ3oPohry-7L0Q6YKrLQhWJxkbtbaWkhH12aykPZvZ/s320/SDC10545.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
También hicimos una cena de amigos para algo de 15 personas en casa de Tuchkus también esa semana. Yo preparé unos cuantos litros de deliciosa Sangría y James cocinó un increíble lechón al horno con no se que salsas y no se que cosas, quizás lo más rico que haya probado en mi vida. El terminó sus estudios de chef en Nueva Zelanda, y ahora quiere viajar por Europa (especialmente Italia) para aprender más sobre las distintas tradiciones culinarias. Y yo, claro, encantado de acompañarlo...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t92naWGZOcmkVCwaPYxj5a1qhrza2ZcvblFoiH-WPcd4ZFGEHYQAfGNPMUcm6AXh6NAtVPMdlb8_UV75rB643DFfiJ5Rw219Qkp_NLj6K1-OD7mjdK8i0d2RTZgAdZ-BVrCC9zqJ00ov/s1600/SDC10546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t92naWGZOcmkVCwaPYxj5a1qhrza2ZcvblFoiH-WPcd4ZFGEHYQAfGNPMUcm6AXh6NAtVPMdlb8_UV75rB643DFfiJ5Rw219Qkp_NLj6K1-OD7mjdK8i0d2RTZgAdZ-BVrCC9zqJ00ov/s320/SDC10546.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
El fín de semana organizamos un pequeño evento en el grupo local de CouchSurfing. La idea era juntarnos en la casa de verano de los padres de Tuchkus, tocar la guitarra alrededor del fuego y quizás algún chapuzón en el río por la noche. Llegamos con James después de pedalear 15 kms. entre arbolados caminos de tierra y pequeños poblados. El lugar y la casa eran bonitos, y poco después llegaron Indre, su hermana menor Julija y sus dos CouchSurfers, Dave de Australia y André de Brasil. Luego llegó Tuchki, y más tarde Ponulis, Vaida, Giedrius y Dovile (la novia de Tuchki) completaron el encuentro. Las cervezas tibias, los aperitivos y la música fluyeron, y la lluvia no impidió que pasaramos un buen rato. Ya entrada la noche Ponulis, Vaida y Giedrius volvieron a la ciudad y nosotros nos quedamos a pasar la noche. Al día siguiente nos levantamos y comimos algo. Miramos una peli muy buena, André volvió a la ciudad y los otros chicos decidieron ir a hacer las compras y recoger setas en el bosque a pesar de la lluvia. Yo, poco amigo del mal tiempo, decidí quedarme en la casa tomando una hermosa siesta bajo una manta y al calor del fuego. La angina de Indre probó que la mía fue la mejor opción. James con la ayuda de los chicos cocinó unas pastas buenísimas con salsa de champignones y vino blanco que no tardamos en devorar. Pasamos otra noche juntos en la casa, y al día siguiente volvimos a Kaunas.<br />
<br />
Como los padres de Tuchkus estaban en el apartamento, decidimos con James quedarnos en lo de Indre y su hermana, con Dave y los gatos Salomas y Panda de compañia. Jugamos al chancho, un juego de cartas argentino muy simple pero que es buena excusa para beber y pasar un rato divertido. Julija fue la primera en perder, y como castigo la bañamos con 20 litros de agua fría y le tiramos dos kilos de harina encima, que tardó una hora en sacarse del pelo. James fue el siguiente, y le tocó beber un buena cantidad de '999' (un licor de hierbas verde típico de Lituania) y correr desnudo alrededor del bloque...<br />
El día siguiente fue el último día de James en Lituania, y ahora le tocaba cubrir unos 2000 kms en tres días para estar a tiempo en la granja del norte de Italia donde iba a pasar un tiempo de voluntario haciendo wwoofing. Así que nos despedimos con un poco de tristeza, después de todos los kilómetros y las historias juntos, pero con la certeza de volvernos a ver las caras pronto otra vez, en la carretera...Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-9677150240869305892011-09-07T14:16:00.000-07:002011-09-07T22:38:57.119-07:00From Krakow to Lithuania. Last day hitching with James through the beautiful polish countryside, and the expected reencounter with Tuchkus.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59f4yiqyoqKbuKjr69cL8o5NyJHrq9TyNIIKz0oyx-I6A7bxYWmTvFSyS2Dst7F7xYHO981tBH4UlaeGzfV6D_xanTlY8wzmBfyHlN-UOz3dvxmaeFmwau2i2TGktsTJTavMBF9iALhLy/s1600/SDC10402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59f4yiqyoqKbuKjr69cL8o5NyJHrq9TyNIIKz0oyx-I6A7bxYWmTvFSyS2Dst7F7xYHO981tBH4UlaeGzfV6D_xanTlY8wzmBfyHlN-UOz3dvxmaeFmwau2i2TGktsTJTavMBF9iALhLy/s320/SDC10402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Once again it was time to go: three days in the same place was too much! </span><span title="">So we woke up as the sun rose over the roofs of Krakow, filled the bag with our meager belongings and left. </span><span title="">We walked for an hour in the cool of the morning until we got to the service station we chose on the road and out of town. </span><span title="">Other 'Spanish breakfast', some questions to sour-faced employees and start the day!<br />
</span><span title="">The path we had chosen for the day was 600 kms. </span><span title="">traversing Poland and its capital Warsaw to the border with Lithuania, and then another 100 kms. </span><span title="">to Kaunas and the expected encounter with Tuchkus, with whom we had lived and traveled in Malaysia and Australia. </span><span title="">In fact, with him I spent the most remarkable new year's eve of my life. </span><span title="">We were both in Sydney (probably the best place on earth to see the new year's celebrations) and alone, almost without knowing anyone and without a dime... </span><span title="">What to do? </span><span title="">I had an unorthodox idea: make a big sign that between pretty drawings said something like: "New Year's Eve! Help us with a coin, a beer, a job or a nice girl!". And we began to ask everyone that we passed by, </span><span title="">with a big smile and telling something of our history. People were surprised by our strange marketing strategy: someone finally asking honestly for money to get really drunk! And so, in just over an hour, we got like </span><span title="">$50 ... sooo, bought a five-liter cask of the cheapest wine (goon!), and in a disinterested display of alcoholic generosity donated the rest to a charity (I must admit that we repented it when the wine ran out ...). Then</span><span title=""> we met Min Woo, a South Korean friend, and 15 minutes before midnight jumped the fences escaping the police to the place where more than half a million people were looking forward to the celebrations and beginning of the new year.<br />
</span><span title="">Poland is probably my favorite country for hitchhiking. </span><span title="">The people are friendly and very used to hitchhiking. </span><span title="">Until the early '90s this was an official mean of transport, organized by the National Tourism Board. </span><span title="">Each hitchhiker had a ID card with assurance included, and the drivers could get points and prizes. </span><span title="">It was therefore quite easy to find a lift to Warsaw. </span><span title="">After some 15 minutes, Aneta offered to drive us the 300 kms. </span><span title="">that separated us from the capital. </span><span title="">She lived in England but had started a business in Krakow and was traveling with two guys who worked with her. </span><span title="">She was very nice and good conversationalist, and we crossed half Poland hearing of her adventures, travels, family and future plans.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK8MICw6vbeIZrSxZMpoOOPK3GYtXwuaxula1spb8pJZjE8SXH1fG3u-xxOZtGKB3LywSeKuRbat5pU3hKJx2sOAOgdZBVIjpjOWl9GhUH27G1laY-KvvkLKI4CBrJOQi5iFjr84BKJYQ/s1600/SDC10374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK8MICw6vbeIZrSxZMpoOOPK3GYtXwuaxula1spb8pJZjE8SXH1fG3u-xxOZtGKB3LywSeKuRbat5pU3hKJx2sOAOgdZBVIjpjOWl9GhUH27G1laY-KvvkLKI4CBrJOQi5iFjr84BKJYQ/s320/SDC10374.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnE7XijorvU1r1AR1EiEUEj7uGpg4yEm9fbIdlFEsqzRbHDwJnprKH6BAL9oC-__UsKvdzVcDlTAtjxNPbtpZ-PlMek1_5eb2jtaOcIIE7hBHa5vDAWIO4fbyO06zPFOVPfAtvfiVYt6W/s1600/SDC10386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnE7XijorvU1r1AR1EiEUEj7uGpg4yEm9fbIdlFEsqzRbHDwJnprKH6BAL9oC-__UsKvdzVcDlTAtjxNPbtpZ-PlMek1_5eb2jtaOcIIE7hBHa5vDAWIO4fbyO06zPFOVPfAtvfiVYt6W/s320/SDC10386.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We stopped at a small gas station after Warsaw, in good position to continue north, as many cars were going in our direction. </span><span title="">He had just received a message from Tuchkus. </span><span title="">Last minute plan change: instead of going to Kaunas, we should meet with him and his friends in an ecofestival in the middle of nowhere. </span><span title="">As we had no money to call him and he is famous for its comic disorganization, almost four hours passed until we finally had a little idea of where we had to go. </span><span title="">At the gas station waited like 15 minutes until Michał took us another 30 kms. </span><span title="">until another gas station after Wyszkow.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnyj-ThDJKtO7PePFFw9XHRMdOW7oa_aE6K5uDSTmiCjhzgFAh7IeE7zr5cBxuDizzIJWw5QOdHnD_A4gtr89vst8rtyOJHdl2J7uXPb-J7zQn-4k0h5JFiSNQEaaMrgRuTIgrhbx_Pb3/s1600/SDC10387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnyj-ThDJKtO7PePFFw9XHRMdOW7oa_aE6K5uDSTmiCjhzgFAh7IeE7zr5cBxuDizzIJWw5QOdHnD_A4gtr89vst8rtyOJHdl2J7uXPb-J7zQn-4k0h5JFiSNQEaaMrgRuTIgrhbx_Pb3/s320/SDC10387.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Next to the narrow road, girls in tight clothes offered their services to tired drivers looking for imitations of love. </span><span title="">We ate a small snack beside the road, and after another 20 minutes Florian took us towards Białystok. </span><span title="">He was German but lived and worked as a lawyer in Poland, from where his wife was. </span><span title="">He was a funny man (yes, there are good lawyers!), with crazy stories of restless youth and interesting points of view. </span><span title="">He veered a few miles out of his way to leave us in good position, and we parted ways on the side of the pictoresque wooded road.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPM12e50SN4hD1AF1iprtLhp_OMz32jSvYvG8m0K-CiM06GzVXTbrOjv7fdVrC-QmJ3oqClEVSWcB19F5lGLF_6FN3ob8JMqiCeMIySdjFxvS3vss2-jqBTSJ6LMmmTBwEPgF_fdebUN6s/s1600/SDC10390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPM12e50SN4hD1AF1iprtLhp_OMz32jSvYvG8m0K-CiM06GzVXTbrOjv7fdVrC-QmJ3oqClEVSWcB19F5lGLF_6FN3ob8JMqiCeMIySdjFxvS3vss2-jqBTSJ6LMmmTBwEPgF_fdebUN6s/s320/SDC10390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaV7n4bbgnoQhPXktVqMCB-Q6_deD_36nK7PiWu-_fckU_K7j6pwbi57EQbDrMK55OivLwOABPHyLvx3fboEg9FzNKfj6fw3V8HJEK3XkvvQc1-1crolEBXCEdpj9R21eNAhQIUk9RdEEm/s1600/SDC10397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaV7n4bbgnoQhPXktVqMCB-Q6_deD_36nK7PiWu-_fckU_K7j6pwbi57EQbDrMK55OivLwOABPHyLvx3fboEg9FzNKfj6fw3V8HJEK3XkvvQc1-1crolEBXCEdpj9R21eNAhQIUk9RdEEm/s320/SDC10397.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We were there for a while, because again we had a long-distance sign with the majority of cars being locals. </span><span title="">Finally, and after about an hour, some guys offered to take us through some typical small countryside towns to a gas station halfway towards Augustow. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0m3vGMk1ad3SmnQC4MUux0In6q5q_6bc8WBH77HNPiwNBIB7nE17AUuAfWfHrto-pZqZRHq0LPywmMKmR2tMsD9VT34gB28ntMVvaalMranF4ZapXioEu9gXCuypHQSdwRHHr_8JATBo/s1600/SDC10398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0m3vGMk1ad3SmnQC4MUux0In6q5q_6bc8WBH77HNPiwNBIB7nE17AUuAfWfHrto-pZqZRHq0LPywmMKmR2tMsD9VT34gB28ntMVvaalMranF4ZapXioEu9gXCuypHQSdwRHHr_8JATBo/s320/SDC10398.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc1m-MSLH8qm8Hrs7DF3VIIRRad0y_yAzX80pEuXmNAH4x855-GA55gINSuJp69ZjZc9G0JkX6VlRHArmqcnpwzTW-mxIEqEsIBxUcj4sOyZGhXRr0Jz9IDjkSqFiGJgEYC9MJk5_EWPN/s1600/SDC10406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc1m-MSLH8qm8Hrs7DF3VIIRRad0y_yAzX80pEuXmNAH4x855-GA55gINSuJp69ZjZc9G0JkX6VlRHArmqcnpwzTW-mxIEqEsIBxUcj4sOyZGhXRr0Jz9IDjkSqFiGJgEYC9MJk5_EWPN/s320/SDC10406.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">After another half an hour Marek and Gabriela gave us another short but helpful lift. We talked about life and this and that crossing green fields, and I had a chance to practice my 'Polengruski' (my poor Polish mixed with some English words and sounding like the Russian I learned some years ago). They left us at a gas station outside that city, only 50 kms. </span><span title="">to the border with Lithuania.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUpS4_4U_vLxWp9-XbNluTZwqPHOH4esUpEWSAHqX2Etdo30_G_scCBJ5HnMiy13FyLuh_WBL5w2zneSN-o2ymVJ1zn_J-dg2YwNft7hYXhW-B_ELAN5it7vE4MuKap70PzMLO7X4qflr/s1600/SDC10408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUpS4_4U_vLxWp9-XbNluTZwqPHOH4esUpEWSAHqX2Etdo30_G_scCBJ5HnMiy13FyLuh_WBL5w2zneSN-o2ymVJ1zn_J-dg2YwNft7hYXhW-B_ELAN5it7vE4MuKap70PzMLO7X4qflr/s320/SDC10408.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRiIUViEn2lLkjNoTMr07apDlVrhWcWqO_tcpojWhJJj5HxcR_QE9Ebs3VGaZll3xSctDUfpYIs82TIvwWD_wLS97aY8EsjCNKzANaiQem5n0OqhSJx6qnlm1r_u5d8P8DpJbQY7hkhDL/s1600/SDC10420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRiIUViEn2lLkjNoTMr07apDlVrhWcWqO_tcpojWhJJj5HxcR_QE9Ebs3VGaZll3xSctDUfpYIs82TIvwWD_wLS97aY8EsjCNKzANaiQem5n0OqhSJx6qnlm1r_u5d8P8DpJbQY7hkhDL/s320/SDC10420.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">There, a short wait and another lovely couple offered to drive us 200 kms. </span><span title="">until near Trakai, a few miles from the festival. </span><span title="">We crossed the border as the night began to lay a cloak of dark velvet over the picturesque fields of the southernmost part of the Baltic country, talking about past memories, stories of a restless present and colourful future plans. </span><span title="">It was late when we parted ways wishing each other a happy life, on the road intersection where we were supposed to be meeting Tuchki and friends.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVtwPvaX0a4w5V_81wrOnR_mpoDnsW09KcxkKjKsDJrm3B8KMfZ7aU3yOdfMCtCJpaUEPTBvulWuKe_LwZDcSyGk0QKo4RUSfjjYsl3s4ooP-_PcSeVHJVIDKE3gv6_3LJ5luDnCdQ3x7/s1600/SDC10421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVtwPvaX0a4w5V_81wrOnR_mpoDnsW09KcxkKjKsDJrm3B8KMfZ7aU3yOdfMCtCJpaUEPTBvulWuKe_LwZDcSyGk0QKo4RUSfjjYsl3s4ooP-_PcSeVHJVIDKE3gv6_3LJ5luDnCdQ3x7/s320/SDC10421.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">The night was dark, lit only by the dim silver light of stars, and with a dense fog covering the fields. </span><span title="">The minutes passed, and we were not sure if we were in the right place because there was no road signs and the roads themselves did not resemble the map so much. </span><span title="">We started walking without knowing where we were going, until some time after a car hit the brakes in front of us. </span><span title="">Tuchkuuus! </span><span title="">We hugged jumping in the middle of the road, and we told each other all our latest adventures as we went to the festival with their friends. </span><span title="">But that's part of another story ...</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-62351215044221638742011-09-07T04:46:00.000-07:002011-09-07T04:46:13.706-07:00De Cracovia a Lituania. Ultimo día a dedo con James cruzando la hermosa campiña polaca, y reencuentro con Tuchkus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59f4yiqyoqKbuKjr69cL8o5NyJHrq9TyNIIKz0oyx-I6A7bxYWmTvFSyS2Dst7F7xYHO981tBH4UlaeGzfV6D_xanTlY8wzmBfyHlN-UOz3dvxmaeFmwau2i2TGktsTJTavMBF9iALhLy/s1600/SDC10402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59f4yiqyoqKbuKjr69cL8o5NyJHrq9TyNIIKz0oyx-I6A7bxYWmTvFSyS2Dst7F7xYHO981tBH4UlaeGzfV6D_xanTlY8wzmBfyHlN-UOz3dvxmaeFmwau2i2TGktsTJTavMBF9iALhLy/s320/SDC10402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Una vez más tiempo de partir: tres días quieto fue demasiado! Así que nos despertamos mientras el sol se alzaba sobre los techos de Cracovia, llenamos la maleta con nuestras escasas pertenencias y salimos. Caminamos por una hora en el fresco de la mañana hasta la estación de servicio que habíamos elegido sobre la carretera y ya fuera de la ciudad. ¡Otro 'desayuno español', algunas preguntas a empleados caracúlicos y a empezar la jornada!<br />
El camino que habíamos elegido para el día nos llevaba unos 600 kms. atraversado Polonia y su capital Varsovia hasta la frontera con Lituania, y de ahí otros 100 kms. hasta Kaunas y el esperado reencuentro con Tuchkus, con quien habíamos vivido y viajado en Malasia y Australia. De hecho, con él pasé la noche vieja (año nuevo) más memorable de mi vida. Estábamos los dos en Sydney (quizás el mejor lugar del planeta para ver los festejos de año nuevo) y solos, sin conocer casi a nadie y sin un dólar... ¿Qué hacer? Se me ocurrió una idea poco ortodoxa: hacer un cartel grande que entre bonitos dibujos decía algo así como "Año Nuevo! Ayudanos con una moneda, una cerveza, un trabajo o una amiga bonita! Y empezamos a preguntarle a todo el que nos cruzábamos, con una gran sonrisa y contando algo de nuestra historia. La gente se mostró sorprendida por nuestra extraña estrategia de marketing: ¡finalmente alguien que pedía dinero expresa y honestamente para agarrarse un buen pedo! Y así, en poco más de una hora, hicimos algo de $50... Compramos una caja de cinco litros del vino más barato, y en muestra de desinteresada generosidad etílica terminamos donando todo el resto a una organización benéfica (debo reconocer que nos arrepentimos de ello cuando se acabó el vino...). De ahí nos encontramos con un amigo surcoreano, y a 15 minutos de medianoche saltamos las rejas escapándonos de la policía hasta el lugar donde más de medio millón de personas esperaban ansiosas los festejos y el comienzo del nuevo año.<br />
Polonia es probablemente mi país favorito para hacer autoestop. La gente es amable y está muy acostumbrada a hacer dedo. Hasta comienzos de los '90 el 'dedo' fue un medio oficial de transporte, organizado por el Servicio Nacional de Turismo. Cada autoestopista tenía una tarjeta de identificación con aseguración incluida. Fue por lo tanto bastante fácil encontrar alguien hasta Varsovia. Después de algo de 15 minutos, Aneta se ofreció a llevarnos los 300 kms. que nos separaban de la capital. Ella vivía en Inglaterra pero había comenzado un negocio en Cracovia y viajaba con dos chicos que trabajaban con ella. Era muy simpática y buena conversadora, y cruzamos media Polonia mientras oíamos de sus aventuras, viajes, familia y planes de futuro.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK8MICw6vbeIZrSxZMpoOOPK3GYtXwuaxula1spb8pJZjE8SXH1fG3u-xxOZtGKB3LywSeKuRbat5pU3hKJx2sOAOgdZBVIjpjOWl9GhUH27G1laY-KvvkLKI4CBrJOQi5iFjr84BKJYQ/s1600/SDC10374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK8MICw6vbeIZrSxZMpoOOPK3GYtXwuaxula1spb8pJZjE8SXH1fG3u-xxOZtGKB3LywSeKuRbat5pU3hKJx2sOAOgdZBVIjpjOWl9GhUH27G1laY-KvvkLKI4CBrJOQi5iFjr84BKJYQ/s320/SDC10374.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnE7XijorvU1r1AR1EiEUEj7uGpg4yEm9fbIdlFEsqzRbHDwJnprKH6BAL9oC-__UsKvdzVcDlTAtjxNPbtpZ-PlMek1_5eb2jtaOcIIE7hBHa5vDAWIO4fbyO06zPFOVPfAtvfiVYt6W/s1600/SDC10386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnE7XijorvU1r1AR1EiEUEj7uGpg4yEm9fbIdlFEsqzRbHDwJnprKH6BAL9oC-__UsKvdzVcDlTAtjxNPbtpZ-PlMek1_5eb2jtaOcIIE7hBHa5vDAWIO4fbyO06zPFOVPfAtvfiVYt6W/s320/SDC10386.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nos dejó en una pequeña gasolinera después de Varsovia, en buena posición para continuar camino ya que muchos coches irían en nuestra dirección. Poco antes habíamos recibido un mensaje de Tuchkus. Cambio de planes a último momento: en vez de Kaunas, debíamos encontrarnos con él y sus amigos en un ecofestival en el medio de la nada. Como no teníamos dinero para llamarlo y él es famoso por su cómica desorganización, estuvimos algo de cuatro horas hasta que finalmente tuvimos una pequeña idea de donde teníamos que ir. En la gasolinera estuvimos algo de 15 minutos hasta que Michał nos llevó unos 30 kms. hasta pasado Wyszków.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnyj-ThDJKtO7PePFFw9XHRMdOW7oa_aE6K5uDSTmiCjhzgFAh7IeE7zr5cBxuDizzIJWw5QOdHnD_A4gtr89vst8rtyOJHdl2J7uXPb-J7zQn-4k0h5JFiSNQEaaMrgRuTIgrhbx_Pb3/s1600/SDC10387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnyj-ThDJKtO7PePFFw9XHRMdOW7oa_aE6K5uDSTmiCjhzgFAh7IeE7zr5cBxuDizzIJWw5QOdHnD_A4gtr89vst8rtyOJHdl2J7uXPb-J7zQn-4k0h5JFiSNQEaaMrgRuTIgrhbx_Pb3/s320/SDC10387.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasamos en el camino al lado de numerosas chicas con escasa ropa que ofrecían sus servicios a los cansados conductores. Comimos un pequeño snack al costado de la pequeña carretera, y después de otros 20 minutos Florian nos llevó rumbo a Bia<span class="st">łystok. El era alemán pero vivía y trabajaba como abogado en Polonia, de donde procedía su esposa. Era un tipo divertido (si, hay abogados buenos!), con historias locas de juventud e interesantes puntos de vista. Se desvió unos cuantos kilómetros de su camino para dejarnos en buena posición, y nos despedimos en el costado de la pequeña carretera arbolada. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPM12e50SN4hD1AF1iprtLhp_OMz32jSvYvG8m0K-CiM06GzVXTbrOjv7fdVrC-QmJ3oqClEVSWcB19F5lGLF_6FN3ob8JMqiCeMIySdjFxvS3vss2-jqBTSJ6LMmmTBwEPgF_fdebUN6s/s1600/SDC10390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPM12e50SN4hD1AF1iprtLhp_OMz32jSvYvG8m0K-CiM06GzVXTbrOjv7fdVrC-QmJ3oqClEVSWcB19F5lGLF_6FN3ob8JMqiCeMIySdjFxvS3vss2-jqBTSJ6LMmmTBwEPgF_fdebUN6s/s320/SDC10390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaV7n4bbgnoQhPXktVqMCB-Q6_deD_36nK7PiWu-_fckU_K7j6pwbi57EQbDrMK55OivLwOABPHyLvx3fboEg9FzNKfj6fw3V8HJEK3XkvvQc1-1crolEBXCEdpj9R21eNAhQIUk9RdEEm/s1600/SDC10397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaV7n4bbgnoQhPXktVqMCB-Q6_deD_36nK7PiWu-_fckU_K7j6pwbi57EQbDrMK55OivLwOABPHyLvx3fboEg9FzNKfj6fw3V8HJEK3XkvvQc1-1crolEBXCEdpj9R21eNAhQIUk9RdEEm/s320/SDC10397.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="st">Ahí estuvimos un buen rato, más bien porque nuevamente teníamos una señal de larga distancia en una carretera con mayoría de tráfico local. Después de algo de una hora, unos chicos se ofrecieron a llevarnos hasta una gasolinera a mitad de camino hacia Augustów, y después de una media hora Marek y Gabriela nos dejaron en una gasolinera fuera de esa ciudad, ya a 50 kms. de la frontera con Lituania. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0m3vGMk1ad3SmnQC4MUux0In6q5q_6bc8WBH77HNPiwNBIB7nE17AUuAfWfHrto-pZqZRHq0LPywmMKmR2tMsD9VT34gB28ntMVvaalMranF4ZapXioEu9gXCuypHQSdwRHHr_8JATBo/s1600/SDC10398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0m3vGMk1ad3SmnQC4MUux0In6q5q_6bc8WBH77HNPiwNBIB7nE17AUuAfWfHrto-pZqZRHq0LPywmMKmR2tMsD9VT34gB28ntMVvaalMranF4ZapXioEu9gXCuypHQSdwRHHr_8JATBo/s320/SDC10398.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc1m-MSLH8qm8Hrs7DF3VIIRRad0y_yAzX80pEuXmNAH4x855-GA55gINSuJp69ZjZc9G0JkX6VlRHArmqcnpwzTW-mxIEqEsIBxUcj4sOyZGhXRr0Jz9IDjkSqFiGJgEYC9MJk5_EWPN/s1600/SDC10406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc1m-MSLH8qm8Hrs7DF3VIIRRad0y_yAzX80pEuXmNAH4x855-GA55gINSuJp69ZjZc9G0JkX6VlRHArmqcnpwzTW-mxIEqEsIBxUcj4sOyZGhXRr0Jz9IDjkSqFiGJgEYC9MJk5_EWPN/s320/SDC10406.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUpS4_4U_vLxWp9-XbNluTZwqPHOH4esUpEWSAHqX2Etdo30_G_scCBJ5HnMiy13FyLuh_WBL5w2zneSN-o2ymVJ1zn_J-dg2YwNft7hYXhW-B_ELAN5it7vE4MuKap70PzMLO7X4qflr/s1600/SDC10408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUpS4_4U_vLxWp9-XbNluTZwqPHOH4esUpEWSAHqX2Etdo30_G_scCBJ5HnMiy13FyLuh_WBL5w2zneSN-o2ymVJ1zn_J-dg2YwNft7hYXhW-B_ELAN5it7vE4MuKap70PzMLO7X4qflr/s320/SDC10408.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRiIUViEn2lLkjNoTMr07apDlVrhWcWqO_tcpojWhJJj5HxcR_QE9Ebs3VGaZll3xSctDUfpYIs82TIvwWD_wLS97aY8EsjCNKzANaiQem5n0OqhSJx6qnlm1r_u5d8P8DpJbQY7hkhDL/s1600/SDC10420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRiIUViEn2lLkjNoTMr07apDlVrhWcWqO_tcpojWhJJj5HxcR_QE9Ebs3VGaZll3xSctDUfpYIs82TIvwWD_wLS97aY8EsjCNKzANaiQem5n0OqhSJx6qnlm1r_u5d8P8DpJbQY7hkhDL/s320/SDC10420.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="st">De ahí, una corta espera y una pareja se ofreció a llevarnos 200 kms. hasta cerca de Trakai, a pocos kilómetros de el bendito festival. </span>Cruzamos la frontera mientras la noche comenzaba a tender su manto de oscuro terciopelo sobre los pintorescos campos del sur del país báltico, charlando sobre memorias de pasados, crónicas de inquietos presentes y planes de coloridos futuros. Ya era tarde cuando nos despedimos deseándonos una feliz vida en la intersección de carreteras donde Tuchki nos iría a buscar con unos amigos.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVtwPvaX0a4w5V_81wrOnR_mpoDnsW09KcxkKjKsDJrm3B8KMfZ7aU3yOdfMCtCJpaUEPTBvulWuKe_LwZDcSyGk0QKo4RUSfjjYsl3s4ooP-_PcSeVHJVIDKE3gv6_3LJ5luDnCdQ3x7/s1600/SDC10421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVtwPvaX0a4w5V_81wrOnR_mpoDnsW09KcxkKjKsDJrm3B8KMfZ7aU3yOdfMCtCJpaUEPTBvulWuKe_LwZDcSyGk0QKo4RUSfjjYsl3s4ooP-_PcSeVHJVIDKE3gv6_3LJ5luDnCdQ3x7/s320/SDC10421.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
La noche se presentaba oscura, iluminada apenas por la tenue luz plateada de las estrellas, y con una densa niebla cubriendo los campos. Los minutos pasaban, y no sabíamos muy bien si estabamos en el lugar correcto porque no había señalización y las carreteras no se parecían mucho al mapa. Empezamos a caminar sin saber bien a donde, hasta que después de un buen rato un coche pegó un tremendo frenazo en frente nuestro. ¡Tuchkuuus! Nos abrazamos pegando saltos en el medio de la carretera, y contamos todas nuestras últimas aventuras mientras nos dirijíamos al festival con sus amigos. Pero eso es ya otra historia...<br />
<span class="st"></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-89801609394899857032011-09-04T07:24:00.000-07:002011-09-04T23:44:04.830-07:00Krakow: a bit of history and breaking some myths. Also, Auschwitz and its horrors.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8vt9YCY-XToPa25vwzHTIJPH4ydTDUxFpjhv06PV-WSEY450QN5OMJbWx4Ms9MFDPbk2ued55wsQdxk4QCirvc2SKWHGFDjzhMixi8nElMVkgnuAN5YyRLYVyuOS9dfTtB9QSbHGuVB2/s1600/SDC10300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8vt9YCY-XToPa25vwzHTIJPH4ydTDUxFpjhv06PV-WSEY450QN5OMJbWx4Ms9MFDPbk2ued55wsQdxk4QCirvc2SKWHGFDjzhMixi8nElMVkgnuAN5YyRLYVyuOS9dfTtB9QSbHGuVB2/s320/SDC10300.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span">I felt very happy to be back in Poland, with its grandmother food in big portions, cheap beer, beautiful women and nice people. We arrived with Dominik in </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span title="">Bielsko Biala as the sun fell on the horizon and decided to cheat and take a bus to spend the night in Krakow. I c</span><span title="">alled Martha, but she was still in Warsaw, returning from a trip around Portugal and having some problems in their car, so meeting that night was unlikely and</span><span title=""> finally got a room at the hostel of a friend of her. A</span><span title="">rrived at the bus station and the first thing we did was eating a 'zapiekanka', traditional Polish snack consisting of a half open baguette with cheese, mushrooms and a little sauce. </span><span title="">We were hungry after a long day and the zapiekanka tasted deliciously like one euro... </span><span title="">From there, to the hostel, a well-deserved shower and recover energies.</span><span title="">The next day we left our backpacks at the hostel and went to visit the city. </span><span title="">We found a free walking tour, in the style of others 'free walking tours' of other European cities. </span><span title="">These tours take you through some 3 hours around the city and work on donation bases or tips. </span><span title="">They are usually very fun and a great option to get an idea of the history and customs of the place, and meet other backpackers, as opposed to pay tours (which are full of retirees with hat, shorts, Hawaiian shirts, sandals and socks</span><span title=""> and photo camera) because they gather mostly young people short of cash and travelers hungry for experiences. </span><span title="">Unfortunately the guide was not too funny, but also learned a lot about the city and the country, places and history. </span><span title="">One legend attributes the founding of the city the mythical ruler Krakus, who built it above a cave occupied by a ravenous dragon. </span><span title="">Many knights unsuccessfully attempted to oust the dragon fighting him until a shoemaker named Dratewka gave the dragon a sheep full of sulfur, which he ate, then drank the water from the Vistula River and exploded. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">The center of town (Stare Miasto) is beautiful, with examples of Renaissance architecture, Baroque and Gothic, and was declared a World Heritage Site by Unesco in 1978.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQltzx5OoOSiFY1i6KUYaCoR0sVwv4E003MJeFkNTL48_7Etvv9ebJnSkAdPvpF4zIFTl-8BbDIKbf6wS04mgz6jNOeKmko_drBcg7kS6AFhlxwLiT9RdktdxxaYIFn_Q5UYHKIzjYu2xA/s1600/SDC10292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQltzx5OoOSiFY1i6KUYaCoR0sVwv4E003MJeFkNTL48_7Etvv9ebJnSkAdPvpF4zIFTl-8BbDIKbf6wS04mgz6jNOeKmko_drBcg7kS6AFhlxwLiT9RdktdxxaYIFn_Q5UYHKIzjYu2xA/s320/SDC10292.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">The city dates from about s. </span><span title="">X, when it was starting to be considered an important trading center. </span><span title="">Was almost completely destroyed during the Tatar invasions from the s.</span><span title="">XIII and then rebuilted, flourishing with the Lithuanian-Polish union between s. </span><span title="">XIV and XVI. </span><span title="">The city survived intact the atrocities of World War II as it was considered by Nazis as a German city. </span><span title="">The most representative buildings and sites are now the Castle and Cathedral on Wawel hill, numerous churches and museums scattered throughout the center, the huge market square (200 m side), the district of Kazimierz (the old town </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">of the Jews of Poland) and Saint Mary's Cathedral.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1RXE1v0Ds9EbVDxJra1ZIxizwWQQpa_lBntLmK9cDTjLJxcyUvxzHqnztF029Rprkiwohf2c4Qts73s_jI3YSxcfYf_6aObXc_ZHyPNk5mgO3M2ITTvjpVMaMWQDFZmYikarfh9QNTp9/s1600/SDC10291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1RXE1v0Ds9EbVDxJra1ZIxizwWQQpa_lBntLmK9cDTjLJxcyUvxzHqnztF029Rprkiwohf2c4Qts73s_jI3YSxcfYf_6aObXc_ZHyPNk5mgO3M2ITTvjpVMaMWQDFZmYikarfh9QNTp9/s320/SDC10291.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""> </span><span title="">From the top of this, a trumpeter plays every hour a famous melody (Hejnal Mariacki) culminating in a broken note. </span><span title="">It is a symbol of the city, and according to legend was the trumpeter who playing the same tune constantly alerted the entire population of the coming Tatar invasion and therefore saved the city. </span><span title="">Unfortunately, a Tartar arrow pierced the throat of the hero, so the song is played unfinished in his honor. </span><span title="">The song is played by the Polish national radio every day at noon, and would be a beautiful and poetic story ... </span><span title="">if it wasn't a dirty lie. </span><span title="">The legend was forged in the 1920s by an American tourist of the various legends he heard from the locals and later captured in a famous book, "The Trumpeter of Krakow," Newbery Award winner in 1929.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">Wawel Hill is also beautiful, with its Royal Castle and Cathedral. </span><span title="">The cathedral is considered the Polish national shrine, having been through its thousand-year history coronation site of numerous Polish monarchs. </span><span title="">Sigismund Chapel, with its gold dome and his masterful Tuscan Renaissance style of the </span><span title="">XVI century, is considered one of the brightest examples of architecture from Poland, and many kings and queens are buried beneath the frescoes and sculptures in its splendid interior.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYc_fLnLGBnzVlwfGSvKC8TXntguGxYBnTyt4ejr_NPbQEXT6zA_QQlx67bqORIAnKuKK4GwPU4m2vOMRrxH0hP7zrTr-bpaMfvUgCfLzrbtxQZbTMyxP6BsUweQk6kh9donImURqH8TA/s1600/SDC10309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYc_fLnLGBnzVlwfGSvKC8TXntguGxYBnTyt4ejr_NPbQEXT6zA_QQlx67bqORIAnKuKK4GwPU4m2vOMRrxH0hP7zrTr-bpaMfvUgCfLzrbtxQZbTMyxP6BsUweQk6kh9donImURqH8TA/s320/SDC10309.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3DmEvcxQZouw8rofYT32VvPn9XC0kX3rDVAhZacD7wRh3zf58I6X7RPx2uIDjAnWMM0yDKgJIKh-p5F18K5XaVOvlb5TbLPI_JmYfUG_FIWy7fUji5yHS7BHtaZsOf-eWQOWebf07bHY/s1600/SDC10313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3DmEvcxQZouw8rofYT32VvPn9XC0kX3rDVAhZacD7wRh3zf58I6X7RPx2uIDjAnWMM0yDKgJIKh-p5F18K5XaVOvlb5TbLPI_JmYfUG_FIWy7fUji5yHS7BHtaZsOf-eWQOWebf07bHY/s320/SDC10313.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEnv8B3bvsTburkc24CdqUZRhCrGQ1lW9e9A0EG09OkHk3W21-rJQa2Vn-4d3o4cBSbeHbkzBh5j-L-qmciIeso2HRA9PR4Pv3_Qz_0Rbl-uIpXPRImjz2M-TBeI4T_ag_CZrLcc9I7GT/s1600/SDC10315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEnv8B3bvsTburkc24CdqUZRhCrGQ1lW9e9A0EG09OkHk3W21-rJQa2Vn-4d3o4cBSbeHbkzBh5j-L-qmciIeso2HRA9PR4Pv3_Qz_0Rbl-uIpXPRImjz2M-TBeI4T_ag_CZrLcc9I7GT/s320/SDC10315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">n the afternoon we met with Marta, which whom I had done a nice trip around Europe a few years ago, and we amused ourselves chatting about this and that and trying traditional food. </span><span title="">As she could not host us because his mother was in unexpected visit, we wrote a message in the last minute group on CouchSurfing. </span><span title="">After 10 minutes received a call from Jacek offering a couch and a few minutes later an email from Egil for the same reason ... </span><span title="">So we met Marta and Jacek later and walked through the city to the picturesque district of Kazimierz, the Jewish community center from the s.</span><span title="">XIV to the Second World War, now a UNESCO World Heritage and artists' neighborhood, with the best bars in town.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;" title=""><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y9vkp_EwAgmkoHeYuajBBj_Ce56o6RYmfeAoRBgPP7-Ckbe9jKC1KlJUnTyRhn19FFrEjbZ8NRq4MdSlqedAX0-uOSVWQFCwxUv4-6o9NNAiw-dS5bLcmumYJxj8LvLOABf_hbonOYdQ/s1600/SDC10342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y9vkp_EwAgmkoHeYuajBBj_Ce56o6RYmfeAoRBgPP7-Ckbe9jKC1KlJUnTyRhn19FFrEjbZ8NRq4MdSlqedAX0-uOSVWQFCwxUv4-6o9NNAiw-dS5bLcmumYJxj8LvLOABf_hbonOYdQ/s320/SDC10342.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">We made a strategic stop in the Singer and Alchemia bars. </span><span title="">The first is a beautiful wooden bar lit with candles, beautiful paintings and takes its name from the old sewing machines that serve as tables. </span><span title="">We went early, but according to legend after eleven people begin to dance. There's no</span><span title=""> place, you say? </span><span title="">Above the tables then, of course!. </span><span title="">The Alchemia is another beautiful bar of those which are not forgotten. </span><span title="">With its decadent wooden interiors, furniture and paintings, and an eternal cloud of smoke highlighting its evocative atmosphere, all lit in the dim candlelight. </span><span title="">The entrance to some rooms is done through a small closet, and it feels like time travel to the 20s. </span><span title="">From there, cross the street to Plac Nowy (New Square), which serves the best zapiekankas Krakow. </span><span title="">We walked to the center, drank a little more, and went to the home of Jacek, to watch some funny videos and talk about anything just before bedtime.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The next day I decided to try another free tour of the city, the Jewish Tour, around the points of the Hebrew history of the city. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The guide was much better this time and it was very interesting to find some half-buried history under the sands of time. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The Jewish community in Poland before the war was the largest in Europe (3.5 million, or 33% of total) and only in Krakow Jews numbered a quarter of the total population. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">We passed the old synagogue (the oldest in Poland and the city museum) and Remuh and Izaac synagogues (one active and the largest of Krakow respectively).</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">We passed the place where they filmed one of the most important scenes of the movie "Schindler's List" and cross the river to the Ghetto. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Before War II, Krakow's Jewish population was 68,000. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">With the advent of the Nazis deported most of the city, and 15,000 other 'able to work' were herded into the ghetto again in subhuman conditions. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Finally, the ghetto was liquidated between June '42 and March '43. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The population fit for work were sent to camps Belzec and Plaszow, the Auschwitz death camps or simply killed in the same streets. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">From there we went to the 'factory' of Schindler. Or the museum and the office where the inevitable souvenirs are sold. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Schindler's figure is highly controversial, and almost everything you see in the film is fake. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Rather, it was the American writer Thomas Keneally who invented the figure in the book "Schindler's Ark". </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The Jews were rather used as slave labor in their factories, and he was not the author of the famous list, but an officer of the SS. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">To get into the list they had to have some contact or family in the secret services and, according to testimony of survivors, pay the exorbitant sum of $ 5,000. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Alas, another nice myth shattered by the cruel reality ...</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The next day was our last day in town and decided to go with James to Auschwitz.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">About 40 kms. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">Krakow was the largest extermination center in the history of Nazism, which is estimated to have been killed between 1.5 and 2.5 million people. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" title="">The entrance to Auschwitz I grimly held the famous inscription "Arbecht Macht Frei" (Work makes you free).</span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZw54_Gd2cTHGMgzS8QVrAF0tuv0xHs5g6Uuq-UYKiJJ54xwzuTFNh68poGfu8rU4PCRHM5e_mMJC2oFZn0xRPimpufCcAkeac8W7tsEkZpGZtsPpd64U2oilNo60c0jB5qh9yDSJ5_da/s1600/SDC10371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZw54_Gd2cTHGMgzS8QVrAF0tuv0xHs5g6Uuq-UYKiJJ54xwzuTFNh68poGfu8rU4PCRHM5e_mMJC2oFZn0xRPimpufCcAkeac8W7tsEkZpGZtsPpd64U2oilNo60c0jB5qh9yDSJ5_da/s320/SDC10371.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWO2AufQMlrEG82Rrw4GrXvizPZ3xNdDXA4BuTFHUDw-js0YXBp_yh9izWmMS089yR7aNTXDWa3p9uosmPfxo4JSFlitqU3B7dc3IvgacaBjoXJrfmSKBWB_JAM1IjGxK5eNDigHHWgycq/s1600/SDC10361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWO2AufQMlrEG82Rrw4GrXvizPZ3xNdDXA4BuTFHUDw-js0YXBp_yh9izWmMS089yR7aNTXDWa3p9uosmPfxo4JSFlitqU3B7dc3IvgacaBjoXJrfmSKBWB_JAM1IjGxK5eNDigHHWgycq/s320/SDC10361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-rBaV0rn0bz38uKWJW_t907jLnKRh0GKkr60O2jTvHPwjU9GE566piDj3YpqRflrSO8H6sq0DV53ZtASXEBUNywHSNDDKG-hqLnTTAtwZIaOaKkdI1XVjpeAYZI58OT1T2LoaLtz7emJ/s1600/SDC10369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-rBaV0rn0bz38uKWJW_t907jLnKRh0GKkr60O2jTvHPwjU9GE566piDj3YpqRflrSO8H6sq0DV53ZtASXEBUNywHSNDDKG-hqLnTTAtwZIaOaKkdI1XVjpeAYZI58OT1T2LoaLtz7emJ/s320/SDC10369.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title=""></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span title="">The facts, details and crowded conditions of the place are too long and horrible to detail here, and gave me goosebumps. Just thinking of the levels that collective madness can achieve and that this had happened only </span><span title="">70 years ago. </span><span title="">I had read "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl, fantastic book which details his experiences as a prisoner in concentration camps from the perspective of its psy</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span title="">chiatric effects. </span><span title="">One of my favorite books, and I was overwhelmed by a feeling of pain walking through the places described in it and thinking about all the life stories prematurely shattered by the brutal stupidity of men</span></span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-89291791040734633062011-09-02T07:02:00.000-07:002011-09-02T07:10:06.932-07:00Cracovia. Casco antiguo y castillo, Auschwitz y un poco de historia<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPiOT4IdoDsX2cJLgJl23jgrR4FhfgEN_ex3-rdfOXYeH5ifMmIkcdRK-NsLjU6hBuOSPne8uEPlndhANIV9KP3kt0iELWAWEVYClVt_8I4X86aIFT5po443hsDcdvAcmGhxr0_XLozJK/s1600/SDC10300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPiOT4IdoDsX2cJLgJl23jgrR4FhfgEN_ex3-rdfOXYeH5ifMmIkcdRK-NsLjU6hBuOSPne8uEPlndhANIV9KP3kt0iELWAWEVYClVt_8I4X86aIFT5po443hsDcdvAcmGhxr0_XLozJK/s320/SDC10300.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Me sentía muy cntento de estar nuevamente en Polonia, con su comida de abuela y grandes porciones, cerveza barata, mujeres hermosas y gente simpática. Llegamos a Bielsko Biala cuando el sol caía sobre el horizonte, y decidimos hacer trampa y tomar un bus para pasar la noche en Cracovia. Llamamos a Marta, pero ella todavía estaba en Varsovia, volviendo de Portugal y con problemas en el coche en el que venían, así que no parecía probable que llegase esa misma noche. Al final, nos consiguió una habitación en el hostel de unos conocidos. Llegamos a la estación de buses y lo primero que hicimos fue comernos una 'zapiekanka', snack tradicional polaco que consiste de un baguette abierto a la mitad con queso, champignones y un poco de salsa. Teníamos hambre después de un largo día y la zapiekanka tenía un delicioso sabor a un euro... De ahí, al hostel, una merecida ducha y recuperar energías.<br />
Al día siguiente dejamos las mochilas en el hostel y salimos para recorrer la ciudad. Encontramos un tour a pie gratuito en la ciudad, al estilo de los demás 'free walking tours' de otras ciudades europeas. Estos tours te llevan por algo de 3 horas alrededor de la ciudad y al final se deja una donación o propina. Son normalmente muy divertidos y una buenísima opción para tener una idea de la historia y costumbres del lugar, y conocer otros mochileros, ya que a diferencia de los tours de pago (que están apestados de jubilados con sombrero, shorts, camisas hawaianas, sandalias con medias y cámara de fotos) la mayoría de la gente son jóvenes viajeros cortos de efectivo y sedientos de experiencias. Lamentablemente el guía que nos tocó no era demasiado divertido, pero igualmente aprendimos bastante sobre la ciudad y el país, sus lugares e historia. Una leyenda atribuye la fundación de la ciudad al mítico gobernante Krakus, que lo construyó sobre una cueva ocupada por un voraz dragón. Muchos caballeros intentaron sin éxito desalojar al dragón luchando contra él, hasta que un zapatero llamado Dratewka le dio una oveja llena de azufre; el dragón se la comió, bebió el agua del río Vistula y estalló. El centro de la ciudad (stare miasto) es precioso, con ejemplos de arquitectura renacentista, barroca y gótica, y fue declarado patrimonio de la humanidad por la Unesco en 1978.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQltzx5OoOSiFY1i6KUYaCoR0sVwv4E003MJeFkNTL48_7Etvv9ebJnSkAdPvpF4zIFTl-8BbDIKbf6wS04mgz6jNOeKmko_drBcg7kS6AFhlxwLiT9RdktdxxaYIFn_Q5UYHKIzjYu2xA/s1600/SDC10292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQltzx5OoOSiFY1i6KUYaCoR0sVwv4E003MJeFkNTL48_7Etvv9ebJnSkAdPvpF4zIFTl-8BbDIKbf6wS04mgz6jNOeKmko_drBcg7kS6AFhlxwLiT9RdktdxxaYIFn_Q5UYHKIzjYu2xA/s320/SDC10292.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqO8Wt98Bwm3JuPbbMiJneAImoC7P4aViR42rX7xdwW-I-S11esUUWAPQU2grkewI-Mf5Py1QjmI_ZTZILITju9aLR7c2Ep7imvzkflaew6FY7Er2mXGb5kDqEPrmDNAFmDZKfTkUQD5s/s1600/SDC10302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqO8Wt98Bwm3JuPbbMiJneAImoC7P4aViR42rX7xdwW-I-S11esUUWAPQU2grkewI-Mf5Py1QjmI_ZTZILITju9aLR7c2Ep7imvzkflaew6FY7Er2mXGb5kDqEPrmDNAFmDZKfTkUQD5s/s320/SDC10302.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
La ciudad data aproximadamente del s. X, al final del cual ya era considerada un importante centro de comercio. Fue casi totalmente destruida durante las invasiones tártaras entre el s. XIII y luego reconstruida, floreció con la unión lituano-polaca entre los s. XIV y XVI. La ciudad sobrevivió intacta las atrocidades de la II Guerra Mundial ya que era considerada por ls nazis como una ciudad alemana. Los edificios y lugares más representativos son hoy en día el Castillo y la Catedral en la colina Wawel, numerosas iglesias y museos diseminados por el centro, la gigantesca plaza del mercado (de 200 m. de lado), el distrito de Kazimierz (centro histórico de los judios de Polonia) y la Catedral de Santa María.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1RXE1v0Ds9EbVDxJra1ZIxizwWQQpa_lBntLmK9cDTjLJxcyUvxzHqnztF029Rprkiwohf2c4Qts73s_jI3YSxcfYf_6aObXc_ZHyPNk5mgO3M2ITTvjpVMaMWQDFZmYikarfh9QNTp9/s1600/SDC10291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1RXE1v0Ds9EbVDxJra1ZIxizwWQQpa_lBntLmK9cDTjLJxcyUvxzHqnztF029Rprkiwohf2c4Qts73s_jI3YSxcfYf_6aObXc_ZHyPNk5mgO3M2ITTvjpVMaMWQDFZmYikarfh9QNTp9/s320/SDC10291.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Desde la cima de ésta, un trompetista toca a cada hora una célebre melodía (hejnal mariacki) que culmina con una nota rota. Es uno de los símbolos de la ciudad, y segun la leyenda fue el trompetista quien tocando la misma melodía sin cesar alertó a toda la población de los tártaros que se avecinaban y pudo así salvar Cracovia de la invasión. Lamentablemente, una flecha tártara atravesó la garganta del héroe, por lo que la canción se toca así inconclusa en homenaje. El toque de trompeta se reproduce por la radio nacional polaca todos los mediodias, y sería una hermosa y poética historia... si no fuera mentira. La leyenda fue forjada en los años '20 por un turista americano de las diversas leyendas que escuchó entre la gente del lugar y que posteriormente plasmó en un célebre libro, "El Trompetista de Cracovia", ganador de un Premio Newbery en 1929.<br />
La colina de Wawel es también hermosa, con su Castillo Real y Catedral. La catedral es considerada el santuario nacional polaco, habiendo sido a través de sus mil años de historia sede de coronación de numerosos monarcas polacos. La Capilla de Segismundo, con su cúpula de oro y su magistral estilo renacentista toscano del s. XVI, es considerada uno de los ejemplos arquitectónicos más brillantes de Polonia, y numerosos reyes y reinas se encuentran enterrados bajo los frescos y esculturas en su espléndido interior.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYc_fLnLGBnzVlwfGSvKC8TXntguGxYBnTyt4ejr_NPbQEXT6zA_QQlx67bqORIAnKuKK4GwPU4m2vOMRrxH0hP7zrTr-bpaMfvUgCfLzrbtxQZbTMyxP6BsUweQk6kh9donImURqH8TA/s1600/SDC10309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYc_fLnLGBnzVlwfGSvKC8TXntguGxYBnTyt4ejr_NPbQEXT6zA_QQlx67bqORIAnKuKK4GwPU4m2vOMRrxH0hP7zrTr-bpaMfvUgCfLzrbtxQZbTMyxP6BsUweQk6kh9donImURqH8TA/s320/SDC10309.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3DmEvcxQZouw8rofYT32VvPn9XC0kX3rDVAhZacD7wRh3zf58I6X7RPx2uIDjAnWMM0yDKgJIKh-p5F18K5XaVOvlb5TbLPI_JmYfUG_FIWy7fUji5yHS7BHtaZsOf-eWQOWebf07bHY/s1600/SDC10313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3DmEvcxQZouw8rofYT32VvPn9XC0kX3rDVAhZacD7wRh3zf58I6X7RPx2uIDjAnWMM0yDKgJIKh-p5F18K5XaVOvlb5TbLPI_JmYfUG_FIWy7fUji5yHS7BHtaZsOf-eWQOWebf07bHY/s320/SDC10313.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEnv8B3bvsTburkc24CdqUZRhCrGQ1lW9e9A0EG09OkHk3W21-rJQa2Vn-4d3o4cBSbeHbkzBh5j-L-qmciIeso2HRA9PR4Pv3_Qz_0Rbl-uIpXPRImjz2M-TBeI4T_ag_CZrLcc9I7GT/s1600/SDC10315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEnv8B3bvsTburkc24CdqUZRhCrGQ1lW9e9A0EG09OkHk3W21-rJQa2Vn-4d3o4cBSbeHbkzBh5j-L-qmciIeso2HRA9PR4Pv3_Qz_0Rbl-uIpXPRImjz2M-TBeI4T_ag_CZrLcc9I7GT/s320/SDC10315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkbqUdoOoCXjU0UcEmVDa13RNyIqPOmjottLED5NX3jU4lYz5qwcKHV0yRz-8YLDyMdEas0uiEMDedT1TFYd_IoTqIGQdnBIYYpoiseOwmgLYYew96zHRZ74LdfWhp2GP7KpXSR9vOtg3/s1600/SDC10317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkbqUdoOoCXjU0UcEmVDa13RNyIqPOmjottLED5NX3jU4lYz5qwcKHV0yRz-8YLDyMdEas0uiEMDedT1TFYd_IoTqIGQdnBIYYpoiseOwmgLYYew96zHRZ74LdfWhp2GP7KpXSR9vOtg3/s320/SDC10317.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
A la tarde nos encontramos con Marta, con quien habíamos hecho un bonito viaje por Europa hace ya unos años, y nos entretuvimos charlando de esto y aquello y probando comida tradicional. Como ella no podía alojarnos dado que su madre estaba de inesperada visita, escribimos un mensaje en el grupo de último minuto en CouchSurfing. A los 10 minutos recibimos una llamada de Jacek ofreciéndonos un lugar y unos minutos más tarde un mail de Egil por el mismo motivo... Así que nos encontramos con Jacek y Marta más tarde y fuimos caminando por la ciudad hasta el pintoresco barrio de Kasimierz, centro de la comunidad hebrea desde el s. XIV hasta la II Guerra Mundial, hoy Patrimonio Mundial de la UNESCO y barrio de artistas, con los mejores bares de la ciudad.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6rjGqAt-pbshuCXphPUXizqf1juCu2p_v38a84LFXN-AMoR2boptGeJba_PsZ2TaeEaGNaOHpY6fNT-qm_Kx9IFL3X09_i7s2ny9_XbhTLfZucL-zqseb7PwqyB6j9Yw3cOz855xlEcY/s1600/SDC10337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6rjGqAt-pbshuCXphPUXizqf1juCu2p_v38a84LFXN-AMoR2boptGeJba_PsZ2TaeEaGNaOHpY6fNT-qm_Kx9IFL3X09_i7s2ny9_XbhTLfZucL-zqseb7PwqyB6j9Yw3cOz855xlEcY/s320/SDC10337.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y9vkp_EwAgmkoHeYuajBBj_Ce56o6RYmfeAoRBgPP7-Ckbe9jKC1KlJUnTyRhn19FFrEjbZ8NRq4MdSlqedAX0-uOSVWQFCwxUv4-6o9NNAiw-dS5bLcmumYJxj8LvLOABf_hbonOYdQ/s1600/SDC10342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y9vkp_EwAgmkoHeYuajBBj_Ce56o6RYmfeAoRBgPP7-Ckbe9jKC1KlJUnTyRhn19FFrEjbZ8NRq4MdSlqedAX0-uOSVWQFCwxUv4-6o9NNAiw-dS5bLcmumYJxj8LvLOABf_hbonOYdQ/s320/SDC10342.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Hicimos una parada estratégica en el Singer Bar y el Alchemia. El primero es un hermoso bar en madera iluminado con velas, con bonitos cuadros y toma su nombre de las viejas máquinas de coser que sirven como mesas. Nos fuimos temprano, pero según cuenta la leyenda después de las once la gente comienza a bailar. ¿Que dónde, que no hay lugar? ¡Arriba de las mesas, como corresponde!. El Alchemia es otro bar precioso, de los que no se olvidan. Con sus decadentes interiores de madera, muebles y cuadros antiguos, y una sempiterna nube de humo resáltando su sugestiva atmósfera, todo iluminado a la tenue luz de las velas. La entrada a algunos cuartos se realiza a través de un pequeño armario, y se siente como viajar en el tiempo a los años '20. De ahí, cruzamos la calle hasta Plac Nowy (Plaza Nueva), donde se sirven las mejores zapiekankas de Cracovia. Caminamos hasta el centro, tomamos otro poco, y nos fuimos hasta la casa de Jacek, a mirar algunos videos divertidos y hablar de todo un poco antes de ir a dormir.<br />
<br />
Al día siguiente decidí probar el otro tour gratuito de la ciudad, el Jewish Tour, alrededor de los puntos neurálgicos de la historia hebrea de la ciudad. El Guía fue mucho mejor esta vez, y fue muy interesante descubrir un poco de la historia semienterrada bajo las arenas del tiempo. La comunidad judía en Polonia era antes de la guerra la mayor de toda Europa (3,5 millones, o 33% del total), y sólo en Cracovia los judíos sumaban un cuarto de la población total. Pasamos por la vieja sinagoga (la más antigua de Polonia y museo de la ciudad) y las sinagogas de Remuh e Izaac (única activa y la más grande de Cracovia respectivamente). <br />
Pasamos por el lugar donde se filmó una de las escenas más importantes de la película "La lista de Schindler", y cruzamos el río hasta el Gueto. Antes de la II Guerra, la población judía en Cracovia era de 68.000. Con la llegada de los nazis la mayoría fue deportada de la ciudad, y los 15.000 restantes 'capaces para trabajar' fueron hacinados en el nuevo gueto en condiciones infrahumanas. Finalmente el Gueto fue liquidado entre junio del '42 y marzo del '43. La población apta para trabajar fue enviada a los campos de Belzec y Plaszow, los campos de exterminio en Auschwitz o simplemente muertas en las mismas calles. De ahí pasamos a la 'fábrica' de Schindler, o el museo y la oficina donde se venden los infaltables souvenirs. La figura de Schindler es altamente controvertida, y prácticamente nada de lo que se ve en la película es real. Más bien, fue el escritor norteamericano Thomas Keneally quien inventó su figura en el libro "El Arca de Schindler". Los judíos fueron más bien usados como mano de obra esclava en sus fábricas, y el no fué el autor de la famosa lista sino un oficial de la SS. Para entrar dicha lista había que tener algún contacto o familiar en los servicios secretos y, según testimonios de algunos supervivientes, pagar la exorbitante suma de 5.000 dólares. Lástima, otro bonito mito hecho pedazos por la cruel realidad...<br />
<br />
El día siguiente era nuestro último día en la ciudad y decidimos ir con James a Auschwitz. A unos 40 kms. de Cracovia, fue el mayor centro de exterminio de la historia del nazismo, donde se calcula que fueron asesinados entre 1,5 y 2,5 millones de personas. La entrada al campo de Auschwitz I ostentaba la lúgubremente famosa inscripción "Arbecht Macht Frei" (el trabajo hace libre).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZw54_Gd2cTHGMgzS8QVrAF0tuv0xHs5g6Uuq-UYKiJJ54xwzuTFNh68poGfu8rU4PCRHM5e_mMJC2oFZn0xRPimpufCcAkeac8W7tsEkZpGZtsPpd64U2oilNo60c0jB5qh9yDSJ5_da/s1600/SDC10371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZw54_Gd2cTHGMgzS8QVrAF0tuv0xHs5g6Uuq-UYKiJJ54xwzuTFNh68poGfu8rU4PCRHM5e_mMJC2oFZn0xRPimpufCcAkeac8W7tsEkZpGZtsPpd64U2oilNo60c0jB5qh9yDSJ5_da/s320/SDC10371.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Los hechos, detalles y condiciones de hacinamiento del lugar son demasiado largos y atroces para detallar aquí, y me produjo un nudo en el corazón el sólo hecho de pensar en los niveles que puede alcanzar la locura colectiva y que ésto sólo había pasado hace cosa de 70 años. Yo había leído "El Hombre en Busca de Sentido" de Viktor Frankl, fantástico libro donde se detallan sus experiencias como prisionero en campos de concentración desde la perspectiva de sus efectos psiquiátricos. Es uno de mis libros favoritos, y me sentí embargado por una sensación de dolor caminando entre los lugares descritos en él y pensando en todas las historias de vida despedazadas prematuramente por la brutal estupidez humana. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWO2AufQMlrEG82Rrw4GrXvizPZ3xNdDXA4BuTFHUDw-js0YXBp_yh9izWmMS089yR7aNTXDWa3p9uosmPfxo4JSFlitqU3B7dc3IvgacaBjoXJrfmSKBWB_JAM1IjGxK5eNDigHHWgycq/s1600/SDC10361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWO2AufQMlrEG82Rrw4GrXvizPZ3xNdDXA4BuTFHUDw-js0YXBp_yh9izWmMS089yR7aNTXDWa3p9uosmPfxo4JSFlitqU3B7dc3IvgacaBjoXJrfmSKBWB_JAM1IjGxK5eNDigHHWgycq/s320/SDC10361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-rBaV0rn0bz38uKWJW_t907jLnKRh0GKkr60O2jTvHPwjU9GE566piDj3YpqRflrSO8H6sq0DV53ZtASXEBUNywHSNDDKG-hqLnTTAtwZIaOaKkdI1XVjpeAYZI58OT1T2LoaLtz7emJ/s1600/SDC10369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-rBaV0rn0bz38uKWJW_t907jLnKRh0GKkr60O2jTvHPwjU9GE566piDj3YpqRflrSO8H6sq0DV53ZtASXEBUNywHSNDDKG-hqLnTTAtwZIaOaKkdI1XVjpeAYZI58OT1T2LoaLtz7emJ/s320/SDC10369.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-12176780165816673762011-08-16T04:39:00.000-07:002011-08-17T01:26:29.176-07:00From Vienna to Krakow. Chronicles of a hard hitchhiking day under the pouring rain...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We woke up early with the sun rising in the viennese skies. I took my famous Spanish breakfast (coffee and cigarettes), and we prepared the backpacks and said goodbye to Elisabeth. </span><span title="">We took the Underground and a bus, and walked to the station we had chosen on the highway A4/E60. </span><span title="">To get someone going in that direction was a bit difficult since everyone seemed to be a local or going pretty loaded, but we were in the right direction. </span><span title="">After about an hour, Robert agreed to take us on his car to the outskirts of Bratislava. </span><span title="">The plan was to spend a few hours exploring the city, but we were getting late and it was beginning to rain, so we decided to go directly to Krakow instead. </span><span title="">Robert was a Slovak, living in Bratislava but working in Vienna (only 60 kms. away), the best possible combination given the cost of living in the Slovak capital and the high wages in Austria. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYIT0XmwqibjjOPywIBZyOve0lu4iCiygZl5dEO0rW282sucyjEms0IczraeDl1fMz48ZNAi-OXQalXLGmyY3YugON7DgXHIflVSG5NGkGi952RjPgVOBZcy9TZgceeKkyyaR9i7fnKA7/s1600/SDC10280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYIT0XmwqibjjOPywIBZyOve0lu4iCiygZl5dEO0rW282sucyjEms0IczraeDl1fMz48ZNAi-OXQalXLGmyY3YugON7DgXHIflVSG5NGkGi952RjPgVOBZcy9TZgceeKkyyaR9i7fnKA7/s320/SDC10280.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title="">He left us in a good position at a gas station on the D1/E58. </span><span title="">There we spent some time preparing signs and talking to people, until we met Santi and Nuria. </span><span title="">They were from my beloved Catalonia and were on vacations on Slovakia, touring the country in a rental car, so the scene was funny when I saw the license plate and tried to approach them in my tarzanic Slovak. </span><span title="">Then they said they were from Barcelona, so I started to laugh and tried to start a conversation in my poor Catalan, that did not practice for too long. </span><span title="">We chatted a little of everything, as we crossed the green Slovak fields and watched the dark clouds and the thick raindrops crashing on the windshield. </span><span title="">Santi was a professor of Philosophy and Nuria was also professor of biology and mathematics, perhaps the most hated subject for all students. </span><span title="">They told us their experince as a teacher, their relationship with the kids and some life stories. </span><span title="">I, for umpteenth time since this trip began, summarized my story, my travels and where I lived, my future plans and dreams of restless youth. </span><span title="">It was also nice to speak Spanish with someone. </span><span title="">In my experience, no matter how well you can master another language, you can never match the depth communication of feelings and emotions as in your mother tongue, so close to us and our memories from our early childhood. </span><span title="">So the communication passed fluid the 200 kms. </span><span title="">that separated us from Zilina, where we parted ways to continue north across the Czech Republic. </span><span title="">They kindly diverted a few miles of their way to leave us in a small gas station, already on the E75. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMWODiFrb9vUiPbFieDpRjQoawxwQZHkCp8lw7bGJVZA-XPbT-3DBpUxrBioc8-cT0kADcNlR72M1Q-Fky0Kfzn4ZEhWhLz335MRI2BE6VXOty57wcASC_v0WW-4YIUUmPWh7JazDaD8t/s1600/SDC10281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMWODiFrb9vUiPbFieDpRjQoawxwQZHkCp8lw7bGJVZA-XPbT-3DBpUxrBioc8-cT0kADcNlR72M1Q-Fky0Kfzn4ZEhWhLz335MRI2BE6VXOty57wcASC_v0WW-4YIUUmPWh7JazDaD8t/s320/SDC10281.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">There we decided to take a break and eat something given of prices in Slovakia, amongst the cheapest in Europe. </span><span title="">I ate a huge and tasty sandwich baguette that heated in a microwave and half a litre of a really strong local brew, all for 2.50 €. </span><span title="">And that considering that gas stations that are usually about 50% more expensive than any local shop... </span><span title="">As the place was too small for both of us approaching people, we decided to split and I started to wave to passing cars at the side of the road. </span><span title="">The rain fell steadily and soon I was soaked to the bone. </span><span title="">Long time passed and no one stopped. </span><span title="">First and obvious, drivers are often reluctant to take a couple of wet strangers in their car, but it was mostly a matter of wrong strategy:</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> most of cars were driving short distances in between towns, and we were showing them signs indicating "Krakow / PL". "North Pole" could have give us the same result... </span><span title="">However, after a few hours a very nice guy Slovak stopped, and as he had not much to do and the sight of two wet backpackers probably awoke his curiosity, he offered to drive us about 40 kms. </span><span title="">to the border with the Czech Republic. </span><span title="">He did not speak any human language that was not Slovak, but nonetheless we managed to communicate and give him directions. </span><span title="">We crossed the border on foot and made about 200 meters to a parking lot for trucks. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipykG3cEbpfs55jURBlONxY_wL1Zem1nAi4CJWqWNEabhegiDi8_aanY04bHZe84gt2pcFQbV5kw2NY7TIF-xNIOC8kR-udv9OtTKQRaE0z67zlOV5HCvfACWplNCGIiCBRl2jpiQ396z-/s1600/SDC10282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipykG3cEbpfs55jURBlONxY_wL1Zem1nAi4CJWqWNEabhegiDi8_aanY04bHZe84gt2pcFQbV5kw2NY7TIF-xNIOC8kR-udv9OtTKQRaE0z67zlOV5HCvfACWplNCGIiCBRl2jpiQ396z-/s320/SDC10282.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">It seemed like a good place to get a lift for long distances, but there were few people and everyone had to wait for departure time. </span><span title="">In many European roads and on certain days, trucks have certain times when they can not circulate, and must also respect their own hours of rest. </span><span title="">I decided to smoke a cigarette and look around at the small bar, also advertised as a nightclub. </span><span title="">Inside, a beautiful Czech girl in the flower of her youth smiled mischievously and gave us curious looks behind eyes of a blue sky. </span><span title="">I believe God was in a really good mood when he created women, but he should have been particularly inspired when he made the women of Eastern and Northern Europe, with their slender figures, hair made of gold, and eyes that smiled and invited to love</span><span title="">. </span><span title="">We decided both of us to keep hitching from the side of the road, James with a big piece of cardboard with the sign "PL" written on it. </span><span title="">The afternoon began to decay in the pictoresque Czech countryside, with the sky colored in all shades of gray, but I wouldn't have cared to spend the night camping in the beautiful nature and talking with the mysterious girl... </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgCYzXr1O6EFMY0lyTXrH7IoOCD3Mkkox2SQ0dDTTAYPsbdKFeiU9XaFBh2vnRSltA8qLOgKJmEeqLqc286DnMNT0v6jvyWlfSGRThge8U1dFqVVzuH1EAy8NfG6sOhQL89LFigXGN7V/s1600/SDC10285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgCYzXr1O6EFMY0lyTXrH7IoOCD3Mkkox2SQ0dDTTAYPsbdKFeiU9XaFBh2vnRSltA8qLOgKJmEeqLqc286DnMNT0v6jvyWlfSGRThge8U1dFqVVzuH1EAy8NfG6sOhQL89LFigXGN7V/s320/SDC10285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUR0ODpAZhZWoX0jwXGOn1mx4MjksrNlOB7QPLrkFhbrSFF1pR2hMtDy0W6R1TmANEkKpNakPFbC9SlFzqKdBiXMjPRE9oFmWUIqKv_3LChuYW0wJkU7_eQV5daKi3reBTXFmLM8xx8qZ/s1600/SDC10286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUR0ODpAZhZWoX0jwXGOn1mx4MjksrNlOB7QPLrkFhbrSFF1pR2hMtDy0W6R1TmANEkKpNakPFbC9SlFzqKdBiXMjPRE9oFmWUIqKv_3LChuYW0wJkU7_eQV5daKi3reBTXFmLM8xx8qZ/s320/SDC10286.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBM6sbzYIaPGVEMByYct9dH13-mhtYrIj7kW9DnrEmMoHxF4lPYEvgEk8RX4yhrEO6j1R29PAdhuK3H21nulDPAp9l1fRA4PZDp5CivwwFE6HB7SPJzUcvfG9HgFwiAyBxvuF0sRPOzm9/s1600/SDC10283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBM6sbzYIaPGVEMByYct9dH13-mhtYrIj7kW9DnrEmMoHxF4lPYEvgEk8RX4yhrEO6j1R29PAdhuK3H21nulDPAp9l1fRA4PZDp5CivwwFE6HB7SPJzUcvfG9HgFwiAyBxvuF0sRPOzm9/s320/SDC10283.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Finally Dominik, a young Polish truck driver offered to take us to Bielsko Biala, already in Poland and only 100 kms. </span><span title="">away from our final destination. </span><span title="">We were talking about Poland, travel and women, while the dim light of twilight bathed the fields around us, and I was trying my 'Polengruski for the hearing impaired', a mixture of English and my poor Polish that rather resembled the Russian I learned years ago, all accompanied by gestures. </span><span title="">We left right at the bus station, where we decided to cheat for once and take a bus to Krakow to spend the night in a decent bed and take a refreshing shower. </span><span title="">In one day, we crossed four countries ...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvn6jqaZKHASttsm9YRqtbzkvo8hrWKHKe2oAta4R_8hkJ4IfdAQJlQQMtqzqVC2LZ59HYKV8FI5EDU90h0X_hJeWYyhHJRT3zEs8FPEvbZzXTwwU9LYy5FQx27MeDc4Q-YVx7YYXauk9/s1600/SDC10289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvn6jqaZKHASttsm9YRqtbzkvo8hrWKHKe2oAta4R_8hkJ4IfdAQJlQQMtqzqVC2LZ59HYKV8FI5EDU90h0X_hJeWYyhHJRT3zEs8FPEvbZzXTwwU9LYy5FQx27MeDc4Q-YVx7YYXauk9/s320/SDC10289.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-84061403167170385572011-08-16T03:56:00.000-07:002011-08-17T01:31:50.104-07:00De Viena a Cracovia. Crónicas de un día de autostop bajo la lluviaNos despertamos temprano, tomé mi famoso desayuno español (café y cigarrillos), preparamos las mochilas y nos despedimos de elisabeth. Tomamos el Underground y un bus, y caminamos hasta la gasolinera que habíamos elegido, sobre la autopista A4/E60. Conseguir alguien en esa dirección fue un poco difícil ya que todos parecían ser locales o ir bastante cargados, pero estábamos en la dirección correcta. Después de algo de una hora, Robert aceptó llevarnos en su coche hasta las afueras de Bratislava. El plan era pasar unas cuantas horas explorando esa ciudad, pero se nos estaba haciendo tarde y estaba comenzando a llover, por lo que decidimos seguir de largo, yendo directamente a Cracovia. Robert era eslovaco, vivía en Bratislava pero trabajaba en Viena (a sólo 60 kms.), la mejor combinacíon posible dado lo barato de la vida en la capital eslovaca y lo alto de los sueldos en Austria.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYIT0XmwqibjjOPywIBZyOve0lu4iCiygZl5dEO0rW282sucyjEms0IczraeDl1fMz48ZNAi-OXQalXLGmyY3YugON7DgXHIflVSG5NGkGi952RjPgVOBZcy9TZgceeKkyyaR9i7fnKA7/s1600/SDC10280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYIT0XmwqibjjOPywIBZyOve0lu4iCiygZl5dEO0rW282sucyjEms0IczraeDl1fMz48ZNAi-OXQalXLGmyY3YugON7DgXHIflVSG5NGkGi952RjPgVOBZcy9TZgceeKkyyaR9i7fnKA7/s320/SDC10280.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nos dejó en una buena posición, en una gasolinera grande justo sobre la autopista D1/E58. Ahí pasamos un rato preparando las señales y charlando con gente, hasta que conocimos a Santi y Nuria. Ellos eran de mi querida Catalunya y estaban de vacaciones en Eslovaquia, recorriendo el país en un coche de alquiler, por lo que la escena fue graciosa cuando ví la matrícula eslovaca y comencé a hablarles en mi tarzánico eslovaco. Después dijeron que eran de Barcelona, por lo que comencé a reír y tratar de entablar conversación en mi pobre catalán, que no practicaba desde hacía demasiado tiempo. Fuimos charlando de todo un poco, mientras cruzábamos los verdes campos eslovacos y contemplábamos las gruesas gotas caer de las oscuras nubes sobre el parabrisas. Santi era profesor de Filosofía y Nuria profe de biología y matemáticas, la materia más odiada quizás por todos los alumnos. Nos contaron su experincia como profes, su relación con los chicos y algunas historias de vida. Yo, por quicuagésima vez desde iniciado este viaje, resumi mi historia, mis viajes y lugares donde viví, mis planes de futuro y mis sueños de inquieta juventud. Fue bonito tambíen hablar en español con alguien. Según mi propia experiencia, no importa lo bien que se pueda llegar a dominar otro idioma, nunca se puede igualar la comunicación profunda de sentimientos y emociones como con la lengua materna, tan ligada a nosotros y a nuestras memorias desde nuestra más tierna infancia. Así que la comunicación transcurrió fluida los 200 kms. que nos separaban de Zilina, donde partíamos destinos para continuar nosotros dirección norte cruzando la República Checa. Tuvieron la amabilidad de desviarse unos cuantos kilómetros de su camino para dejarnos en un pequeña gasolinera, ya sobre la E75.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMWODiFrb9vUiPbFieDpRjQoawxwQZHkCp8lw7bGJVZA-XPbT-3DBpUxrBioc8-cT0kADcNlR72M1Q-Fky0Kfzn4ZEhWhLz335MRI2BE6VXOty57wcASC_v0WW-4YIUUmPWh7JazDaD8t/s1600/SDC10281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMWODiFrb9vUiPbFieDpRjQoawxwQZHkCp8lw7bGJVZA-XPbT-3DBpUxrBioc8-cT0kADcNlR72M1Q-Fky0Kfzn4ZEhWhLz335MRI2BE6VXOty57wcASC_v0WW-4YIUUmPWh7JazDaD8t/s320/SDC10281.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Ahí decidimos descansar un rato y comer algo aprovechando los precios de Eslovaquia, de lo más barato de Europa. Comí un gigantesco y sabroso bocadillo (sanguche) calentado en el microondas y medio litro de una fuertísima cerveza local, todo por 2,50€. Y eso considerando que las gasolineras suelen ser alrededor de un 50% más caras que cualquier negocio local... Como el lugar era muy pequeño para estar los dos preguntando, decidimos separarnos y yo comencé a hacer señas a los coches que pasaban. La lluvia caía incesantemente y pronto estaba mojado hasta la médula. Largo rato pasó sin que nadie parase. Primero, los conductores suelen ser reacios a llevar a un par de tipos mojados en su coche, pero principalmente fue una cuestión de estrategia equivocada: la gran mayoria de coches haciendo cortas distancias entre pueblos y nosotros mostrando señales que indicaban "Krakow/PL". "Polo Norte" podr'ia habernos dado el mismo resultado... Sin embargo, después de unas horas un chico eslovaco muy simpático paró, y como no tenía mucho que hacer y la vista de unos mochileros mojados despertó su curiosidad, se ofreció a llevarnos unos 40 kms. hasta la frontera con la República Checa. El no hablaba palabra de ninguna lengua humana que no fuese el eslovaco, pero así y todo pudimos hacernos entender y darle direcciones. Cruzamos a pie la frontera e hicimos unos 200 metros hasta un párking de camiones.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipykG3cEbpfs55jURBlONxY_wL1Zem1nAi4CJWqWNEabhegiDi8_aanY04bHZe84gt2pcFQbV5kw2NY7TIF-xNIOC8kR-udv9OtTKQRaE0z67zlOV5HCvfACWplNCGIiCBRl2jpiQ396z-/s1600/SDC10282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipykG3cEbpfs55jURBlONxY_wL1Zem1nAi4CJWqWNEabhegiDi8_aanY04bHZe84gt2pcFQbV5kw2NY7TIF-xNIOC8kR-udv9OtTKQRaE0z67zlOV5HCvfACWplNCGIiCBRl2jpiQ396z-/s320/SDC10282.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Parecía ser un buen punto para conseguir transporte para largas distancias, pero había poca gente y todos tenían que esperar la hora de salida. En muchas carreteras europeas y durante ciertos días, los camiones tienen ciertos horarios en los que no pueden circular y además deben respetar sus propias horas de descanso. Decidí fumar un cigarrillo y curiosear en el pequeño bar que decía ser también discoteca. Dentro, una hermosa checa en la flor de su juventud nos sonreía con picardía y dedicaba miradas curiosas tras unos ojos de cielo azul. Creo que Dios estaba de muy buen humor cuando creó a las mujeres, pero debería estar especialmente inspirado cuando hizo a las mujeres del Este y Norte de Europa, con sus esbeltas figuras, cabellos de oro, y ojos que sonreían e invitaban al amor... Decidimos seguir probando los dos desde el costado de la carretera, James con una gran señal que indicaba "PL". La tarde comenzaba a despedirse, con el cielo coloreado en tonos grises, pero no me hubiese importado pasar la noche acampando en la hermosa naturaleza del lugar y conversando con la misteriosa chica.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgCYzXr1O6EFMY0lyTXrH7IoOCD3Mkkox2SQ0dDTTAYPsbdKFeiU9XaFBh2vnRSltA8qLOgKJmEeqLqc286DnMNT0v6jvyWlfSGRThge8U1dFqVVzuH1EAy8NfG6sOhQL89LFigXGN7V/s1600/SDC10285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgCYzXr1O6EFMY0lyTXrH7IoOCD3Mkkox2SQ0dDTTAYPsbdKFeiU9XaFBh2vnRSltA8qLOgKJmEeqLqc286DnMNT0v6jvyWlfSGRThge8U1dFqVVzuH1EAy8NfG6sOhQL89LFigXGN7V/s320/SDC10285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUR0ODpAZhZWoX0jwXGOn1mx4MjksrNlOB7QPLrkFhbrSFF1pR2hMtDy0W6R1TmANEkKpNakPFbC9SlFzqKdBiXMjPRE9oFmWUIqKv_3LChuYW0wJkU7_eQV5daKi3reBTXFmLM8xx8qZ/s1600/SDC10286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUR0ODpAZhZWoX0jwXGOn1mx4MjksrNlOB7QPLrkFhbrSFF1pR2hMtDy0W6R1TmANEkKpNakPFbC9SlFzqKdBiXMjPRE9oFmWUIqKv_3LChuYW0wJkU7_eQV5daKi3reBTXFmLM8xx8qZ/s320/SDC10286.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBM6sbzYIaPGVEMByYct9dH13-mhtYrIj7kW9DnrEmMoHxF4lPYEvgEk8RX4yhrEO6j1R29PAdhuK3H21nulDPAp9l1fRA4PZDp5CivwwFE6HB7SPJzUcvfG9HgFwiAyBxvuF0sRPOzm9/s1600/SDC10283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBM6sbzYIaPGVEMByYct9dH13-mhtYrIj7kW9DnrEmMoHxF4lPYEvgEk8RX4yhrEO6j1R29PAdhuK3H21nulDPAp9l1fRA4PZDp5CivwwFE6HB7SPJzUcvfG9HgFwiAyBxvuF0sRPOzm9/s320/SDC10283.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Finalmente Dominik, un jóven camionero polaco se ofreció a llevarnos hasta Bielsko Biala, ya en Polonia y a sólo 100 kms. de nuestro destino final. Fuimos conversando sobre Polonia, viajes y mujeres mientras la luz del crepúsculo bañaba los campos en mi 'rusinglaco para sordomudos', una mezcla de inglés y mi pobre polaco que más bien se asemejaba al ruso que aprendí años atrás acompañado con gesticulaciones. Nos dejó justo en la estación de autobuses, donde decidimos hacer trampa por una vez y tomar un bus hasta Cracovia para pasar la noche en un lecho decente y tomar una refrescante ducha. En un día, habíamos cruzado cuatro países...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvn6jqaZKHASttsm9YRqtbzkvo8hrWKHKe2oAta4R_8hkJ4IfdAQJlQQMtqzqVC2LZ59HYKV8FI5EDU90h0X_hJeWYyhHJRT3zEs8FPEvbZzXTwwU9LYy5FQx27MeDc4Q-YVx7YYXauk9/s1600/SDC10289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvn6jqaZKHASttsm9YRqtbzkvo8hrWKHKe2oAta4R_8hkJ4IfdAQJlQQMtqzqVC2LZ59HYKV8FI5EDU90h0X_hJeWYyhHJRT3zEs8FPEvbZzXTwwU9LYy5FQx27MeDc4Q-YVx7YYXauk9/s320/SDC10289.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-2809147884647490612011-08-15T04:15:00.000-07:002011-08-15T04:18:11.117-07:00Vienna. Something else than only Mozart.<span title="">Vienna was a surprise. </span><span title="">Most people told me it was a boring city, without much to see but decaying buildings and monuments. </span><span title="">Nothing could be farther from truth. </span><span title="">The first night tho, all I wanted to do was to eat a quick pasta with a sauce improvised by James and recover sleep after long 1000 km. </span>by hitchhiking.<br />
<br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title="">We woke up the next day, eager to discover the city. </span><span title="">The first strategical stop was a McDonalds in the way, not because we wanted to taste the specialties of rat burguer, but rather because they had free wifi and the cheapest coffee in town. </span><span title="">We looked at some things, organized a small meeting in CouchSurfing for the next day, and finally headed home to eat some tasty bananas under the morning sun. </span><span title="">We took the subway to Stephansplatz, the center of the city with its beautiful cathedral from the twelveth century, and went looking for free maps and information brochures at the tourist office. </span><span title="">We crossed half the city trying to find a laundromat, the famous shops with coin-operated laundry machines, but the price was ridiculous, so James decided to wash everything by hand and I decided to put a little more deodorant ... </span><span title="">We had exquisite lunch noodles with chicken at Mr. Lee's, in the center of the city. </span><span title="">In fact, the only exquisite thing was the price: 2 €. </span><span title="">From there, trying to print all possible information about the city and the various monuments from Wikipedia to avoid buying a guide. </span><span title="">When finished, we were already tired again, so decided to return home for a refreshing nap. </span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">At night, back to 'maccas' to use the wifi. </span><span title="">I stayed a few hours getting in touch with people, sending emails, planning the route and updating the blog. </span><span title="">While smoking a cigarette outside, spend some time talking with the guys from India and Pakistan working there. </span><span title="">I told them the few phrases I knew in Hindi and Urdu (I love to show off) and we chatted around a bit. </span><span title="">I returned home, where the sofa was waiting for me with open arms.<br />
</span><span title="">The next morning we decided to finally discover what the city had to offer. </span><span title="">We started the journey from the Opera House (Wiener Staatsoper), a beautiful Neo-Renaissance building of the nineteenth century, followed by the Stephansdom, Vienna's main cathedral, completed in 1160. </span><span title="">With its Gothic-Romanesque style and colorful tiled roof became the most representative symbol of the city.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF7F6245j_hKySqiwR7HjHIiBnm0HxU7xbV3xZIcW96ERqHgPPMMUkX5VOV8lV-bY69ABZugT-VvQWnXyaj6_69rozlZGiJ8_8LVun-InVKX7QvebtSDyPnGOtjONTqhGrUTVMP-SWteY/s1600/SDC10188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF7F6245j_hKySqiwR7HjHIiBnm0HxU7xbV3xZIcW96ERqHgPPMMUkX5VOV8lV-bY69ABZugT-VvQWnXyaj6_69rozlZGiJ8_8LVun-InVKX7QvebtSDyPnGOtjONTqhGrUTVMP-SWteY/s320/SDC10188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wiener Staatsoper</td></tr>
</tbody></table><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1P3pZlvc9_80LXtUPKtJzf3d0R__z_JmER_YzQWAX8NMb2NBWoFsR1mcAJyqaJph2d-6jG4a68S-GnjknScFxnSmm98gZAb8PQhgm2p9A-ynROJblbjulEnHaILr58sm6f5FsGuMCyGP/s1600/SDC10172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1P3pZlvc9_80LXtUPKtJzf3d0R__z_JmER_YzQWAX8NMb2NBWoFsR1mcAJyqaJph2d-6jG4a68S-GnjknScFxnSmm98gZAb8PQhgm2p9A-ynROJblbjulEnHaILr58sm6f5FsGuMCyGP/s320/SDC10172.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephansdom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title=""></span><span title="">From there to the house of Mozart. </span><span title="">Or the house that Mozart rented for few months. </span><span title="">Or what's left of it. </span><span title="">Nothing interesting, but the city's obsession with the musician can not be ignored by anyone. </span><span title="">It was impossible to walk more than 50 meters in the center without finding a souvenir of Mozart, a Mozart museum or someone dressed like Mozart selling tickets for a Mozart's concert ... </span><span title="">Then, we passed the Hofburg Palace, current residence of the president and since 1279 home to all the most powerful figures in Austria. We crossed the beautiful gardens of Volksgarten to the Rathaus (town hall) with its parks, and building </span><span title="">Parliament.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span><span title=""></span><span title=""> </span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcNizgEwLhA4CqE8ItrIIux9mNf59oVaTGJpQGrkN7DbSXaBJ4p2gemKAq7-VauiTX1Y5tTtyGazHyg_6hPvocFJo7U-oPpZkUzeSo1vSGDtjeT99Xuo6PVERh3Cvd2-Diy-6-_FfaXhO/s1600/SDC10212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcNizgEwLhA4CqE8ItrIIux9mNf59oVaTGJpQGrkN7DbSXaBJ4p2gemKAq7-VauiTX1Y5tTtyGazHyg_6hPvocFJo7U-oPpZkUzeSo1vSGDtjeT99Xuo6PVERh3Cvd2-Diy-6-_FfaXhO/s320/SDC10212.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hofsburg Palace</td></tr>
</tbody></table><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRt3ERoslEMEDP33xKc-W75nShG1q4ZHP9jePMHdADsWpdXtQlpczm_YUuTN6n8MuiC7DqRu9DYBP_7-21EfQbJyJWm53a-odb3OQeUjPnpEW8ItiRF1YWOT8bvsHTni86sRjRqKnUR7e/s1600/SDC10219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRt3ERoslEMEDP33xKc-W75nShG1q4ZHP9jePMHdADsWpdXtQlpczm_YUuTN6n8MuiC7DqRu9DYBP_7-21EfQbJyJWm53a-odb3OQeUjPnpEW8ItiRF1YWOT8bvsHTni86sRjRqKnUR7e/s320/SDC10219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rathaus, Vienna City Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lMB5b8-oMDGYk5zFLanPjJhAHqUQNvtIgaiczmTmH_t-iYCtfiFeqKLaPlWsXAnZwYAND7yT-rYlQACaf2iuCGvBWu2PHzQEdibH4ajcKohQPyquE2Z1gwX0mtS_3bTOYirBirIfLZn5/s1600/SDC10224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lMB5b8-oMDGYk5zFLanPjJhAHqUQNvtIgaiczmTmH_t-iYCtfiFeqKLaPlWsXAnZwYAND7yT-rYlQACaf2iuCGvBWu2PHzQEdibH4ajcKohQPyquE2Z1gwX0mtS_3bTOYirBirIfLZn5/s320/SDC10224.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parliament</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">We returned through the imposing Heldenplatz Museums of Natural History and Art History, and had a view of Museumsquartier.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GWY5dAwHxKucCnE2oNRLDgITTbRk3nu4ja8g7Yso9Q5uBlFKN8N4jcD9fjPnirH0mErMdldS7fMMYkXDhb8BrloPGQT1CyZ5jPhIQBqaSlAuk67gyjVlQ_GNTSy3Lpcrcpgz2IHfAG-o/s1600/SDC10218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GWY5dAwHxKucCnE2oNRLDgITTbRk3nu4ja8g7Yso9Q5uBlFKN8N4jcD9fjPnirH0mErMdldS7fMMYkXDhb8BrloPGQT1CyZ5jPhIQBqaSlAuk67gyjVlQ_GNTSy3Lpcrcpgz2IHfAG-o/s320/SDC10218.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Museum of Natural History</td></tr>
</tbody></table><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-uUsPTgTTd-LdJ7IVJIZzO0yq2keYBNuHGFqr_raMmP00r2bj1new8CMHollgBxTxyTa4HBIXykOKRwUIRgm3fpctGo-16_58h4MvbCczpZWdzKiZaI2qlJAJYgrqf6ev62wuuIPQUtd/s1600/SDC10216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-uUsPTgTTd-LdJ7IVJIZzO0yq2keYBNuHGFqr_raMmP00r2bj1new8CMHollgBxTxyTa4HBIXykOKRwUIRgm3fpctGo-16_58h4MvbCczpZWdzKiZaI2qlJAJYgrqf6ev62wuuIPQUtd/s320/SDC10216.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Museum of Art History</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Once there, we decided to take a break for a caffeine fix and check the mails. </span><span title="">And the magic happened again ... </span><span title="">We were walking when I feel a voice calling: "¿¿Maxi??". </span><span title="">I turned and saw a confused girl with a familiar face. </span><span title="">It was Barbara, who I met two years ago while sailing with Egil and Oyvind in Malaysia. </span><span title="">Two years and 10,000 kms. </span><span title="">after and we cross again, completely randomly... </span><span title="">We hugged and summarized our lives in 15 seconds, and she promised to see us at night.</span><span title=""></span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">From there we went to Karlsplatz, with its small lake and the majestic Saint Charles' Cathedral. </span><span title="">We ate some bread with salami, and I got into the water to look around and take a couple of coins.</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDAjtNMKDrnhQxCKMpbfsHbLlhAUxJvHhE0PYUmh4V5utpVRNWrsO8ZET1W_HfYsTZBeAKtGhMpc-_gK5JnipNwaRGA1PbfozyCl8eBfAaSiVAmsSIqii6abJPFw4yrO4S9tCJFQ7PYB8/s1600/SDC10230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDAjtNMKDrnhQxCKMpbfsHbLlhAUxJvHhE0PYUmh4V5utpVRNWrsO8ZET1W_HfYsTZBeAKtGhMpc-_gK5JnipNwaRGA1PbfozyCl8eBfAaSiVAmsSIqii6abJPFw4yrO4S9tCJFQ7PYB8/s320/SDC10230.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Charles' church</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title="">James decided that, even if our budget was very low and the price of admission too expensive, he had to enter the Basilica to see the beautiful interior. </span><span title="">I decided to stay outside with a grin, but was curious to see it and angry to have to pay: Was not Jesus a poor carpenter, anyway? </span><span title="">And now the poor had no place in His home? </span><span title="">So I came in and told the girl at the entrance a beautiful story with my best smile and angelic face. </span><span title="">Not only she gave me a free ticket, but also a free ticket to the lift to see the majestic roof and the frescoes ... </span><span title="">Ha! </span><span title="">I could not help breaking in laughter when I met James inside, and I think he got a little angry. </span><span title="">Upon leaving, I decided to buy a candle with the 50 cents I found in the fountain to thank and pray for everyone. </span><span title="">We are in peace, God! </span><span title="">haha.</span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3drqPo8xiVeYah0UzN520g3txKdRSXk_4jsR1C5RH57pmg7OWkBE40zBDUJ8iyJ0aoIaWIq5-w_JHsiGgONLEg0wNsz6hUupG-fbFGradB1x04dy1ZegGVh2rj7qkaHTmX9KS7aDIV0A/s1600/SDC10237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3drqPo8xiVeYah0UzN520g3txKdRSXk_4jsR1C5RH57pmg7OWkBE40zBDUJ8iyJ0aoIaWIq5-w_JHsiGgONLEg0wNsz6hUupG-fbFGradB1x04dy1ZegGVh2rj7qkaHTmX9KS7aDIV0A/s320/SDC10237.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNamN2-UNY03EiCwm1remnktG5Nk5oiLs-S5eTMFYDipX0nJgokpklJb5qZy3bD3AWvcXLYMWVBIMh7ZhGUoZn9H57_c65iwvBxJGzxlGVcahQrsq6X22UQxT9dCJaswmYwwGqFcGQAxz/s1600/SDC10233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNamN2-UNY03EiCwm1remnktG5Nk5oiLs-S5eTMFYDipX0nJgokpklJb5qZy3bD3AWvcXLYMWVBIMh7ZhGUoZn9H57_c65iwvBxJGzxlGVcahQrsq6X22UQxT9dCJaswmYwwGqFcGQAxz/s320/SDC10233.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views from the top, and the altar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Once outside I decided to cancel the CouchSurfing meeting, due to that nobody confirmed attendance, and wandered around the city. </span><span title="">At 8 we met Barbara in Museumsquartier, with its colorful plastic sofas and lots of young people drinking and chatting. </span><span title="">She said that in the city was allowed and perfectly normal to drink in the street, especially in its many green spaces. </span><span title="">I was liking this city even more! </span><span title="">Then we decided to go through the small but beautiful apartment of Barbara to enjoy a bottle of wine, and then go to Impulstanz, a kind of free dance festival, to meet her friends. </span><span title="">The night was fine, dancing, chatting and drinking out late, and came home in a beautiful tipsy state.</span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf1IKVJW9r75TJBrStqP01edzQUhLC32qREhlb6D6rwsSMcWc9mTSo_KdA6JArKPQPxHqPgwhWqEWX1_IhNJ8wf2hNUPPYe5H84MVDX4aUhXp2MtSAodfx-BrXvVFH0IZKO6jQClvRoNm/s1600/SDC10256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf1IKVJW9r75TJBrStqP01edzQUhLC32qREhlb6D6rwsSMcWc9mTSo_KdA6JArKPQPxHqPgwhWqEWX1_IhNJ8wf2hNUPPYe5H84MVDX4aUhXp2MtSAodfx-BrXvVFH0IZKO6jQClvRoNm/s320/SDC10256.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Babs and AnnaBanana in Impulstanz</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span><span title="">The next day was our last day in town, and I met Barbara for one last look around the city. </span><span title="">We strolled along the canals, full of good places to sit and relax and artists showing their work. We ate at my beloved Mr. Lee and went up to Donauinsel to bathe at the legendary Danube. </span><span title="">To my surprise it turned to be blue as they sang in the waltz, and its clear waters invited to swim. </span><span title="">The problem was that my phone came to swim with me. </span><span title="">It happens ...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvONo4SzlSq4UNEl99H0Vkk5KojHPYmOPjk9tW7nH2B384Z7ymJkXrufI4oIm0PUmX2BjFH-hkvnJErMB1KXKV2CF8WGDge1jjs_LAS5PSHaCDD8I-q8VglPzed5NLy98lEUoaLpsv8kx/s1600/SDC10257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvONo4SzlSq4UNEl99H0Vkk5KojHPYmOPjk9tW7nH2B384Z7ymJkXrufI4oIm0PUmX2BjFH-hkvnJErMB1KXKV2CF8WGDge1jjs_LAS5PSHaCDD8I-q8VglPzed5NLy98lEUoaLpsv8kx/s320/SDC10257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynfmOaTaX2dgP3a0pG_7KEdE2N4E_C1OMedupErHC1iiXjtWAVRmEdyjZfKt6dCIhrUurpOtcLi4JxlU32KaBGawzFLoNzNpsPCs84tVEI9Z0voaxFbcPpyODVjZlyeqjXRVFRTod5Zo/s1600/SDC10259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynfmOaTaX2dgP3a0pG_7KEdE2N4E_C1OMedupErHC1iiXjtWAVRmEdyjZfKt6dCIhrUurpOtcLi4JxlU32KaBGawzFLoNzNpsPCs84tVEI9Z0voaxFbcPpyODVjZlyeqjXRVFRTod5Zo/s320/SDC10259.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span><span title="">We layed in the sun for a while among locals who walked their dogs, and decided to write a message in a bottle and throw it into the river from the massive bridge. </span><span title="">Who knows where is it now? </span><span title="">We continued walking around the city and a pretty annoying rain started. </span><span title="">However, we decided to climb a small hill where the psychiatric hospital was for a view of the city. </span><span title="">The view was not such, but the church at the top with its golden dome was beautiful and we saw a cute deer...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wiFk72zb0bgD1Y5u7ma7OKPf8eusEuc5rf9y75HM8cpgFMdTAj5EYCYsZKuogvZsJ93moUbSzj4YhlKgHEicxKeoZMLVHWzprLJHSopx44H2mFcI2QuDBf1BE3tGQ8EpsrfXV2AXqUD3/s1600/SDC10272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wiFk72zb0bgD1Y5u7ma7OKPf8eusEuc5rf9y75HM8cpgFMdTAj5EYCYsZKuogvZsJ93moUbSzj4YhlKgHEicxKeoZMLVHWzprLJHSopx44H2mFcI2QuDBf1BE3tGQ8EpsrfXV2AXqUD3/s320/SDC10272.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dKv2xQbWO5EeHmeqyc_D-pLVZZm5xaKIWU6fHyE0BfG73G7CgkSDbf6H0rxBh4OmNoXUBtWur_fRIVds1IyZ89wkAZt2Ybfmg2RqAbg19FYcqSsT5Kw9shAMiC2lt4U9ZWcsOOVZat_D/s1600/SDC10273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dKv2xQbWO5EeHmeqyc_D-pLVZZm5xaKIWU6fHyE0BfG73G7CgkSDbf6H0rxBh4OmNoXUBtWur_fRIVds1IyZ89wkAZt2Ybfmg2RqAbg19FYcqSsT5Kw9shAMiC2lt4U9ZWcsOOVZat_D/s320/SDC10273.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span><span title="">We parted ways at the subway station wishing to meet again, and I went home to meet James and Elisabeth, our host. </span><span title="">She came cycling on a recumbent bike from Germany, and although she wasn't in town the first few days and didn't know me more than my profile in CouchSurfing, decided to leave us the keys to her apartment. </span><span title="">So we chatted like crazy in our respective journeys, long journeys by bike, yoga (she was a teacher) and meditation, and our experiences in CS. </span><span title="">James cooked a delicious pasta and we drank a nice wine. </span><span title="">We went to sleep, and early the next day started our way under a fine rain to Krakow, where Marta awaited. </span><span title="">Again, it was time to leave...</span></span><br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-19015411898318326362011-08-11T14:00:00.000-07:002011-08-11T14:00:38.678-07:00Viena. Algo más que solo MozartViena fue una sorpresa. Casi toda la gente me había dicho que era una ciudad aburrida, sin mucho para ver más que decadentes edificios y monumentos. Nada más alejado de la realidad. La primera noche, lo único que quisimos hacer fue comer una pasta rápida con una salsa que improvisó James y recuperar sueño después de unos largos 1000 kms. a dedo.<br />
Nos despertamos al día siguiente, con ganas de descubrir la ciudad. La primera parada estratégica fue un Mc Donalds en el camino, no porque quisiéramos degustar sus especialidades de carne de rata, sino más bien porque tenían wifi gratis y el café más barato de la ciudad. Miramos algunas cosas, organizamos un pequeño meeting en CouchSurfing para el día siguiente, y finalmente nos dirigimos a casa comiendo unas sabrosas bananas bajo el sol de la mañana. Nos tomamos el metro hasta Stephansplatz, centro de la ciudad con su hermosa catedral del siglo XIII, y fuimos a buscar mapas y folletos de información gratis en la oficina de turismo.<br />
Cruzamos media ciudad tratando de encontrar un LaundroMat, los famosos negocios con máquinas de lavar la ropa que funcionan con monedas, pero el precio era irrisorio, así que James decidió lavar todo a mano y yo ponerme un poco más de desodorante... Almorzamos unos exquisitos noodles con pollo en Mr. Lee, en el centro de la ciudad. En realidad, lo único exquisito era su precio: 2€. De ahí a tratar de imprimir toda la información posible sobre la ciudad y los distintos monumentos desde Wikipedia para ahorrarnos el comprar una guía. Al terminar, estábamos ya de nuevo cansados, así que decidimos volver a la casa a echarnos una reparadora siesta. A la noche, de vuelta a usar el wifi del 'Maccas'. Me quedé unas cuantas horas poniéndome en contacto con gente, mandando mails, planeando la ruta y actualizando el blog. Mientras fumaba un cigarrillo afuera, me quedé hablando con los chicos de India y Pakistán que trabajaban ahí. Les dije las pocas frases que sabía en Indi y Urdu, algo que nunca puedo resistir, y nos quedamos charlando de todo un poco. Volví a la casa, donde el cómodo sofá me esperaba con los brazos abiertos.<br />
A la mañana siguiente decidimos finalmente descubrir lo que la cidad tenía para ofrecernos. Empezamos el camino desde la Casa de la Opera (Wiener Staatsoper), hermoso edificio neo-renacentista del siglo XIX, seguimos por la Stephansdom, la catedral principal de Viena, finalizada en 1160. Con su estilo Gotico-Romanesco y su tejado decorado con azulejos multicolores se convirtió en el símbolo más representativo de la ciudad.<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF7F6245j_hKySqiwR7HjHIiBnm0HxU7xbV3xZIcW96ERqHgPPMMUkX5VOV8lV-bY69ABZugT-VvQWnXyaj6_69rozlZGiJ8_8LVun-InVKX7QvebtSDyPnGOtjONTqhGrUTVMP-SWteY/s1600/SDC10188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF7F6245j_hKySqiwR7HjHIiBnm0HxU7xbV3xZIcW96ERqHgPPMMUkX5VOV8lV-bY69ABZugT-VvQWnXyaj6_69rozlZGiJ8_8LVun-InVKX7QvebtSDyPnGOtjONTqhGrUTVMP-SWteY/s320/SDC10188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wiener Staatsoper</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1P3pZlvc9_80LXtUPKtJzf3d0R__z_JmER_YzQWAX8NMb2NBWoFsR1mcAJyqaJph2d-6jG4a68S-GnjknScFxnSmm98gZAb8PQhgm2p9A-ynROJblbjulEnHaILr58sm6f5FsGuMCyGP/s1600/SDC10172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1P3pZlvc9_80LXtUPKtJzf3d0R__z_JmER_YzQWAX8NMb2NBWoFsR1mcAJyqaJph2d-6jG4a68S-GnjknScFxnSmm98gZAb8PQhgm2p9A-ynROJblbjulEnHaILr58sm6f5FsGuMCyGP/s320/SDC10172.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephansdom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
De ahí a la casa de Mozart. O la casa que alquiló Mozart durante unos meses. O lo que queda de ella. Nada interesante, pero la obsesión de todo el mundo por el musico no puede pasar desapercibida ni para el más descuidado observador. Era imposible caminar más de 50 metros en el centro sin encontrar una tienda de souvenirs de Mozart, algún museo de Mozart o alguien vestido como Mozart vendiendo entradas para algún concierto de Mozart... De ahí, pasamos por el Palacio de Hofburg, actual residencia del presidente, pero que desde 1279 fue casa para todos los personajes más poderosos de Austria, cruzamos los hermosos jardines del Volksgarten hasta el Rathaus (ayuntamiento) con sus parques, y el edificio del Parlamento.<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcNizgEwLhA4CqE8ItrIIux9mNf59oVaTGJpQGrkN7DbSXaBJ4p2gemKAq7-VauiTX1Y5tTtyGazHyg_6hPvocFJo7U-oPpZkUzeSo1vSGDtjeT99Xuo6PVERh3Cvd2-Diy-6-_FfaXhO/s1600/SDC10212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcNizgEwLhA4CqE8ItrIIux9mNf59oVaTGJpQGrkN7DbSXaBJ4p2gemKAq7-VauiTX1Y5tTtyGazHyg_6hPvocFJo7U-oPpZkUzeSo1vSGDtjeT99Xuo6PVERh3Cvd2-Diy-6-_FfaXhO/s320/SDC10212.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palacio de Hofsburg</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRt3ERoslEMEDP33xKc-W75nShG1q4ZHP9jePMHdADsWpdXtQlpczm_YUuTN6n8MuiC7DqRu9DYBP_7-21EfQbJyJWm53a-odb3OQeUjPnpEW8ItiRF1YWOT8bvsHTni86sRjRqKnUR7e/s1600/SDC10219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRt3ERoslEMEDP33xKc-W75nShG1q4ZHP9jePMHdADsWpdXtQlpczm_YUuTN6n8MuiC7DqRu9DYBP_7-21EfQbJyJWm53a-odb3OQeUjPnpEW8ItiRF1YWOT8bvsHTni86sRjRqKnUR7e/s320/SDC10219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rathaus</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lMB5b8-oMDGYk5zFLanPjJhAHqUQNvtIgaiczmTmH_t-iYCtfiFeqKLaPlWsXAnZwYAND7yT-rYlQACaf2iuCGvBWu2PHzQEdibH4ajcKohQPyquE2Z1gwX0mtS_3bTOYirBirIfLZn5/s1600/SDC10224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lMB5b8-oMDGYk5zFLanPjJhAHqUQNvtIgaiczmTmH_t-iYCtfiFeqKLaPlWsXAnZwYAND7yT-rYlQACaf2iuCGvBWu2PHzQEdibH4ajcKohQPyquE2Z1gwX0mtS_3bTOYirBirIfLZn5/s320/SDC10224.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parlamento de Viena</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Volvimos por Heldenplatz atravesando los imponentes Museos de Historia Natural y de Historia del Arte, y tuvimos una vista del Museumsquartier.<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GWY5dAwHxKucCnE2oNRLDgITTbRk3nu4ja8g7Yso9Q5uBlFKN8N4jcD9fjPnirH0mErMdldS7fMMYkXDhb8BrloPGQT1CyZ5jPhIQBqaSlAuk67gyjVlQ_GNTSy3Lpcrcpgz2IHfAG-o/s1600/SDC10218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GWY5dAwHxKucCnE2oNRLDgITTbRk3nu4ja8g7Yso9Q5uBlFKN8N4jcD9fjPnirH0mErMdldS7fMMYkXDhb8BrloPGQT1CyZ5jPhIQBqaSlAuk67gyjVlQ_GNTSy3Lpcrcpgz2IHfAG-o/s320/SDC10218.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Museo de Historia Natural</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-uUsPTgTTd-LdJ7IVJIZzO0yq2keYBNuHGFqr_raMmP00r2bj1new8CMHollgBxTxyTa4HBIXykOKRwUIRgm3fpctGo-16_58h4MvbCczpZWdzKiZaI2qlJAJYgrqf6ev62wuuIPQUtd/s1600/SDC10216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-uUsPTgTTd-LdJ7IVJIZzO0yq2keYBNuHGFqr_raMmP00r2bj1new8CMHollgBxTxyTa4HBIXykOKRwUIRgm3fpctGo-16_58h4MvbCczpZWdzKiZaI2qlJAJYgrqf6ev62wuuIPQUtd/s320/SDC10216.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Museo de Historia del Arte</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
Una vez ahí, decidimos hacer una pausa para tomar una dosis de cafeína y chequear los mails. Y sucedió la magia otra vez... Estábamos caminando cuando siento una voz que dice: "¿¿Maxi??". Me giro desconcertado y veo una chica con una cara conocida. Resultó ser Barbara, a quien conocí dos años atrás mientras navegaba con Egil y Oyvind en Malasia. Dos años y más de 10.000 kms. después nos volvíamos a cruzar, por pura casualidad... Nos abrazamos y resumimos nuestras existencias en algo de 15 segundos, y prometimos vernos a la noche. De ahí, fuimos hacia Karlplatz, con su pequeño lago y la majestuosa catedral de Saint Charles. Comimos un poco de pan con salami y me metí en el agua a curiosear y sacar un par de monedas.<br />
<br />
<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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDAjtNMKDrnhQxCKMpbfsHbLlhAUxJvHhE0PYUmh4V5utpVRNWrsO8ZET1W_HfYsTZBeAKtGhMpc-_gK5JnipNwaRGA1PbfozyCl8eBfAaSiVAmsSIqii6abJPFw4yrO4S9tCJFQ7PYB8/s1600/SDC10230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDAjtNMKDrnhQxCKMpbfsHbLlhAUxJvHhE0PYUmh4V5utpVRNWrsO8ZET1W_HfYsTZBeAKtGhMpc-_gK5JnipNwaRGA1PbfozyCl8eBfAaSiVAmsSIqii6abJPFw4yrO4S9tCJFQ7PYB8/s320/SDC10230.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iglesia de St. Charles</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
James decidió que, más allá de que nuestro presupuesto era muy bajo y el precio de la entrada muy caro, tenía que entrar a la Basílica a contemplar la belleza de su interior. Yo decidí quedarme afuera, pero me entró la curiosidad por verla y me daba rabia tener que pagar: ¿No era Jesús un pobre carpintero, acaso? ¿Y ahora resultaba que los pobres no tenían sitio en su casa? Así que entré, y le conté a la chica de la entrada una bonita historia con mi mejor sonrisa y cara angelical. Me dió no solo una entrada gratis, sino también un ticket gratis para subir en el ascensor hacia el majestuoso techo para ver los frescos... ¡Ja! No pude reprimir la risa cuando me encontré con James, y creo que él se enojo un poquito. Al salir, decidí comprar una vela con los 50 céntimos que encontré en la fuente para agradecer y pedir por todos. ¡Estamos en paz, Dios! jaja.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNamN2-UNY03EiCwm1remnktG5Nk5oiLs-S5eTMFYDipX0nJgokpklJb5qZy3bD3AWvcXLYMWVBIMh7ZhGUoZn9H57_c65iwvBxJGzxlGVcahQrsq6X22UQxT9dCJaswmYwwGqFcGQAxz/s1600/SDC10233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNamN2-UNY03EiCwm1remnktG5Nk5oiLs-S5eTMFYDipX0nJgokpklJb5qZy3bD3AWvcXLYMWVBIMh7ZhGUoZn9H57_c65iwvBxJGzxlGVcahQrsq6X22UQxT9dCJaswmYwwGqFcGQAxz/s320/SDC10233.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><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;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3drqPo8xiVeYah0UzN520g3txKdRSXk_4jsR1C5RH57pmg7OWkBE40zBDUJ8iyJ0aoIaWIq5-w_JHsiGgONLEg0wNsz6hUupG-fbFGradB1x04dy1ZegGVh2rj7qkaHTmX9KS7aDIV0A/s1600/SDC10237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3drqPo8xiVeYah0UzN520g3txKdRSXk_4jsR1C5RH57pmg7OWkBE40zBDUJ8iyJ0aoIaWIq5-w_JHsiGgONLEg0wNsz6hUupG-fbFGradB1x04dy1ZegGVh2rj7qkaHTmX9KS7aDIV0A/s320/SDC10237.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Altar (arriba) y vista desde la cima (abajo)</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
Una vez afuera decidí cancelar el meeting, al que nadie había confirmado asistencia, y vagabundear por la ciudad. A las 8 nos encontramos con Barbara dentro de Museumsquartier, con sus coloridos sofás plásticos y multitud de jóvenes bebiendo y charlando. Ella me dijo que en la ciudad estaba permitido y era perfectamente normal beber en la calle, especialmente en sus numerosos espacios verdes. ¡Esta ciudad me estaba gustando cada vez más! Después decidimos pasar por el pequeño pero hermoso apartamento de Barbara para degustar una botella de vino, y de ahí ir al Impulstanz, especie de festival de baile gratuito, a conocer a sus amigas. La noche fue bien, bailando, charlando y bebiendo afuera hasta tarde, y volví a casa en un bonito estado etílicontento.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf1IKVJW9r75TJBrStqP01edzQUhLC32qREhlb6D6rwsSMcWc9mTSo_KdA6JArKPQPxHqPgwhWqEWX1_IhNJ8wf2hNUPPYe5H84MVDX4aUhXp2MtSAodfx-BrXvVFH0IZKO6jQClvRoNm/s1600/SDC10256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf1IKVJW9r75TJBrStqP01edzQUhLC32qREhlb6D6rwsSMcWc9mTSo_KdA6JArKPQPxHqPgwhWqEWX1_IhNJ8wf2hNUPPYe5H84MVDX4aUhXp2MtSAodfx-BrXvVFH0IZKO6jQClvRoNm/s320/SDC10256.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
El día siguiente era nuestro último día en la ciudad, y me encontré con Barbara para un último vistazo. Paseamos por los canales, lleno de buenos lugares para sentarse y descansar y artistas mostrándo sus obras, comimos en mi adorado Mr. Lee y fuimos hasta Donauinsel a bañarnos en el mítico Danubio. Resultó para mi sorpresa azul como cantaba el vals, y sus aguas transparentes invitaban al baño. El problema fue que mi teléfono vino a bañarse conmigo. Cosas que pasan...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvONo4SzlSq4UNEl99H0Vkk5KojHPYmOPjk9tW7nH2B384Z7ymJkXrufI4oIm0PUmX2BjFH-hkvnJErMB1KXKV2CF8WGDge1jjs_LAS5PSHaCDD8I-q8VglPzed5NLy98lEUoaLpsv8kx/s1600/SDC10257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvONo4SzlSq4UNEl99H0Vkk5KojHPYmOPjk9tW7nH2B384Z7ymJkXrufI4oIm0PUmX2BjFH-hkvnJErMB1KXKV2CF8WGDge1jjs_LAS5PSHaCDD8I-q8VglPzed5NLy98lEUoaLpsv8kx/s320/SDC10257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynfmOaTaX2dgP3a0pG_7KEdE2N4E_C1OMedupErHC1iiXjtWAVRmEdyjZfKt6dCIhrUurpOtcLi4JxlU32KaBGawzFLoNzNpsPCs84tVEI9Z0voaxFbcPpyODVjZlyeqjXRVFRTod5Zo/s1600/SDC10259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynfmOaTaX2dgP3a0pG_7KEdE2N4E_C1OMedupErHC1iiXjtWAVRmEdyjZfKt6dCIhrUurpOtcLi4JxlU32KaBGawzFLoNzNpsPCs84tVEI9Z0voaxFbcPpyODVjZlyeqjXRVFRTod5Zo/s320/SDC10259.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasamos un rato tostándonos al sol entre locales que paseaban sus perros, y decidimos escribir un mensaje en una botella y tirarlo al río desde el inmenso puente. ¿Quién sabe donde estará ahora? Continuamos paseando por la ciudad y se largó una lluvia bastante molesta. Sin embargo, decidimos subir un pequeño monte donde se encuentra el hospital psiquiátrico para una vista de toda la ciudad. La vista no resultó tal, pero la iglesia en la cima con su cúpula dorada resultó hermosa, y vimos un tierno cervatillo...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dKv2xQbWO5EeHmeqyc_D-pLVZZm5xaKIWU6fHyE0BfG73G7CgkSDbf6H0rxBh4OmNoXUBtWur_fRIVds1IyZ89wkAZt2Ybfmg2RqAbg19FYcqSsT5Kw9shAMiC2lt4U9ZWcsOOVZat_D/s1600/SDC10273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dKv2xQbWO5EeHmeqyc_D-pLVZZm5xaKIWU6fHyE0BfG73G7CgkSDbf6H0rxBh4OmNoXUBtWur_fRIVds1IyZ89wkAZt2Ybfmg2RqAbg19FYcqSsT5Kw9shAMiC2lt4U9ZWcsOOVZat_D/s320/SDC10273.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wiFk72zb0bgD1Y5u7ma7OKPf8eusEuc5rf9y75HM8cpgFMdTAj5EYCYsZKuogvZsJ93moUbSzj4YhlKgHEicxKeoZMLVHWzprLJHSopx44H2mFcI2QuDBf1BE3tGQ8EpsrfXV2AXqUD3/s1600/SDC10272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wiFk72zb0bgD1Y5u7ma7OKPf8eusEuc5rf9y75HM8cpgFMdTAj5EYCYsZKuogvZsJ93moUbSzj4YhlKgHEicxKeoZMLVHWzprLJHSopx44H2mFcI2QuDBf1BE3tGQ8EpsrfXV2AXqUD3/s320/SDC10272.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nos despedimos en la estación de metro deseando volver a vernos, y fui a la casa para encontrarme con James y Elisabeth. Ella venía en una bicicleta reclinable desde Alemania, y a pesar de que no iba a estar en la ciudad los primeros días y nunca había conocido más que mi perfil en CouchSurfing decidió dejarnos las llaves de su apartamento. Así que charlamos como locos de nuestros respectivos viajes, de largos viajes en bicicleta, de yoga (ella era profesora) y meditación, y de nuestras experiencias en CS. James cocinó unas pastas riquísimas que bajamos con un buen vino. Fuimos a dormir ya entrada a noche, y temprano al día siguiente y bajo una fina lluvia emprendimos camino a Cracovia donde nos esperaba Marta. Nuevamente, era tiempo de partir...<br />
<br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-5809454592394274712011-08-10T04:56:00.000-07:002011-08-10T05:33:13.613-07:00From Genova to Vienna. Italy is not a great place for hitchhikers...<span title="">The sun began to rise over the skies of Genoa and we started walking towards the gas station we chose to start the trip. </span>The mood was high because it would be the first time traveling together with James after hitchhiking Malaysia a couple of years ago.<br />
<br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN1ovKO0HS9kRNMC0RSNcvaLHH_u9C4yenDfZz8Fdcy8xusB_orENjX8JkNeOwN2EdaZsom2uO7Hp5abUoh3PlnKlIoPvE9y7c7jRV4wMW3aepwHNqdiLpm7hFWc86iBjjlbcx-O7bgF5/s1600/SDC10128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN1ovKO0HS9kRNMC0RSNcvaLHH_u9C4yenDfZz8Fdcy8xusB_orENjX8JkNeOwN2EdaZsom2uO7Hp5abUoh3PlnKlIoPvE9y7c7jRV4wMW3aepwHNqdiLpm7hFWc86iBjjlbcx-O7bgF5/s320/SDC10128.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">It took an hour to walk to the station, just off the A7 motorway. </span><span title="">I treated myself to a delicious Spanish breakfast (coffee and cigarettes) and started asking people. </span><span title="">One problem was that the station was next to the police station. </span><span title="">In most European countries is prohibited for safety reasons to hitch in highways, but no problems at the stations, and the police is not a problem. </span><span title="">I had cases of police stopping cars and asking if they could give me a lift. </span><span title="">But in Italy the police are one of the less friendly of the old continent, and for reasons no one could ever explain to me is also forbidden to ask the cars parked in auto grills and petrol stations. </span><span title="">As James speaks only English and is a little more introverted, we split. </span><span title="">He stood at the entrance of the highway with a sign and I asked the drivers in the service station. </span><span title="">After a while, Franklin offered to take us to Brescia, about 250 kms. </span><span title="">He was from Ecuador and had been for the last 10 years working in Italy. </span><span title="">We went all the way talking about how life was in northern Italy, richer and generally less friendly than the south, the differences across countries and he told me what life was like in his country.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">Finally we said goodbye at an Autogrill, a kind of restaurant-gas station on the highway, and continued. </span><span title="">I took a good fix of coffee to compensate the long night without sleep, and kept asking everyone. </span><span title="">The minutes were melting under the warm summer sun, and despite having a few conversations with people standing around we wasn't so lucky for a while. Until we met Sandro, with his lovely accent and charm characteristic of the region of Rome.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCa8XCz9S5I4UJHt17KrbC3NUU0gOPCa9CK9s-2YsfaHn-06lgRMBMK3veqNjY4LyDkk6SFCQMYtCCpAMCujnHEaoIz7etj2xZanI8R-iL_WvBMIulY-ZVeJNfjYP_8CnqmcF5oxs5Juu/s1600/SDC10135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCa8XCz9S5I4UJHt17KrbC3NUU0gOPCa9CK9s-2YsfaHn-06lgRMBMK3veqNjY4LyDkk6SFCQMYtCCpAMCujnHEaoIz7etj2xZanI8R-iL_WvBMIulY-ZVeJNfjYP_8CnqmcF5oxs5Juu/s320/SDC10135.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">We were talking a little of everything, and he offered to leave us in a huge parking lot for international trucks off the highway, where he said it would be very easy to get a direct lift to Vienna. </span><span title="">For longer distances, my golden rule number one is to stick to the highway. </span><span title="">My golden rule number two is also to stick to the highway. </span><span title="">But James and I consulted and thought that a local truck driver would know much more than two backpackers, so we decided to follow his advice. </span><span title="">Wrong. </span><span title="">The place was almost empty due to the holiday season, and the few trucks seem to go in another direction or spent all day resting. </span><span title="">After like two hours, I decided to go to the bar to get information and change the strategy. </span><span title="">After chatting for a while and look around a bit, one of the girls said she could escape a few minutes from work and give us a ride to the next gas station, on the A4 motorway. </span><span title="">Once there, everything was easier. </span><span title="">About three minutes after arriving, I see two guys waving at me. </span><span title="">They were French and were travelling in a truck converted into a beautiful home. </span><span title="">The conversation was moreless like this:<br />
</span><span title="">"Bonjour! Where you going?"</span><span title="">"Uhm, to Vienna ..."</span><span title="">"We are going to Croatia, come! We can take you 300 km. to the crossroad. Have a coffee and put the bag here!..."</span><span title="">"Wow, thanks! But I'm traveling with another dude from New Zealand."</span><span title="">"Ouiii, no problem! Tell him to come!<br />
</span><span title="">And so we left. </span><span title="">It felt good to be moving again, especially among people with whom I felt comfortable, and I loved having the chance to practice my French again. </span><span title="">We were listening to good french reggae all the way, laughing a lot and talking about travelling, people and dreams of a restless youth. </span><span title="">We stopped for gas, and we found two hitchhikers from Hungary returning home. </span><span title="">Tibor, the driver, took only ten seconds to tell them to come with us, and we started again. </span><span title="">The sun was setting, illuminating everything with the dim light of dusk when they left all of us in a good spot where the highway is turns. </span><span title="">We took some pictures and said goodbye wishing each other the best of luck: "If I don't see you anymore, have a great life!..."</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLnSbsPZrASP4d-umghirFjcN7oJsSutyUnFj9AQrKiKS1lywi5jSDA9uOPIP31JpTbImfELYHsXafypCCDHpIg0ksESKcX5cM9BRn6bTXfLW9bde809PmcjUafiwImSJqHo9OwACmKLl/s1600/SDC10151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLnSbsPZrASP4d-umghirFjcN7oJsSutyUnFj9AQrKiKS1lywi5jSDA9uOPIP31JpTbImfELYHsXafypCCDHpIg0ksESKcX5cM9BRn6bTXfLW9bde809PmcjUafiwImSJqHo9OwACmKLl/s320/SDC10151.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MLv7sqJHv0zCZYv7Ygv19I0kjTNxmcxJ5iI81wRouB5tT2el5ff4CKfoVVr0dTQDGn4MHtHuidOEKL5mgSWDN8jX8pO3wxjjc0M23ZpfZI4HRlJ1S8WPAkGP27lm1RztXaOtL4eGzUw1/s1600/SDC10154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""> </span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">The place was full of trucks, but they all seemed to go in another direction. </span><span title="">After a while, a very friendly Polish truck driver told us it was because the Austrian motorways were too expensive for trucks, so they all avoided them. </span><span title="">It was late, and as we were very tired decided to camp in a nearby grove for the night. </span><span title="">We woke at dawn the following day and started searching again. </span><span title="">After a couple of hours we decided that the most clever thing would be to take the alternative route across Slovenia, and before long a few French boys offered to take 200 kms. </span><span title="">to Maribor, close to the border with Austria. </span><span title="">They were going to visit friends in Hungary and after doing a little traveling around Europe.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MLv7sqJHv0zCZYv7Ygv19I0kjTNxmcxJ5iI81wRouB5tT2el5ff4CKfoVVr0dTQDGn4MHtHuidOEKL5mgSWDN8jX8pO3wxjjc0M23ZpfZI4HRlJ1S8WPAkGP27lm1RztXaOtL4eGzUw1/s1600/SDC10154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MLv7sqJHv0zCZYv7Ygv19I0kjTNxmcxJ5iI81wRouB5tT2el5ff4CKfoVVr0dTQDGn4MHtHuidOEKL5mgSWDN8jX8pO3wxjjc0M23ZpfZI4HRlJ1S8WPAkGP27lm1RztXaOtL4eGzUw1/s320/SDC10154.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s1600/SDC10155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title="">Then, a van took us for a short trip to a gas station before Graz, just 200 kms. </span><span title="">before Vienna. </span><span title="">We were stuck there for a while, because most of cars were super charged and appeared to go mainly to the Czech Republic and Germany. </span><span title="">After a couple of hours, a couple of girls agreed to take us to Vienna. </span><span title="">They thought it twice, talked among themselves and decided we looked like good people and didn't smell too bad, so we left. </span><span title="">We were chatting all the way, in English for the first time in a while, enjoying the scenery.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s1600/SDC10155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s320/SDC10155.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">In the evening we stopped in a metro (subway) in the suburbs and said goodbye. </span><span title="">We snuck in the subway, and went directly to Elisabeth's house, where a long night's sleep awaited...</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-15987385057586194052011-08-10T03:44:00.000-07:002011-08-10T05:34:04.519-07:00De Génova a Viena. Italia no es gran país para autoestopistas...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s1600/SDC10155.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a><br />
El sol comenzaba a alzarse sobre los cielos de Genova y comenzamos a caminar hacia la estación de servicio (gasolinera) que habíamos elegido para empezar el viaje. El ánimo estaba alto porque iba a ser la primera vez viajando juntos con James desde haber recorrido Malasia a dedo hace un par de años.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN1ovKO0HS9kRNMC0RSNcvaLHH_u9C4yenDfZz8Fdcy8xusB_orENjX8JkNeOwN2EdaZsom2uO7Hp5abUoh3PlnKlIoPvE9y7c7jRV4wMW3aepwHNqdiLpm7hFWc86iBjjlbcx-O7bgF5/s1600/SDC10128.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTN1ovKO0HS9kRNMC0RSNcvaLHH_u9C4yenDfZz8Fdcy8xusB_orENjX8JkNeOwN2EdaZsom2uO7Hp5abUoh3PlnKlIoPvE9y7c7jRV4wMW3aepwHNqdiLpm7hFWc86iBjjlbcx-O7bgF5/s320/SDC10128.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Nos llevó una hora caminar hasta la estación de servicio (gasolinera) que habíamos elegido para comenzar el viaje, justo al lado de la autopista A7. Me serví un apetitoso desayuno español (café y cigarrillos) y empezamos a preguntar a gente. Un problema era que la gasolinera estaba al lado del cuartel de la policía. En la mayor parte de los países europeos está prohibido por seguridad hacer autostop en la autopista pero no hay problemas en las gasolineras, aunque la policía no es un problema. Hasta me han pasado casos de policías ayudándome parando coches y preguntandoles si podían llevarme. Pero en Italia la policía es de las menos amistosas del viejo continente, y por razones que nunca nadie supo explicarme está también prohibido preguntar a los coches en las gasolineras. Como James habla solamente inglés y es un poco más tímido, nos dividimos. El se quedó a la entrada de la autopista con un cartel y yo en la estación de servicio preguntando a los coches. Después de un rato, Franklin se ofrecío a llevarnos hasta Brescia. El era de Ecuador y llevaba 10 años trabajando en Italia. Fuimos todo el camino charlando sobre como era la vida en el norte de Italia, más rico y normalmente menos amistoso que el sur, las diferencias con los distintos países y me conto como era la vida en su país.<br />
Finalmente nos despedimos en un autogrill, especie de restaurant-gasolinera sobre la autopista, y continuamos. Me tomé una buena dosis de café para compensar la larga noche sin dormir, y seguí preguntando a todo el mundo. Los minutos fueron fundiéndose bajo el cálido sol estival, y a pesar de tener unas cuantas charlas con la gente parada alrededor no tuvimos suerte durante un buen rato, hasta que conocimos a Sandro, con su hermoso acento y simpatía características de la región de Roma.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCa8XCz9S5I4UJHt17KrbC3NUU0gOPCa9CK9s-2YsfaHn-06lgRMBMK3veqNjY4LyDkk6SFCQMYtCCpAMCujnHEaoIz7etj2xZanI8R-iL_WvBMIulY-ZVeJNfjYP_8CnqmcF5oxs5Juu/s1600/SDC10135.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCa8XCz9S5I4UJHt17KrbC3NUU0gOPCa9CK9s-2YsfaHn-06lgRMBMK3veqNjY4LyDkk6SFCQMYtCCpAMCujnHEaoIz7etj2xZanI8R-iL_WvBMIulY-ZVeJNfjYP_8CnqmcF5oxs5Juu/s320/SDC10135.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Fuimos hablando de todo un poco, y el se ofreció a dejarnos en un inmenso parking para camiones fuera de la autopista, donde según él iba a ser muy simple conseguir un camión directo hacia Viena. Para largas distancias, mi regla de oro número uno es no alejarme de la autopista. Mi regla de oro número dos es también no alejarme de la autopista. Pero lo consultamos con James y decidimos que un camionero local tendría que saber mucho más que dos mochileros, así que decidimos seguir su consejo. Craso error. El lugar estaba casi vació debido a la época de vacaciones, y los pocos camiones parecían ir en otra dirección o pasaban todo el día descansando. Después de algo de dos horas, decidí ir al bar para sacar información y cambiar la estrategia. Después de charlar un rato y curiosear un poco, una de las chicas se ofreció a escaparse unos minutos para dejarnos en una gasolinera sobre la autopista A4. Una vez ahí, todo fue más fácil. Unos tres minutos despúes de llegar, veo dos chicos que me hacen señas para que me acerque. Ellos eran franceses y viajaban en un hermoso camión convertido en vivienda. La conversación fue masomenos así:<br />
<br />
"¡Bonjour! ¿Donde vas?"<br />
"A Viena..."<br />
"¡Nosotros para Croacia, subíte! Te llevamos 300 kms., hasta el desvío. Tomá un café, y subí la mochila..."<br />
"¡Wow, gracias! Pero viajo con otro chico de Nueva Zelanda."<br />
"¡Ouiii, no problem! ¡Dile que venga!<br />
<br />
Y así partimos. Se sentía muy bien estar otra vez en movimiento, especialmente entre gente con la que me sentía cómodo, y me encantaba tener la posibilidad de practicar otra vez mi francés. Fuimos escuchando muy buen reggae galo todo el camino, charlando de viajes y gentes, y riendo mucho. Paramos a cargar gasolina, y nos encontramos dos autoestopistas húngaros que volvían a casa. Tibor, el conductor, no tardó diez segundos en decirles que vinieran con nosotros, y partimos de nuevo. El sol caía iluminándolo todo con la tenue luz del crepúsculo cuando nos dejaron a todos en un buen lugar donde la autopista se bifurcaba. Sacamos unas fotos y nos despedimos deseándonos la mejor de las suertes.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLnSbsPZrASP4d-umghirFjcN7oJsSutyUnFj9AQrKiKS1lywi5jSDA9uOPIP31JpTbImfELYHsXafypCCDHpIg0ksESKcX5cM9BRn6bTXfLW9bde809PmcjUafiwImSJqHo9OwACmKLl/s1600/SDC10151.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLnSbsPZrASP4d-umghirFjcN7oJsSutyUnFj9AQrKiKS1lywi5jSDA9uOPIP31JpTbImfELYHsXafypCCDHpIg0ksESKcX5cM9BRn6bTXfLW9bde809PmcjUafiwImSJqHo9OwACmKLl/s320/SDC10151.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
El lugar estaba lleno de camiones, pero todos parecían ir en otra dirección. Después de un buen rato, un camionero polaco muy simpático nos explicó que era debido a que las autopistas austríacas eran demasiado caras para camiones, por lo que todos las evitaban. Ya era tarde, y como estabamos muy cansados decidimos acampar en un bosquecillo cercano para pasar la noche. Despertamos al alba del día siguiente y retomamos la búsqueda. Luego de un par de horas decidimos que lo más sensato sería tomar la ruta alternativa cruzando Eslovenia, y después de poco tiempo unos chicos franceses se ofrecieron a llevarnos 200 kms. hasta Maribor, a un paso de la frontera con Austria. Ellos iban a visitar unos amigos en Hungría y después de ahí viajar un poco por Europa.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MLv7sqJHv0zCZYv7Ygv19I0kjTNxmcxJ5iI81wRouB5tT2el5ff4CKfoVVr0dTQDGn4MHtHuidOEKL5mgSWDN8jX8pO3wxjjc0M23ZpfZI4HRlJ1S8WPAkGP27lm1RztXaOtL4eGzUw1/s1600/SDC10154.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MLv7sqJHv0zCZYv7Ygv19I0kjTNxmcxJ5iI81wRouB5tT2el5ff4CKfoVVr0dTQDGn4MHtHuidOEKL5mgSWDN8jX8pO3wxjjc0M23ZpfZI4HRlJ1S8WPAkGP27lm1RztXaOtL4eGzUw1/s320/SDC10154.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
De ahí, una camioneta nos llevó un corto trayecto hasta un gasolinera antes de Graz, otros 200 kms. antes de Viena. Pasamos ahí un buen rato, debido a que la mayoría estaban super cargados y parecían ir principalmente hacia República Checa y Alemania. Después de un par de horas, un par de chicas aceptaron llevarnos hasta Viena. Lo pensaron dos veces, comentaron entre ellas y decidieron que parecíamos buena gente y que no olíamos demasiado mal, así que partimos. Fuimos charlando todo el camino, en inglés por primera vez en bastante tiempo, y disfrutando el paisaje.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s1600/SDC10155.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzYksz_p43p4E5rmdO0Ksq6Wu3Xh6hAeCMPbo2FB2pLr5-akxXYo8gnTleqixTojCKR0OPD8-iwxbJBuqdWQ-7HAPwn1zqfAjnKHfo73dXWASmHkoyfH5GsaJ0V0Lce7uoAtpylLwfg9/s320/SDC10155.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Al caer la tarde nos dejaron en una parada de metro (subte) en los suburbios y nos despedimos. Nos colamos en el metro, y fuimos directamente a la casa de Elisabeth, donde nos esperaba una larga noche de sueño...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-90049468174104591372011-08-05T14:31:00.000-07:002011-08-05T14:37:52.701-07:00Genova. Sightseeing, food, good people and a crazy bar...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>So here we were, in Ana's house in Genova, who generously offered her house when we were more lost than Jesus in father's day. She was from Romania, living with a friend from Moldova, been in Genova for 10 months after travelling half the world but knew everyone in town, spoke like six languages, loved strong coffee and sleeping til late and had eyes that seemed to look inside of your soul.<br />
The plan was to spend a night and at dawn on the next day start hitching to Vienna. But we were pretty tired, and the perspective of a day of rest, explore the city, good food and even better company seemed irresistible. So we woke up at noon after a long sleep and went with Ana to explore the city.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgxVLj8EnIoWqlI2lzF8_5G-Nr17zaoIGoW1cZLwTqvjvAgav2UHdplVBjt3h5XR7U02QnoXtLZ0oZpHA-OkWFOCVSqZDWV0zQevL4KPe-z7oyIVjMRTSNcZY2KG0fZp62kDr5An2GreI/s1600/SDC10082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgxVLj8EnIoWqlI2lzF8_5G-Nr17zaoIGoW1cZLwTqvjvAgav2UHdplVBjt3h5XR7U02QnoXtLZ0oZpHA-OkWFOCVSqZDWV0zQevL4KPe-z7oyIVjMRTSNcZY2KG0fZp62kDr5An2GreI/s320/SDC10082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="long_text" id="result_box"><span style="background-color: white;" title="Anduvimos un rato por la ciudad comiendo focaccia, y subimos en teleférico hasta Castelletto con vistas hermosas de la ciudad.">We walked around town for a while eating really tasty focaccia, and went up by cable car to Castelletto with beautiful views of the city. </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="De ahí hasta la hermosísima Chiesa della Annunziata donde Ana tuvo el bonito gesto de prendernos unas velas por protección en el viaje, un paseo hasta la Piazza De Ferrari y sus fuentes, donde remojamos los pies, y la muy visitada casa de Cristóbal Colón (que">From there to the breathtaking Chiesa della Annunziata where Ana had the nice gesture of lighting candles for protection on the trip. A walk then to Piazza De Ferrari and their fountains to dip our feet, and to the frequently visited house of Christopher Columbus (which </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="mi amigo Luca dice falsa...) y finalmente la Catedral, iniciada en el 1100 y reconstruida parcialmente después de los bombardeos de la II Guerra Mundial.">my friend Luca says its fake...) and finally the Cathedral, started in 1100 and partially rebuilt after the bombings of World War II. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQgurgTeLhHJBf62ZKkuuohjDCQWo0EW63dahPV9QYZrlnRhP13oPYq3oFv5CrLfMVhSuDLDC9x_Qu7_p6-nf4MYSYWaERNS-7fqy8znkInEpc5T8SFOS9IEAR6ygMcQc-5U9GxEShIOl/s1600/SDC10085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQgurgTeLhHJBf62ZKkuuohjDCQWo0EW63dahPV9QYZrlnRhP13oPYq3oFv5CrLfMVhSuDLDC9x_Qu7_p6-nf4MYSYWaERNS-7fqy8znkInEpc5T8SFOS9IEAR6ygMcQc-5U9GxEShIOl/s320/SDC10085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1Z52MLARG-eG1TUvT8D04FPGRD4ndu3o2qNJUscaQ5C8sU_7p65Q2Jvc7J0KrC4yk5ya5uK1V3ees_yHspTc8CPnrQVsCxNCbSX8csd9RwRGcKddE2dr9P4iozzoBxw4WCa2uB0uydNY/s1600/SDC10093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1Z52MLARG-eG1TUvT8D04FPGRD4ndu3o2qNJUscaQ5C8sU_7p65Q2Jvc7J0KrC4yk5ya5uK1V3ees_yHspTc8CPnrQVsCxNCbSX8csd9RwRGcKddE2dr9P4iozzoBxw4WCa2uB0uydNY/s320/SDC10093.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXkSyP3bLBM0MAVs3LGqBA4yuQfVg3COXnW9UQbPnQVjv1PQuZ5gpRq_yQ3X0e5wr0qXzCnfpYlrs2t-Xphyphenhyphen4yulJFFUp3ROZBDxwEfFBogd43CPpSXJRpBI_PbWOPEI_RknenVTxrgWP/s1600/SDC10105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXkSyP3bLBM0MAVs3LGqBA4yuQfVg3COXnW9UQbPnQVjv1PQuZ5gpRq_yQ3X0e5wr0qXzCnfpYlrs2t-Xphyphenhyphen4yulJFFUp3ROZBDxwEfFBogd43CPpSXJRpBI_PbWOPEI_RknenVTxrgWP/s320/SDC10105.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbf-5-HOW4GtR56uG6GnPgXeZgqpADA-HuYvDspnzg-KyJtd_nGGvuR_mnot-PSNNYGsaN4UWYHiGKXoolewabmaw5TGexKBRVCn9HRTl1Q8HYPSD-EF7wXmn5jGMBNnn-X-HMaRP_TP/s1600/SDC10116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbf-5-HOW4GtR56uG6GnPgXeZgqpADA-HuYvDspnzg-KyJtd_nGGvuR_mnot-PSNNYGsaN4UWYHiGKXoolewabmaw5TGexKBRVCn9HRTl1Q8HYPSD-EF7wXmn5jGMBNnn-X-HMaRP_TP/s320/SDC10116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We went to the market to buy melons, pasta and few Moretti beers and headed to Ana's house, who cooked a pasta so awesome that even James, who is also a chef, was left more than satisfied.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBG4qHpBMObA8Ezd_3p0r-FysxPsTRRFlV9r42Rl-mfAEdvIg38QQXEusCpw1IVjqHOnaV95-WY0ZGIOmYRGmRpAwIsIlOPLwQWiJyOiH5FKSS8G-wniX813SjayrEpK2uKY6GGgKXAvKX/s1600/SDC10122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBG4qHpBMObA8Ezd_3p0r-FysxPsTRRFlV9r42Rl-mfAEdvIg38QQXEusCpw1IVjqHOnaV95-WY0ZGIOmYRGmRpAwIsIlOPLwQWiJyOiH5FKSS8G-wniX813SjayrEpK2uKY6GGgKXAvKX/s320/SDC10122.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Then a lovely nap, send some mails and call my auntie María. Ana invited us for some beers and meeting her friends in an atypical bar, the famous Nick Masaniello. James was tired and went to bed, but I wouldn't miss for anything. <br />
<span class="long_text" id="result_box"><span style="background-color: white;" title="El lugar estaba escondido entre calles oscuras y estrechas de la periferia del centro, solo una puerta y un timbre, sin luces ni nombre, y resultó ser una perla de lugar.">The place was hidden in dark and narrow streets in a God-forsaken quarter just outside the city center. Just a door and a ring, without lights or name, but proved to be the highlight of the day. </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="Adentro, gente de todos colores y orígenes, perros paseándose, otros tocando la guitarra, los más veteranos concentrados en partidas de ajedrez y casi todos fumando esos cigarrillos que hacen reír...">Inside, people of all colors and backgrounds, dogs walking around, some others playing guitar, the older ones concentrated in never ending chess games, and almost everyone smoking those cigarettes that make you laugh ... </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="Estuvimos casi hasta las 5 de la mañana, conociendo los amigos de Ana, tomando unas cervezas y charlando.">We were there until almost 5 am, meeting her cool quirky friends, having a few beers and chatting. </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="De ahí, vuelta a la casa, despertar a James, preparar la mochila y unos cafés bien fuertes y caminar una horita hasta la estación.">Then, back to the house, waking James up, prepare the backpack and a good strong coffee and walk for an hour towards the petrol station we chose to start hitching. </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="Nos despedimos de Ana, hicimos un par de fotos y salimos.">We said our farewells, took a few pictures and parted. </span><span style="background-color: white;" title="Otro pequeño capítulo de esta pequeña aventura estaba por comenzar...">Another little chapter in this little adventure was about to begin ...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxR8tqMDXLNcwgizjsye7Z9GFw90pTkvaHeuue7SFNls2Iq9gQMwuJKspBoQ6Hsqb4m8JsapSmIxqFno4RswAUD_MW7fy1bCHtsXwQkH-VZq27BGf37-hmyxl5icnIyD4hfQP2NEpL-7f/s1600/SDC10125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxR8tqMDXLNcwgizjsye7Z9GFw90pTkvaHeuue7SFNls2Iq9gQMwuJKspBoQ6Hsqb4m8JsapSmIxqFno4RswAUD_MW7fy1bCHtsXwQkH-VZq27BGf37-hmyxl5icnIyD4hfQP2NEpL-7f/s320/SDC10125.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-50593540510584246482011-08-05T13:45:00.000-07:002011-08-05T14:39:03.372-07:00Genova. Paseos, comida, buena compañía y un bar muy loco...Así que acá estabamos, en casa de Ana en Genova, que tan generosamente nos ofreció su casa cuando estabamos más perdidos que sordo en un tiroteo... Ella era de Rumanía, vivía con un amigo moldavo, estaba desde hace 10 meses en Genova después de dar media vuelta al mundo pero conocía a todo el mundo, hablaba como seis idiomas, amaba el café y dormir hasta tarde, y tenía unos ojos que parecían mirar dentro de tu alma...<br />
El plan era pasar a noche y al amanecer del día siguiente partir rumbo a Viena. Pero veníamos bastante cansados, y la perspectiva de un día de descanso, descubrir la ciudad, buena comida y aún mejor compañía se nos antojaba irresistible. Así que nos despertamos al mediodía después de un sueño reparador y nos fuimos con Ana a descubrir la ciudad.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgxVLj8EnIoWqlI2lzF8_5G-Nr17zaoIGoW1cZLwTqvjvAgav2UHdplVBjt3h5XR7U02QnoXtLZ0oZpHA-OkWFOCVSqZDWV0zQevL4KPe-z7oyIVjMRTSNcZY2KG0fZp62kDr5An2GreI/s1600/SDC10082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgxVLj8EnIoWqlI2lzF8_5G-Nr17zaoIGoW1cZLwTqvjvAgav2UHdplVBjt3h5XR7U02QnoXtLZ0oZpHA-OkWFOCVSqZDWV0zQevL4KPe-z7oyIVjMRTSNcZY2KG0fZp62kDr5An2GreI/s320/SDC10082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Anduvimos un rato por la ciudad comiendo focaccia, y subimos en teleférico hasta Castelletto con vistas hermosas de la ciudad. De ahí hasta la hermosísima Chiesa della Annunziata donde Ana tuvo el bonito gesto de prendernos unas velas por protección en el viaje, un paseo hasta la Piazza De Ferrari y sus fuentes, donde remojamos los pies, y la muy visitada casa de Cristóbal Colón (que mi amigo Luca dice falsa...) y finalmente la Catedral, iniciada en el 1100 y reconstruida parcialmente después de los bombardeos de la II Guerra Mundial.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQgurgTeLhHJBf62ZKkuuohjDCQWo0EW63dahPV9QYZrlnRhP13oPYq3oFv5CrLfMVhSuDLDC9x_Qu7_p6-nf4MYSYWaERNS-7fqy8znkInEpc5T8SFOS9IEAR6ygMcQc-5U9GxEShIOl/s1600/SDC10085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQgurgTeLhHJBf62ZKkuuohjDCQWo0EW63dahPV9QYZrlnRhP13oPYq3oFv5CrLfMVhSuDLDC9x_Qu7_p6-nf4MYSYWaERNS-7fqy8znkInEpc5T8SFOS9IEAR6ygMcQc-5U9GxEShIOl/s320/SDC10085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1Z52MLARG-eG1TUvT8D04FPGRD4ndu3o2qNJUscaQ5C8sU_7p65Q2Jvc7J0KrC4yk5ya5uK1V3ees_yHspTc8CPnrQVsCxNCbSX8csd9RwRGcKddE2dr9P4iozzoBxw4WCa2uB0uydNY/s1600/SDC10093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1Z52MLARG-eG1TUvT8D04FPGRD4ndu3o2qNJUscaQ5C8sU_7p65Q2Jvc7J0KrC4yk5ya5uK1V3ees_yHspTc8CPnrQVsCxNCbSX8csd9RwRGcKddE2dr9P4iozzoBxw4WCa2uB0uydNY/s320/SDC10093.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXkSyP3bLBM0MAVs3LGqBA4yuQfVg3COXnW9UQbPnQVjv1PQuZ5gpRq_yQ3X0e5wr0qXzCnfpYlrs2t-Xphyphenhyphen4yulJFFUp3ROZBDxwEfFBogd43CPpSXJRpBI_PbWOPEI_RknenVTxrgWP/s1600/SDC10105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXkSyP3bLBM0MAVs3LGqBA4yuQfVg3COXnW9UQbPnQVjv1PQuZ5gpRq_yQ3X0e5wr0qXzCnfpYlrs2t-Xphyphenhyphen4yulJFFUp3ROZBDxwEfFBogd43CPpSXJRpBI_PbWOPEI_RknenVTxrgWP/s320/SDC10105.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbf-5-HOW4GtR56uG6GnPgXeZgqpADA-HuYvDspnzg-KyJtd_nGGvuR_mnot-PSNNYGsaN4UWYHiGKXoolewabmaw5TGexKBRVCn9HRTl1Q8HYPSD-EF7wXmn5jGMBNnn-X-HMaRP_TP/s1600/SDC10116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbf-5-HOW4GtR56uG6GnPgXeZgqpADA-HuYvDspnzg-KyJtd_nGGvuR_mnot-PSNNYGsaN4UWYHiGKXoolewabmaw5TGexKBRVCn9HRTl1Q8HYPSD-EF7wXmn5jGMBNnn-X-HMaRP_TP/s320/SDC10116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Pasamos por un super, compramos melones, pasta y unas cervezas Moretti y fuimos para la casa. Ana nos cocinó unas pastas espectaculares que hasta a James que es también chef dejó más que satisfecho.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBG4qHpBMObA8Ezd_3p0r-FysxPsTRRFlV9r42Rl-mfAEdvIg38QQXEusCpw1IVjqHOnaV95-WY0ZGIOmYRGmRpAwIsIlOPLwQWiJyOiH5FKSS8G-wniX813SjayrEpK2uKY6GGgKXAvKX/s1600/SDC10122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBG4qHpBMObA8Ezd_3p0r-FysxPsTRRFlV9r42Rl-mfAEdvIg38QQXEusCpw1IVjqHOnaV95-WY0ZGIOmYRGmRpAwIsIlOPLwQWiJyOiH5FKSS8G-wniX813SjayrEpK2uKY6GGgKXAvKX/s320/SDC10122.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
De ahí, una hermosa siesta, mandar unos mails y hablar con mi tía María. Ana nos invitó a tomar unas cervezas y conocer sus amigos en un bar de puta madre, el Nick Masaniello. James se quedó durmiendo, pero yo no me lo perdía por nada del mundo. El lugar estaba escondido entre calles oscuras y estrechas de la periferia del centro, solo una puerta y un timbre, sin luces ni nombre, y resultó ser una perla de lugar. Adentro, gente de todos colores y orígenes, perros paseándose, otros tocando la guitarra, los más veteranos concentrados en partidas de ajedrez y casi todos fumando esos cigarrillos que hacen reír... Estuvimos casi hasta las 5 de la mañana, conociendo los amigos de Ana, tomando unas cervezas y charlando. De ahí, vuelta a la casa, despertar a James, preparar la mochila y unos cafés bien fuertes y caminar una horita hasta la estación. Nos despedimos de Ana, hicimos un par de fotos y salimos. Otro pequeño capítulo de esta pequeña aventura estaba por comenzar...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxR8tqMDXLNcwgizjsye7Z9GFw90pTkvaHeuue7SFNls2Iq9gQMwuJKspBoQ6Hsqb4m8JsapSmIxqFno4RswAUD_MW7fy1bCHtsXwQkH-VZq27BGf37-hmyxl5icnIyD4hfQP2NEpL-7f/s1600/SDC10125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxR8tqMDXLNcwgizjsye7Z9GFw90pTkvaHeuue7SFNls2Iq9gQMwuJKspBoQ6Hsqb4m8JsapSmIxqFno4RswAUD_MW7fy1bCHtsXwQkH-VZq27BGf37-hmyxl5icnIyD4hfQP2NEpL-7f/s320/SDC10125.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-16454069172272469562011-08-02T09:11:00.000-07:002011-08-02T09:11:01.093-07:00De Barcelona a GenovaSalí de la casa a las 6. Tomé un metro hasta Passeig de Gracia y de ahí un tren hasta Montcada. Cerca de la estación había una estación de servivio sobre la autopista que era perfecta para conseguir alguien hasta Francia. Al rato de preguntar, un hombre que iba hasta Suiza se ofreció a llevarme hasta Nimes, casi mitad de camino. Fuimos charlando sobre todo un poco y comimos bocadillo de tortilla que preparó su mujer y una coca-cola. Pero yo estaba bastante cansado y no prestando la suficiente atención, así que me pasé de mi parada, por lo que tuve que hacer otros casi 100 kms. hasta Orange. Ahí, conocí un veterano camionero llamado Jean Claude que se desvió de su recorrido para dejarme en la dirección correcta, en un punto muy bueno después de un peaje y habían varios grupos de gente haciendo autostop.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwed4WOP_gbo4uhMO75yHgcTJOW3F6kH4Ca6rS7FVlmcNyLJpuP4NAsY6iKCIauE958iCv_wL6IlYZtYI0GIPSdD8pTeS73fb5B0ilRd8OzALZTyDBPl-RIAHD0j61z2i4kgT7kV0r2NNW/s1600/SDC10062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwed4WOP_gbo4uhMO75yHgcTJOW3F6kH4Ca6rS7FVlmcNyLJpuP4NAsY6iKCIauE958iCv_wL6IlYZtYI0GIPSdD8pTeS73fb5B0ilRd8OzALZTyDBPl-RIAHD0j61z2i4kgT7kV0r2NNW/s320/SDC10062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccGvvgq5yW2UA8kxORXdJRpf8cVigcyJJyG3OjlwcCXcyFL_dGuJqkx9mUqYqsyyN_p0D2fRse8KbAZ8QUUXS47EJFd_GmBFzJG8h41ETGrUks1e3NinlyrY9TfogwfspE2XUw0C1vaLe/s1600/SDC10078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>El lugar era fantástico, y después de sólo 2 minutos pararon Danielle y Manuel, que venían de un festival de reggae e iban hasta Niza, unos 300 kms. ¡Con ellos descubrí, para mi sorpresa, que hablo francés! Fuimos unas tres horas hablando de Francia, sus lugares y gentes, y yo les entendía perfectamente y ellos a mí. Paramos un rato al costado del camino, y me convidaron con los tomates y el melón más sabrosos que probé en toda mi vida.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtqxsPwaXGvi5Ef1CqowmOMlY-SlqoARGLW5VIifeo68TzuptvPkFtHaXbefhzlUDvvmzMqgkrq7yhQbIpxmrR3vcW9i1Uafn2OI85keyEESE0b8nNcUi7shvlixmB2M9pZ6zIvhsO2M-/s1600/SDC10063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtqxsPwaXGvi5Ef1CqowmOMlY-SlqoARGLW5VIifeo68TzuptvPkFtHaXbefhzlUDvvmzMqgkrq7yhQbIpxmrR3vcW9i1Uafn2OI85keyEESE0b8nNcUi7shvlixmB2M9pZ6zIvhsO2M-/s320/SDC10063.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Nos despedimos en un peaje antes de Niza en la autopista, que resultó ser un punto bastante malo. Después de algo de una hora, una van paró. Adentro venían Gotama, Laetitia, loco Jean-Marie, los pequeños Yulan and Teodoro y su hermosa perra Valkiri. Estaban haciendo un viaje de estudios sobre combustibles alternativos, energias renovables y reutilizacion de desperdicios desde Suiza, y fue mi camiseta con la bandera del país alpino lo que les decidió a parar. Fuimos hasta Imperia, ya en Italia, a ritmo relajado, riendo y tomando cervezas. Ahí nos encontramos con Antonio, Elio, Tiziana y Nicolas que los seguían en otra van.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLg53t-8LJEf7o2rqI_JP5r7d38Mw6rIKA4bJWIJHFGhiJbhZiA3GsGa4PyFKkJdBh3VkPmbhEz52nKAGrAzG0oK_zix8PbmDUsum4A8SE5Y8qqgUJbkPPcoIITeXxLBFkswUecSXEXYj/s1600/SDC10077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLg53t-8LJEf7o2rqI_JP5r7d38Mw6rIKA4bJWIJHFGhiJbhZiA3GsGa4PyFKkJdBh3VkPmbhEz52nKAGrAzG0oK_zix8PbmDUsum4A8SE5Y8qqgUJbkPPcoIITeXxLBFkswUecSXEXYj/s320/SDC10077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nos despedimos, y empecé a preguntar. Al cabo de un rato conocí a Agatha y su hijo Pacome, que a pesar de venir en un coche super cargado hicieron espacio para llevarme hasta cerca de Genova. Pacome me fué contando sus viajes en el transiberiano a través de China, Mongolia y Rusia. A pesar de ser un chico muy joven, estaba lleno de planes e ideas interesantes. Agatha me habló de su trabajo como agente de artistas contemporáneos, y hablamos de mal arte y de este estrafalario mundillo.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccGvvgq5yW2UA8kxORXdJRpf8cVigcyJJyG3OjlwcCXcyFL_dGuJqkx9mUqYqsyyN_p0D2fRse8KbAZ8QUUXS47EJFd_GmBFzJG8h41ETGrUks1e3NinlyrY9TfogwfspE2XUw0C1vaLe/s1600/SDC10078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccGvvgq5yW2UA8kxORXdJRpf8cVigcyJJyG3OjlwcCXcyFL_dGuJqkx9mUqYqsyyN_p0D2fRse8KbAZ8QUUXS47EJFd_GmBFzJG8h41ETGrUks1e3NinlyrY9TfogwfspE2XUw0C1vaLe/s320/SDC10078.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
De ahí, un último paseo con unos chicos de Algeria, Marruecos y Rumanía que me llevaron hasta la parada del bus que me dejaba en la ciudad, y despues de una pequeña odisea me encontré con James en el centro como a las 10 de la noche. Hablamos de las últimas aventuras, y empezamos a hacer planes para el viaje. No teníamos donde dormir, y mientras pensabamos nos dimos el lujo de comernos un kebab barato. Ahí sucedío uno de los milagros que pasan cuando viajás: una chica me preguntó de donde era, yo le dije "argentino" y ella me comentó que conocía un argentino que daba la vuelta al mundo en autostop. Yo le dije que estaba dando la vuelta a Europa, y ella me preguntó si necesitabamos lugar para dormir. ¡Boom! Gracias Dios, tus caminos son sorprendentes...Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-74959665902933135752011-08-02T05:21:00.000-07:002011-08-02T09:20:31.004-07:00De Barcelona a Genova<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">I left the house at 6. </span><span title="">I took a metro to Passeig de Gracia and from there a train to Montcada. </span><span title="">Near the station was a station on the highway which was perfect for getting a lift to France. </span><span title="">After a while of asking, a man who went to Switzerland offered to take me to Nimes, almost halfway. </span><span title="">We were chatting about everything and ate a big sandwich of tortilla prepared his wife and a Coke. </span><span title="">But I was pretty tired and not paying enough attention, so I missed my stop, so I had to do some almost 100 kms. </span><span title="">to Orange. </span><span title="">There, I met a veteran truck driver named Jean Claude, who deviated from his route to take me in the right direction, a very good spot after a toll and there were several groups of people hitchhiking.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwed4WOP_gbo4uhMO75yHgcTJOW3F6kH4Ca6rS7FVlmcNyLJpuP4NAsY6iKCIauE958iCv_wL6IlYZtYI0GIPSdD8pTeS73fb5B0ilRd8OzALZTyDBPl-RIAHD0j61z2i4kgT7kV0r2NNW/s1600/SDC10062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwed4WOP_gbo4uhMO75yHgcTJOW3F6kH4Ca6rS7FVlmcNyLJpuP4NAsY6iKCIauE958iCv_wL6IlYZtYI0GIPSdD8pTeS73fb5B0ilRd8OzALZTyDBPl-RIAHD0j61z2i4kgT7kV0r2NNW/s320/SDC10062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">The place was fantastic, and after only 2 minutes stopped Danielle and Manuel, who came from a reggae festival and went to Nice, about 300 kms. </span><span title="">With them I discovered to my surprise, that I speak French! </span><span title="">We were about three hours talking about France, its places and people, and I understood them perfectly and they understood me. </span><span title="">We stopped awhile at the roadside, and they invited me to the tastiest tomatoes and melons than I had in my life.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtqxsPwaXGvi5Ef1CqowmOMlY-SlqoARGLW5VIifeo68TzuptvPkFtHaXbefhzlUDvvmzMqgkrq7yhQbIpxmrR3vcW9i1Uafn2OI85keyEESE0b8nNcUi7shvlixmB2M9pZ6zIvhsO2M-/s1600/SDC10063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtqxsPwaXGvi5Ef1CqowmOMlY-SlqoARGLW5VIifeo68TzuptvPkFtHaXbefhzlUDvvmzMqgkrq7yhQbIpxmrR3vcW9i1Uafn2OI85keyEESE0b8nNcUi7shvlixmB2M9pZ6zIvhsO2M-/s320/SDC10063.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">We said goodbye on a toll before Nice on the highway, which was a quite bad spot. </span><span title="">After just an hour, a van stopped, with </span><span title="">Gotama, Laetitia, crazy Jean-Marie, small Yulan and Theodore and his beautiful dog Valkyrie. </span><span title="">They were doing a study tour on alternative fuels, renewable energy and reuse of waste and going from Switzerland, so it was my shirt with the flag of the Alpine country what they decided to stop. </span><span title="">We went to Empire, in Italy, relaxed pace, laughing and drinking beer. </span><span title="">Here we find Antonio, Elio, Tiziana and Nicolas who followed in another van.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLg53t-8LJEf7o2rqI_JP5r7d38Mw6rIKA4bJWIJHFGhiJbhZiA3GsGa4PyFKkJdBh3VkPmbhEz52nKAGrAzG0oK_zix8PbmDUsum4A8SE5Y8qqgUJbkPPcoIITeXxLBFkswUecSXEXYj/s1600/SDC10077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLg53t-8LJEf7o2rqI_JP5r7d38Mw6rIKA4bJWIJHFGhiJbhZiA3GsGa4PyFKkJdBh3VkPmbhEz52nKAGrAzG0oK_zix8PbmDUsum4A8SE5Y8qqgUJbkPPcoIITeXxLBFkswUecSXEXYj/s320/SDC10077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">We said goodbye and I started to ask people. </span><span title="">After a while I met Agatha and her son Pacome, who despite being travelling in an overloaded car made room for taking me near Genoa. </span><span title="">Pacome told me about his travels in the Trans-Siberian through China, Mongolia and Russia. </span><span title="">Despite being a very young boy, he was full of interesting ideas and plans. </span><span title="">Agatha told me about his work as an agent of contemporary artists, and we talked about how screwed the art scene was.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccGvvgq5yW2UA8kxORXdJRpf8cVigcyJJyG3OjlwcCXcyFL_dGuJqkx9mUqYqsyyN_p0D2fRse8KbAZ8QUUXS47EJFd_GmBFzJG8h41ETGrUks1e3NinlyrY9TfogwfspE2XUw0C1vaLe/s1600/SDC10078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccGvvgq5yW2UA8kxORXdJRpf8cVigcyJJyG3OjlwcCXcyFL_dGuJqkx9mUqYqsyyN_p0D2fRse8KbAZ8QUUXS47EJFd_GmBFzJG8h41ETGrUks1e3NinlyrY9TfogwfspE2XUw0C1vaLe/s320/SDC10078.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">We said our goodbyes and parted ways, and then one last ride with some guys from Algeria, Morocco and Romania, which led me to the bus stop that left me in town, and after a bit of an ordeal I met James at the center at 10 pm </span><span title="">. </span><span title="">We talked about the latest adventures and began to make plans for the trip. </span><span title="">We had no place to sleep, and as we thought we trated ourselves to the luxury of a cheap kebab. </span><span title="">Then happened one of the miracles that happen when you travel: a girl asked me where was I from, I said "Argentine" and she said she knew an Argentine who hitchhiked around the world. </span><span title="">I told him I was hitching Europe, and she asked out of the blue if we needed somewhere to sleep. </span><span title="">Boom! </span><span title="">Thanks God, your ways are amazing ...</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-86625048596427253712011-07-31T21:12:00.000-07:002011-07-31T21:12:22.196-07:00The adventure begins<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS4wwtVZDK9FSpxJf_1DLUw1olE7YIA_Q9k2KMYW1pE44wzPYttlWEWLq0_K9isE4IW1NyqQ24wSHXX4AsA8O0YNv5akCZcP0wFxJs5WwfEKxe5g7OWrhvoVj1ccFB8ALevSi0QbppBHq/s1600/SDC10057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span class="hps">Well,</span> <span class="hps">time to depart</span><span class="hps"></span><span class="">!</span> <span class="hps">900 kms</span><span class="">.</span> <span class="hps">hitching rides</span> <span class="hps">from Barcelona to</span> <span class="hps">Genoa,</span> <span class="hps">meeting my friend</span> <span class="hps">James</span><span class="">, and the Vienna.</span> <span class="hps">I hope to get</span> <span class="hps">in the evening </span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">with a little</span> <span class="hps">luck.</span> <span class="hps">We will see,</span> <span class="hps">because they are</span> <span class="hps">many miles</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">hitchhiking in</span> <span class="hps">Spain is not very</span> <span class="hps">easy,</span> <span class="hps">although in</span> <span class="hps">France should be</span> <span class="hps">a little better.</span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS4wwtVZDK9FSpxJf_1DLUw1olE7YIA_Q9k2KMYW1pE44wzPYttlWEWLq0_K9isE4IW1NyqQ24wSHXX4AsA8O0YNv5akCZcP0wFxJs5WwfEKxe5g7OWrhvoVj1ccFB8ALevSi0QbppBHq/s1600/SDC10057.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS4wwtVZDK9FSpxJf_1DLUw1olE7YIA_Q9k2KMYW1pE44wzPYttlWEWLq0_K9isE4IW1NyqQ24wSHXX4AsA8O0YNv5akCZcP0wFxJs5WwfEKxe5g7OWrhvoVj1ccFB8ALevSi0QbppBHq/s320/SDC10057.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><br />
<span class="hps">These</span> <span class="hps">last few days in</span> <span class="hps">Barcelona</span> <span class="hps">were</span> <span class="hps">pure chilling</span><span class="">, try to arrange</span> <span class="hps">the route</span> <span class="hps">and stops,</span> <span class="hps">contact people</span> <span class="hps">in</span> <span class="hps">CouchSurfing</span> <span class="hps">for Vienna,</span> <span class="hps">and</span> <span class="hps">lay on</span> <span class="hps">the bed</span> <span class="hps">with a</span> <span class="hps">terrible</span> <span class="hps">back pain</span><span class="">.</span> <span class="hps">Saturday was</span> <span class="hps">so bad I</span> <span class="hps">was looking desperately for</span> <span class="hps">a</span> <span class="hps">physio,</span> <span class="hps">but it seems that</span> <span class="hps">despite the</span> <span class="hps">crisis</span> <span class="hps">no one works</span> <span class="hps">weekends</span> <span class="hps">in</span> <span class="hps">Barcelona.</span> <span class="hps">Fortunately,</span> <span class="hps">Ale</span> <span class="hps">gave me a big hand</span><span class="hps">,</span><span class="hps"></span> <span class="hps">bought</span> <span class="hps atn">the tent </span><span class=""></span><span class="hps"></span><span class="hps"></span><span class=""></span><span class="hps">I needed and</span> <span class="hps">a lot of</span> <span class="hps">anti-inflammatory,</span> <span class="hps">so after</span> <span class="hps">two days</span> <span class="hps">of rest</span> <span class="hps">I am</span> <span class="hps">now ready</span> <span class="hps">to hit the road</span> <span class="hps">again.</span> <span class="hps">Today was</span> <span class="hps">the last</span> <span class="hps">day to do</span> <span class="hps">things,</span> <span class="hps">download some</span> <span class="hps">movies</span> <span class="hps">on</span> <span class="hps">my new</span> <span class="hps">netbook</span> <span class="hps">(11</span> <span class="hps">hour battery life,</span> <span class="hps">great)</span> <span class="hps">to see</span> <span class="hps">on the nights of</span> <span class="hps">camping,</span> <span class="hps">and assemble</span> <span class="hps">the pack</span><span class="">, as always</span> <span class="hps">at the last minute</span> <span class="hps">...</span><br />
<br />
<span class="hps">So folks,</span> <span class="hps">wish me luck</span> <span class="hps">and stay</span> <span class="hps">informed!</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-6814133964365618722011-07-31T20:54:00.000-07:002011-07-31T21:02:16.185-07:00Empieza la aventuraBueno, toca partir! 900 kms. a dedo desde Barcelona hasta Genova, encontrarme con mi amigo James, y salir. Espero llegar a la nochecita con un poco de suerte. Veremos, porque son bastantes kilómetros y el autostop en España no es muy fácil, aunque ya en Francia debería ser un poco mejor.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS4wwtVZDK9FSpxJf_1DLUw1olE7YIA_Q9k2KMYW1pE44wzPYttlWEWLq0_K9isE4IW1NyqQ24wSHXX4AsA8O0YNv5akCZcP0wFxJs5WwfEKxe5g7OWrhvoVj1ccFB8ALevSi0QbppBHq/s1600/SDC10057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS4wwtVZDK9FSpxJf_1DLUw1olE7YIA_Q9k2KMYW1pE44wzPYttlWEWLq0_K9isE4IW1NyqQ24wSHXX4AsA8O0YNv5akCZcP0wFxJs5WwfEKxe5g7OWrhvoVj1ccFB8ALevSi0QbppBHq/s320/SDC10057.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Estos últimos días en Barcelona fueron puro relax, tratar de organizar la ruta y las paradas, contactar gente en CouchSurfing para Viena, y quedarme tirado en la cama con unos dolores de espalda terribles. El sábado estaba tan mal que buscaba desesperadamente un fisio, aunque parece que a pesar de la crisis nadie trabaja los fines de semana en Barcelona. Por suerte, Ale se portó de puta madre, me compró la carpa (tienda de campaña, para los amigos españoles) que necesitaba y un montón de antiinflamatorios, así que después de dos días de reposo estoy ya en condiciones de partir de nuevo. Hoy fue día de hacer las últimas cosas, descargar unas pelis en mi flamante netbook (11 horas de batería, una maravilla) para ver en las noches de camping y armar la mochila, como siempre a último momento...<br />
<br />
Así que bueno, deséenme suerte y manténgase informados!Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-41579800948491453802011-07-29T21:10:00.000-07:002011-07-29T21:46:56.270-07:00Barcelona, and new plans...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FwG3-wCYsYJrR124357jbhBFfLl37dYEbo1TipXKOdUzU9BT84AXH8CpjRR9OGjtKetkuSgwrCUq2JUN1jkKGsFfwS7qBcB2HURPyPrUnuxem2U0ngb3hTcLxykZlvsCsDgF2jGTNPtH/s1600/SDC10049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Ah, Barcelona again! Missed its narrow streets, its multiculturalism, people from all parts, its 'ramblas', its warm Mediterranean summer ... It was also terrific to meet again with Ale after a while, a guy with a very quiet and pleasant character. We lived together a long time in Tenerife and Barcelona, so I always feel very comfortable with it next. The house is like any other house of single men (ie, a small disaster), what makes me feel more comfortable yet, and there's another really cool dude from Iceland named Jon living with him. So many movies to watch, YouTube videos, some guitar jamming and lots of chilling...</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FwG3-wCYsYJrR124357jbhBFfLl37dYEbo1TipXKOdUzU9BT84AXH8CpjRR9OGjtKetkuSgwrCUq2JUN1jkKGsFfwS7qBcB2HURPyPrUnuxem2U0ngb3hTcLxykZlvsCsDgF2jGTNPtH/s1600/SDC10049.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FwG3-wCYsYJrR124357jbhBFfLl37dYEbo1TipXKOdUzU9BT84AXH8CpjRR9OGjtKetkuSgwrCUq2JUN1jkKGsFfwS7qBcB2HURPyPrUnuxem2U0ngb3hTcLxykZlvsCsDgF2jGTNPtH/s320/SDC10049.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYX__Yub77OhH5-0WsPnVKyFB1uyyrxGZDOdvXlHhyphenhyphenDlTto8aNF_g8KILkJh5t4zMwICj28E5tLzGSts95B6S2Zt-1cY7mwUy3U3QseEhQJOjTzoegnU_SG4yBbNrLEBnj5NBSja-N7ix/s1600/SDC10032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYX__Yub77OhH5-0WsPnVKyFB1uyyrxGZDOdvXlHhyphenhyphenDlTto8aNF_g8KILkJh5t4zMwICj28E5tLzGSts95B6S2Zt-1cY7mwUy3U3QseEhQJOjTzoegnU_SG4yBbNrLEBnj5NBSja-N7ix/s320/SDC10032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">On Monday I organized a small group meeting in the Barcelona Couch Surfing (www.couchsurfing.org), an awesome page I'll talk about later, and we gathered in the Parc de la Ciutadella, which is to Barcelona what Central Park is to NY. The idea was to have a picnic (liters of sangria included) and arrange an exchange. Everyone brought something that did not use, and we exchanged books, kitchen utensils, clothing, camping and other things. I took a sleeping bag and a inflatable mattress that will be great for the trip.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oty86m9xODVpYUEWA7z-VirJrcHXjsDBqDyzWfG3yhDM5JxndGcfZiFUxRdaiGejVCV7_Xp_2yrSx-nAtA_lC28LLMVZqwx__ne-z5TGZfpq4vIl8mKFspJe7oRAWHiWFVsd5-YxbQR_/s1600/SDC10027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oty86m9xODVpYUEWA7z-VirJrcHXjsDBqDyzWfG3yhDM5JxndGcfZiFUxRdaiGejVCV7_Xp_2yrSx-nAtA_lC28LLMVZqwx__ne-z5TGZfpq4vIl8mKFspJe7oRAWHiWFVsd5-YxbQR_/s320/SDC10027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Unfortunately, the possibility of going to Lithuania in the van seems to be complicated, so I'm evaluating other possible routes to hitchhike up there with my friend James, who also lived and travelled with me in Malaysia and Australia. The option that seems to go right now is to meet in Alessandria (Italy), and then make a two-week trip through Venice, Vienna, Bratislava and Krakow to Kaunas. There stay a while before heading out again to maybe Scandinavia, with its long summer days and beautiful women, after going down to Berlin and the Czech Republic, where we would gather with a friend of James to build a clay oven (do not ask, I have no idea ...). But also you know what they say: "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." So let's throw the dices and see what we get in this lottery of life! ...</span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-83865903688590929752011-07-29T20:46:00.000-07:002011-07-29T20:46:13.479-07:00Barcelona, y más planes...Ah, otra vez Barcelona! Extrañaba sus calles estrechas, su multiculturalidad, su gente procedente de todas partes, su rambla, su templado verano mediterráneo... Fue buenísimo también volver a encontrarme con Ale después de un tiempo, es un tipo con un carácter muy tranquilo y agradable. Vivimos bastante tiempo juntos en Tenerife y Barcelona, por lo que siempre me siento muy cómodo con él al lado. La casa es como cualquier otra casa de hombres solteros (es decir, un pequeño desastre) lo que hace que me sienta más cómodo todavía, y hay otro chico de Islandia muy buena onda llamado Jon viviendo con él. Así que mucho mirar películas, ver videos en youtube, tocar algo de guitarra y relax...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FwG3-wCYsYJrR124357jbhBFfLl37dYEbo1TipXKOdUzU9BT84AXH8CpjRR9OGjtKetkuSgwrCUq2JUN1jkKGsFfwS7qBcB2HURPyPrUnuxem2U0ngb3hTcLxykZlvsCsDgF2jGTNPtH/s1600/SDC10049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FwG3-wCYsYJrR124357jbhBFfLl37dYEbo1TipXKOdUzU9BT84AXH8CpjRR9OGjtKetkuSgwrCUq2JUN1jkKGsFfwS7qBcB2HURPyPrUnuxem2U0ngb3hTcLxykZlvsCsDgF2jGTNPtH/s320/SDC10049.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYX__Yub77OhH5-0WsPnVKyFB1uyyrxGZDOdvXlHhyphenhyphenDlTto8aNF_g8KILkJh5t4zMwICj28E5tLzGSts95B6S2Zt-1cY7mwUy3U3QseEhQJOjTzoegnU_SG4yBbNrLEBnj5NBSja-N7ix/s1600/SDC10032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYX__Yub77OhH5-0WsPnVKyFB1uyyrxGZDOdvXlHhyphenhyphenDlTto8aNF_g8KILkJh5t4zMwICj28E5tLzGSts95B6S2Zt-1cY7mwUy3U3QseEhQJOjTzoegnU_SG4yBbNrLEBnj5NBSja-N7ix/s320/SDC10032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div>El lunes organicé un pequeño meeting en el grupo de Barcelona de Couch Surfing (www.couchsurfing.org), página de la que ya hablaré, donde nos juntamos en el Parc de la Ciutadella. La idea era hacer un picnic (litros de sangría incluidos) y organizar un intercambio. Todos trajeron algo que no usaban, e intercambiamos libros, utensillos de cocina, ropa, cosas de camping y demás. Me llevé una bolsa de dormir y una colchoneta inflable que van a ir de puta madre para el viaje.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oty86m9xODVpYUEWA7z-VirJrcHXjsDBqDyzWfG3yhDM5JxndGcfZiFUxRdaiGejVCV7_Xp_2yrSx-nAtA_lC28LLMVZqwx__ne-z5TGZfpq4vIl8mKFspJe7oRAWHiWFVsd5-YxbQR_/s1600/SDC10027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oty86m9xODVpYUEWA7z-VirJrcHXjsDBqDyzWfG3yhDM5JxndGcfZiFUxRdaiGejVCV7_Xp_2yrSx-nAtA_lC28LLMVZqwx__ne-z5TGZfpq4vIl8mKFspJe7oRAWHiWFVsd5-YxbQR_/s320/SDC10027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div> Lamentablemente, la posibilidad de ir a Lituania en la van parece que se está complicando, así que estoy evaluando otras rutas posibles para hacer a dedo hasta allá con mi amigo James, con quien también coincidimos en Malasia y Australia. La opción que parece ir de momento es encotrarnos en Alessandria (Italia), y de ahí hacer un viaje de dos semanas pasando por Venecia, Viena, Bratislava y Cracovia hasta Kaunas. Ahí, pasar un tiempo hasta partir de nuevo rumbo quizás Escandinavia, con sus largos días estivales y hermosas mujeres, bajando por Berlín hasta República Checa, donde nos juntaríamos un tiempo con un amigo de James para construir un horno de barro (no pregunten, no tengo ni idea...). Pero ya saben lo que se dice: "Si quieres hacer reir a Dios, cuéntale tus planes." Así que a tirar los dados, y ver que nos toca en esta lotería llamada vida!...</div>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-54100636252415074102011-07-27T14:51:00.000-07:002011-09-10T02:13:47.531-07:00There we go...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span title="">Well, the first stage of the journey begins! </span><span title="">About 30 hours by boat to Huelva, and then about 1200 kms. </span><span title="">hitchhiking to Barcelona.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">I spent almost all night awake organizing my (few) things, and left early in the morning with my father and my sister to the station in Los Cristianos, where the bus that took me to the Port of Santa Cruz departed. </span><span title="">Little family farewell, picture included, and off we went. </span><span title="">Arriving in Santa Cruz did a strategic stop at a supermarket to buy the basics for moreless three days (water, bread, tuna, salami and cheese and some fruit).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOYVL3rAAa9NidWIePtd0m49Q5DHbOqK9yXeh1MgL39SxcUvP2fsj1e1n8kXSnW5HY-H1GS_kG5C6kUZ50rfzZ-as0GAuSib5Qw2tC4YTjcCJ1oRZXM1O7ECw7-c0RRMYrjIih_PsZlM0/s1600/SDC10010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOYVL3rAAa9NidWIePtd0m49Q5DHbOqK9yXeh1MgL39SxcUvP2fsj1e1n8kXSnW5HY-H1GS_kG5C6kUZ50rfzZ-as0GAuSib5Qw2tC4YTjcCJ1oRZXM1O7ECw7-c0RRMYrjIih_PsZlM0/s320/SDC10010.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
</span><span title="">The boat trip was great, pretty decent facilities (pool included) and a lot of super nice people. </span><span title="">The 30 hours (plus 3 hours late) past really fast between sleeping, eating, watching the Tour de France plus some bad movies and socializing. </span><span title="">I met a bunch of hippies, with their dreadlocks, colored clothes, music and good vibes. </span><span title="">Some went to the Rainbow Gathering in Alicante, Europe's biggest hippie meeting. C</span><span title="">ouple of hours before arrival, I began to ask (to those who look more easy going) if someone was going to Barcelona, and after a little one guy who was heading to Valencia agreed to give me a lift, which meant that early on </span><span title="">next day I was going to be only 400 kms. away </span><span title="">of Barcelona. </span><span title="">A very attractive girl had offered to take me to Madrid after spending the night in Huelva. </span><span title="">What could be better? </span><span title="">Unfortunately it was quite in a hurry to arrive on time and I had to decline the offer ...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLecj93mmSvtzCSLZ9Q9QbL8iTgunN_rJNwEXWJCHoDMmBzghRs0K06R7YEoU4VvcdDGQm9OoYUd2sNA4Oewnyw8-RdfymWSnkmWz-Lt1PxIPk_cSMNOt8G-hCPI8sS_V0OCPNWwMlD6v/s1600/SDC10015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLecj93mmSvtzCSLZ9Q9QbL8iTgunN_rJNwEXWJCHoDMmBzghRs0K06R7YEoU4VvcdDGQm9OoYUd2sNA4Oewnyw8-RdfymWSnkmWz-Lt1PxIPk_cSMNOt8G-hCPI8sS_V0OCPNWwMlD6v/s320/SDC10015.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
</span><span title="">We said goodbye to everyone and set to do the 750 kms. a</span><span title="">waiting for us. </span><span title="">The trip was fantastic, about eight hours of driving almost non-stop, talking about a lot of topics that interested me enough. </span><span title="">Laure (that was his name) studied biology, was pretty knowledgeable and a nice person to talk. We arrived</span><span title=""> to the outskirts of Valencia at about seven in the morning, said goodbye, and now it was time to find someone to give me a lift for the last part, pretty easy down the A7 highway. </span><span title="">I indulged myself to the luxury of a strong coffee to stay awake after the sleepless night and after a while I met Pepe, a truck driver who offered to take me about 100 kms. down. </span><span title="">At first it seemed a somewhat rough and aggressive character, but after an hour of conversation the picture changed completely. </span><span title="">He talked, talked and talked about his life stories, his family and dreams for the future. I l</span><span title="">oved for once not having to be the one carrying the conversation, what normally happens when hitchhiking, and getting to have a small glimpse into the world of another person, one of the causes why I love to travel this way. </span><span title="">Where we parted, I had to walk a couple of miles of beautiful countryside to the nearest service station where I stayed for a while, but as the traffic was not very good I decided to try another point just after a toll that turned out to be </span><span title="">much better.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB7BFODIffq3dkNWPler0005n-yohyphenhyphenP_cqpO0T1l8TFnxfK8BP4Vnj6oOf8ipybd8zg1fhyphenhyphenVAsPMhawHsgNrAlNawmcmeHNWsCUYjCtVwPKRyNQvSxUaPAweMKN01DY6v9VoUrqmJi1iL/s1600/SDC10020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB7BFODIffq3dkNWPler0005n-yohyphenhyphenP_cqpO0T1l8TFnxfK8BP4Vnj6oOf8ipybd8zg1fhyphenhyphenVAsPMhawHsgNrAlNawmcmeHNWsCUYjCtVwPKRyNQvSxUaPAweMKN01DY6v9VoUrqmJi1iL/s320/SDC10020.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
</span><span title="">Soon after stopped Damián, who was going to Barcelona on vacation. </span><span title="">He was a musician, and I think that seeing my guitar decided him to stop. </span><span title="">The talk was quite interesting and he was quite curious about how I travel and how I managed in different situations, and the trip was a pleasure cruising the highway about 150 km/h in the warm Mediterranean sun. </span><span title="">I left him in a subway station at noon already in Barcelona, where after a few calls I met my old friend, Ale ...</span></span></span></div>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-59909656024970598482011-07-27T12:54:00.000-07:002011-09-10T02:17:01.655-07:00Acá vamos...Bueno, la primera etapa del viaje comienza! Unas 30 horas de barco hasta Huelva, y de ahí unos 1200 kms. a dedo hasta Barcelona.<br />
Pasé casi toda la noche despierto organizando mis (pocas) cosas, y salimos por la manana temprano con mi viejo y mi hermana a la terminal de Los Cristianos, de donde salía el barco que me llevaba hasta el Puerto de Santa Cruz. Pequena despedida de la familia, foto incluida, y salimos con el bus. Llegando a Santa Cruz hago una parada estratégica en un supermercado para comprar lo básico para masomenos tres días (agua, pan, atún, salame y queso y unas frutas).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOYVL3rAAa9NidWIePtd0m49Q5DHbOqK9yXeh1MgL39SxcUvP2fsj1e1n8kXSnW5HY-H1GS_kG5C6kUZ50rfzZ-as0GAuSib5Qw2tC4YTjcCJ1oRZXM1O7ECw7-c0RRMYrjIih_PsZlM0/s1600/SDC10010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOYVL3rAAa9NidWIePtd0m49Q5DHbOqK9yXeh1MgL39SxcUvP2fsj1e1n8kXSnW5HY-H1GS_kG5C6kUZ50rfzZ-as0GAuSib5Qw2tC4YTjcCJ1oRZXM1O7ECw7-c0RRMYrjIih_PsZlM0/s320/SDC10010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
El viaje en barco fue buenísimo, las instalaciones bastante decentes (piscina incluida) y un montón de gente super simpática. La verdad que las 30 horas (más 3 de retraso) se pasaron volando entre dormir, comer, mirar el desenlace del tour de francia más alguna peli mala y hacer sociales. Conocí un montón de hippies, con sus rastas, ropas de colores, música y buena onda. Algunos iban hacia el Rainbow Gathering en Alicante, el encuentro de hippies más grande de Europa. A falta de un par de horas del desembarco, empecé a preguntar (a los que tenían más cara de simpáticos) si alguien iba para Barcelona, y después de un rato encontré a u chico que iba directo para Valencia, lo que significaba a primera hora del día siguiente estar a solo 400 kms. de la Ciudad Condal. Una chica bastante atractiva se había ofrecido a llevarme hasta Madrid, después de pasar la noche en Huelva. Que podría ser mejor? Lamentablemente estaba bastante apurado para llegar a tiempo y tuve que declinar la oferta...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLecj93mmSvtzCSLZ9Q9QbL8iTgunN_rJNwEXWJCHoDMmBzghRs0K06R7YEoU4VvcdDGQm9OoYUd2sNA4Oewnyw8-RdfymWSnkmWz-Lt1PxIPk_cSMNOt8G-hCPI8sS_V0OCPNWwMlD6v/s1600/SDC10015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLecj93mmSvtzCSLZ9Q9QbL8iTgunN_rJNwEXWJCHoDMmBzghRs0K06R7YEoU4VvcdDGQm9OoYUd2sNA4Oewnyw8-RdfymWSnkmWz-Lt1PxIPk_cSMNOt8G-hCPI8sS_V0OCPNWwMlD6v/s320/SDC10015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nos despedimos de toda la gente y salimos, ya de noche, para hacer los 750 kms. que nos esperaban. El trayecto fue fantástico, unas ocho horas de conducir casi sin parar charlando sobre un montón de temas que me interesaban bastante. Laure (así se llamaba) estudiaba Biología, estaba bastante informado y era una persona agradable para conversar. Llegamos así a las cercanías de Valencia a eso de las siete de la manana, nos despedimos, y ahora tocaba encontrar alguien para hacer el último tramo, bastante fácil y transitado por la autopista A7. Me dí el lujo de tomarme un café bien fuerte para mantenerme despierto después de una noche sin dormir y después de un rato encontré a Pepe, un camionero que se ofreció a llevarme unos 100 kilómetros. Al principio parecia una persona algo agresiva y de carácter tosco, pero después de una hora de conversar la imágen cambio completamente. Habló, habló y habló sobre su vida, historias, su familia y suenos de futuro. Me encantó por una vez no tener que ser el que llevaba la conversación, lo que sucede normalmente haciendo autoestop, y llegar a tener un pequeno atisbo dentro del universo de otra persona, una de las causas por lo que amo viajar de esta manera. De donde nos separamos, me tocó caminar un par de kilómetros de hermoso campo hasta la estación de servicio más próxima, donde me quedé un buen rato, pero como el tráfico no era muy bueno decidí probar otro punto justo después de un peaje que resultó ser mucho mejor.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB7BFODIffq3dkNWPler0005n-yohyphenhyphenP_cqpO0T1l8TFnxfK8BP4Vnj6oOf8ipybd8zg1fhyphenhyphenVAsPMhawHsgNrAlNawmcmeHNWsCUYjCtVwPKRyNQvSxUaPAweMKN01DY6v9VoUrqmJi1iL/s1600/SDC10020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB7BFODIffq3dkNWPler0005n-yohyphenhyphenP_cqpO0T1l8TFnxfK8BP4Vnj6oOf8ipybd8zg1fhyphenhyphenVAsPMhawHsgNrAlNawmcmeHNWsCUYjCtVwPKRyNQvSxUaPAweMKN01DY6v9VoUrqmJi1iL/s320/SDC10020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Al poco paró Damián, que iba para Barcelona de vacaciones. El era músico, y creo que el ver la guitarra que yo llevaba le decidió a parar. La charla fue bastante interesante, y el era bastante curioso sobre mi forma de viajar y como me las arreglaba en diversas situaciones, y el viaje fue un placer surcando la carretera a casi 150 km/h bajo el cálido sol mediterráneo. Me dejó en una parada de metro al mediodía ya en Barcelona, donde después de un par de llamadas me encontré con mi viejo amigo el Ale...Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087832968787742819.post-5473993941757238602011-07-18T14:46:00.000-07:002011-07-18T14:49:16.600-07:00My top-10 travel moments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCGvD_eG39TNRxZeUgMQBo4eBxmEMLh0lXwbxsy2rqFHmfwNP1e8iGuOj1VMmCURYOnwFe14IZ0e1FqEEB4IlO2xPnrTv_yZTUmEwuM8nDaR9CJZNZ8HMDUtDDVXjN2gCAgoQxp77JHiT/s1600/DSC00037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span></span><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">I think what really marks our trips (perhaps our lives?) more than big events are those little memories, flashes, people and teachings that we find along the way. </span><span title="">It seems impossible to choose the best places, because each has its own flavor, but these are some of the moments that shaped me:<br />
<br />
</span><span title="">- My first trip to northern Argentina (Jujuy, Quebrada de Humahuaca) with a friend. </span><span title="">The idea came up briefly at night, and at 7 am and we were hitchhiking in the rain heading north. </span><span title="">No plans, little money, and just one pair of underwear. </span><span title="">Perfect! </span><span title="">It was also the first time I saw the mountains ...</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCGvD_eG39TNRxZeUgMQBo4eBxmEMLh0lXwbxsy2rqFHmfwNP1e8iGuOj1VMmCURYOnwFe14IZ0e1FqEEB4IlO2xPnrTv_yZTUmEwuM8nDaR9CJZNZ8HMDUtDDVXjN2gCAgoQxp77JHiT/s1600/DSC00037.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCGvD_eG39TNRxZeUgMQBo4eBxmEMLh0lXwbxsy2rqFHmfwNP1e8iGuOj1VMmCURYOnwFe14IZ0e1FqEEB4IlO2xPnrTv_yZTUmEwuM8nDaR9CJZNZ8HMDUtDDVXjN2gCAgoQxp77JHiT/s320/DSC00037.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- Stay out of money for the first time in the middle of a trip and no way to contact anyone (or too proud to ask for help) in Italy. </span><span title="">It may seem unbelievable, but spending a couple of nights on a bench outside, cold and hungry can change your way of seeing the world ... </span><span title="">I guess that's why someone says "Bad times make the best memories"<br />
</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- Finishing a Vipassana meditation course in Australia. </span><span title="">10 days without speaking, without looking at anyone's eyes. </span><span title="">No contact with the outside world, meditating from 4 am to 9 pm ... </span><span title="">All doors of the unconscious open wide, seas of energy flowing throughout the body. </span><span title="">Who explained it best was a guy who did the course with me: "Dude, I was on a peyote trip for ten days in Mexico, but that was nothing compared to this!..."<br />
</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- Crossing many countries without speaking the local language (Poland and Turkey are the first that come to mind), meeting people who did not speak any English, and yet understanding each other perfectly! </span><span title="">Gestures, facial expressions, drawings, obscene winks, laughs ... </span><span title="">It's amazing how deep communication is! </span><span title="">I think they understood me better than many who speak my language ...</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOczKU5c9eqmXYUcncpGZTpKC-rogX3vI6knQd-HNtFzX39LWQnjlevRa0S0P-aLzqh0eDgFqeRYNAl8JErY890Idy4gfXPErTIAiLXgvb899n8NHS7LnQFasTuEmFNftz21s1KBN6WDZ/s1600/DSC00352.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOczKU5c9eqmXYUcncpGZTpKC-rogX3vI6knQd-HNtFzX39LWQnjlevRa0S0P-aLzqh0eDgFqeRYNAl8JErY890Idy4gfXPErTIAiLXgvb899n8NHS7LnQFasTuEmFNftz21s1KBN6WDZ/s320/DSC00352.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- In Malaysia, missing the plane to Australia, which resulted in tears at the time but it meant in the end meeting great people, hitchhiking around the country together, and sailing for the first time between islands of impossible beauty with two Norwegians who were crossing half </span><span title="">the world in a 50 years old sailboat (I almost sank their dinghy, but that's another story).<br />
</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- First hitchhiking trip in Spain. </span><span title="">I had some time off and wanted to seize it. </span><span title="">No expectations, no planning. </span><span title="">I had no idea how it was or which way to go, just went for it. </span><span title="">Haven't got very far, but I guess that's how most of worthwhile things start. </span><span title="">Just do it, without thinking too much, without fear, and the way start teaching us everything that we need to know.<br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDM9I-O7sP-Cp11rB76genA2g_S-5nf9SPPCpEjR2MaKhDKRUMVzsUazZ_26GwqCTZI4YoVt3bSjR1ZLZWPNA8qBQ9VHY22q6iPasHTJpAUwB-vdX4zWwLWkM3hjsfUNw_fTksCU5JFGOv/s1600/DSC00284.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDM9I-O7sP-Cp11rB76genA2g_S-5nf9SPPCpEjR2MaKhDKRUMVzsUazZ_26GwqCTZI4YoVt3bSjR1ZLZWPNA8qBQ9VHY22q6iPasHTJpAUwB-vdX4zWwLWkM3hjsfUNw_fTksCU5JFGOv/s320/DSC00284.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtsI79vmy0dnV6yZJyxRRQ71PVsa1G-m-A84wCItzOTTA8upnBF3SpSlMUALydOP5cvrWz5Bbvsaav3GCQ03sDPg3SehiAhYPUvqH4HN0Z40C4OvHaowLDfS1RAlHHQ6q4K9XhH09Bna_/s1600/101_0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""></span><span title="">- To be the first in my family to return after 140 years to the small village of my ancestors in Italy. </span><span title="">After four days I met all its inhabitants, found a distant aunt, got the family tree until the XVIII century and even appeared in the reginal newspaper...<br />
</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- Greece. </span><span title="">In despair, after walking over 25 kms. </span><span title="">under a burning sun with my backpack and no water to drink, on a deserted highway where no one stopped, got a lift from Felipe and his girlfriend, who were travelling in a convoy of over 20 trucks organizing the biggest illegal techno festivals (tecnivals) in </span><span title="">Europe. </span><span title="">We spent the night talking a lot, meeting some of his friends and telling stories.</span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtsI79vmy0dnV6yZJyxRRQ71PVsa1G-m-A84wCItzOTTA8upnBF3SpSlMUALydOP5cvrWz5Bbvsaav3GCQ03sDPg3SehiAhYPUvqH4HN0Z40C4OvHaowLDfS1RAlHHQ6q4K9XhH09Bna_/s1600/101_0607.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtsI79vmy0dnV6yZJyxRRQ71PVsa1G-m-A84wCItzOTTA8upnBF3SpSlMUALydOP5cvrWz5Bbvsaav3GCQ03sDPg3SehiAhYPUvqH4HN0Z40C4OvHaowLDfS1RAlHHQ6q4K9XhH09Bna_/s320/101_0607.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title=""><br />
</span><span title="">- To take my sister, who was 16 then, on a short trip around Paris, Rome, Stockholm and London on her first visit to Europe. </span><span title="">To open a small window of my world to someone so close to me, and catch up with her after almost 3 years of absence was very nice. </span><span title="">We also saw snow for the first time.<br />
</span><span title=""> </span></span><br />
<span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span title="">- Melbourne, Australia. </span><span title="">Three friends, without money or contacts, meeting squatters, dumpster-diving at the back of the supermarkets, looking for work and home, being lucky enough to be hosted by some wonderful people in the place that later became our home and almost our family.</span></span>Maxi Gasparrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16206937354567570807noreply@blogger.com0