Kidnapped, banned, arrested and damned. Yet another succesful encounter with faith.

After my working days in Nasushiobara I rushed south towards Tokyo. The very first night after leaving the hotel I stayed with the same family that picked me hitch-hiking and hosted me for a night two weeks before, cheerful and kind people and with that great deal of honor and cuteness that only Japanese seem to be able to put together. But faith had a lot to do right before that, I was picked by a “Shintoist” devote that took me a couple extra kilometres to my destination, a calm man with his jingle bells clinking while walking. He was a calligraphy artist and gave me the beautiful piece of art you see below.



Right after that, on a strange morning I hitch-hiked towards Tokyo, not without major incidents. On a narrow street I shoved my thumb towards the slow traffic until two smiley ladies stopped for me.

– We are going in south direction but we have to do something before, would you mind?

– Sure, lets go — My decision was certain when I saw her daughter’s smile, next to her the detour was more than welcome.

Immediately after we set off, they told me who they were. They were followers of “Buppou“. I was about to jump out of the car but something stopped me.

Buppou” is a Buddhist sect or something like that, born in Japan. Do you remember the Jehovah witnesses? Think about their behavior and marketing-like approach to religion but in a Buddhist book and there you have this people. My host in Aomori had introduced me to this cult and I prayed with over two hundred people in two different places, we gave the beads and a small praying book (in Japanese). They look for foreigners because Japanese people would decline their invitation immediately, so this lost hitch-hiker was multiple times hostage of this people.

And of course, they were eager to take this “fresh foreigner” to the cult centre in Saitama and convert him into his faith, they did take me and they made the PAPER for me. An inscription form that says that I am already part of this religion or whatever you want to call it. With bloody eyes and shaking hands they wrote my name, but I interrupted:

– My friend in Aomori already did this for me

Silence on the room. Way more north I had a similar situation couple of weeks ago, when some devotes took me to the centre to sign me up but as soon as they realized I was already in, or not “fresh” they drove off and dropped me at the station. In this case they didn’t give up and made the paper again, better to be sure I was in it.. This people were definitely confused and doubtful about my presence there. I was a foreigner and quite a messy one, what I was doing there? Was it correct to put this guy in? “But it is one more, one more for our mission, one more…” I heard in their eyes.

Politely they invited me to pray with them looking and their mantra and repeating:

– Nan myou hou len ge kyou

One sensei came and smiling welcomed me praying and reciting some cryptic words that of course I didn’t get. There I was, into a new faith and in between a new heaven-hell dichotomy. Once we finished they offered me a ride to Tokyo and to talk about “Buppou” to my contact in the city, they insisted on this but I refused. Mother and daughter gave a ride nevertheless and dropped me quite close to my contact’s house, I waited a bit before calling him, just in case they were hiding in the shadows.

The ladies, worth going to hell?


I arrived to Tokyo with not much more than hope. Just that. My plan was clear, to apply for the Chinese visa and run south with that extra sticker on my passport.

And so I did, almost. Two days in Tokyo, thankfully I was hosted by a nice Filipino that did his best to accommodate me in his small apartment. Of course I spent loads of yen in the metro, commuting to the embassy. On the first day of the week I went to the Chinese Visa Application Centre, and for my great surprise I was told it was possible to get the visa on that place (nowadays you have to be a resident on the place you are applying from). Jumping in one leg I booked hotels (to be cancelled later) for every day of my stay in the country.

Friendly staff, something I have never seen in a Chinese embassy. It was going to happen. The clerk was funny and accepted my documents without much hassle.

– You should collect it on Friday — said the young girl giving me a bill

I run out of the building and jumped around as the happiest grass hopper, I ate a good meal for the great amount of $2 USD and headed west biking. I knew I would have to rush south after getting the visa, but I was happy: I could continue without flying.

Tokyo is a huge city and got lost couple of times in the streets maze. Once I arrived to my host’s apartment after two hours of biking I received the bad news: the embassy had called, and they would have to check my documents for a month.. That’s the usual way to say no when you have visited Turkey and some other Islamic countries, and my passport now looks like the Quran itself. Turkey, Iran, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan had left their blessing on my identity book.. Impossible, that is the word, to get the visa without changing my passport. To do that: 150 USD and one month waiting, no way.

I felt relieved, now I knew it was not doable, I tried and failed but now I was free to go out of the city and head south. The next day was a mess, I got lost for in the metro. And while walking in the centre towards the embassy I was intercepted by the police, a kind officer asked me for my passport:

– Is on the Chinese embassy, they are making my visa

– Mm, what about the bike? Give me the ownership paper, please — In Japan you have to register your bike

– Well, I don’t have one. My friends in Hokkaido gave it to me after they found it in a recycling plant — the officer started scratching his head and called another officer, a small and frail girl that was speaking English

– Sir, we will have to take you to the police station to verify what you are saying

In the US I would have to be handcuffed but thankfully I was in Japan, so they asked me to get in the back of the police car and took me to the station. In the place some people even smiled to me. In the eight floor I was taken to a small room with two tables, in one of them I put both bags, two officers started checking them carefully. I was afraid about only one thing, in one of my endless wrapping bags I had a Japanese envelope with 500 USD in new and unmarked bills, how could I explain that?

But they did not look concerned about that, they found something else. A bland, old and destroyed Tramontina knife.

– What is this for? — the officer asked, shaking

– I am travelling, is for cooking — I wanted to say that I had use it to behead some lads but I skipped the joke

– Do you have any other knife in your backpack? — pointing it in the paroxysm of his terror

– No, sir

They did not know/believe that in Japan there is the so called “recycling plants” where they collect reusable stuff and they give it to people that comes to take a look. You can find furniture, bikes, chainsaws, etc. It is good, now that I think about it, that I didn’t accept a rusty and blood stained chainsaw as a gift.

They faxed the Chinese embassy and after a couple of hours of friendly talk they got the confirmation that my passport was there and that I was not an illegal in Japan. Meanwhile the officer asked me about Japanese girls and photos related. As soon as they got my papers they made a small card that “certifies” that the bike is mine and let me go. The six officers walked me to the main doors and shook my hand.

Thanks and see you soon — I said while the neat officers waved to me energetically

My backpack, front back and the bike folded were not helping me to navigate the narrow corridors, climbing the stairs and socializing with the commuters on the metro. I had to wait one hour at the embassy to get my passport and when I left the place it was already dark. If there is something I hate about Japan is that they don’t have Daylight saving time, so at 5 or 6 is already pitch dark..

After one hour on the metro I arrived to the street and kissed the pavement, almost crying. No more metros, stairs, tickets and clerks. No more bullshit. Bike and hitch-hike, buddy. After that crazy day I reached a parking area on the highway, luckily it could be accessed from the street; not in mood to jump fences. I hitch-hiked on the exit and the first truck that passed stopped, the guy came with a paper that said, poorly written:

“STOP, DONT MOVE” — he thought I was going to bike in the highway

– I am just hitch-hiking.. — he felt relieved and left, the trucks NEVER stop for you in Japan

But ten minutes later came a police car and asked me to come back to the service area, the two officers checked my passport and bike card and wished me luck. That night was freezing, I had forgotten what was like to have my toes frozen, that night I remembered it. I waited two hours before going for dinner to the convenience store, a tasty “cup noodle” did the trick and came back to the road. One hour more waiting in the bone-biting cold and gave up, I went out the Parking Area and cycled through the park nearby until I found a hidden spot for my tent. During the night I heard a small animal roaming around the tent, its small steps crunching the fallen leaves  and smelling around the foreign object in the middle of his place.

My dreams were set here that night

A new day, a new beginning. As early as 7 AM I was back in the parking area, had some bread in the convenience store and sticked out my thumb. Half an hour later I was in the car of an important business man from Chiba, her secretary was driving to a place nearby the Mount Fuji to do some sightseeing. A kind and thoughtful man sixty eight years old, he looked in his fifties. I am amazed on how young the Japanese look.

Hitchhiking with Doraemon

One hundred kilometres later I saw the astonishing and snow capped Mount Fuji, a giant in the horizon that was not going to be visited by this fugitive.

Probably the worst photo of the Mount Fuji

The smooth highway took us south-west and they dropped me in a quiet Service Area, before leaving the man insisted me take his present: 10000 YEN, something like 90 USD. Refused, he insisted and so on until I gave in and accepted it. Do you remember the size of my monthly budget? Around 60 USD is comfortable to travel with, so that means that Japan has extended my trip funding for almost two years.. I was not expecting such a challenge-less trip, I have to do something about that.

Happy and rich Doraemon

In a wide exit I waited for the next car, just when the sky started spitting a beautiful and shiny black Mercedes stopped for me. I fitted my bike on the boot and my backpack traveled on my lap. They were heading to Osaka, but since my sign said “Nagoya” and since they were not the friendliest people you can imagine I didn’t ask for a longer ride and was dropped off within the messy highway system of Nagoya. Sometimes you can feel that the Japanese are a bit suspicious about you, quite a lot of the ride are not free of the driver’s fear that this guy will turn up a violent and mad guy.

In Nagoya I waited just for four minutes until a smiley guy in a big van stopped for me while laughing. “Osaka?” — asked happily. What a shift! From the serious and bland couple in the Mercedes to this funny and cheerful guy from Osaka. This guy had Buddha in his van, literally. He imports the “mantra” cabinets from China and Vietnam and after he sells that stuff to the temples and devotes.. Guess I am blessed or Buddha wants to make me his hostage once and for all.

Two hours we rode the great highway towards Osaka, meanwhile I was analyzing where to crash at night. “Another big city, will have to bike a lot to find a place”.

– Could you drop me near Nara? — a touristy small town known for the deers freely roaming its parks.

Luckily there was a free shoulder of the Highway that goes down in Tenri, there he stopped near a Seven Eleven convenience store and left me, with two cans of coffee and three bottles of ice tea. Thanks, buddy! May Buddha be with you and I hope he doesn’t mind that you are making such a profit out of the faith.

Thanks buddy

Cup noodles plus hot water in the convenience store. Lunch. I was really happy to be there, already in Osaka! Meanwhile I was fighting the noodles with my chopsticks a guy came by and laughed as if someone had told him a really good joke.

– Have you visited the “Tenrikyo Church”? Do you want to take a look? — said the young guy with a bright smile.

– Could be nice, but I have to go to Nara and find a place to camp, it should be before dark — I finished my noodles noisily.

– No problem, will take you to the Church and then to Nara, lets go.

Beautiful Tenri

I put my bags and bike in his K-car and we headed to Tenri town. He was from Niigata but was living and working in the main Church for the last six months.

From time to time he laughed from the invisible joke, he told me about “Tenrikyo” in his broken English: a religion or cult born in the town of Tenri on the XIX century and now it was fairly big nest where hundreds come to pray, heal and transcend.

The temple was massive, made completely out of wood and a beautiful Japanese roof. We took out our shoes in the entrance and in a immense hall he taught me how to pray. Around ten people praying in the place, and me the newbie trying to catch the movements.

Tenri-kyo Church in Tenri

How to do it:

– Kneel and sit in your butt.

– Make a fist in both hands and stick out your thumb, pointing forward lean over your fists like a gorilla would do.

– Once you thought about your problems and dilemmas raise your hands and clap four times, one second interval. Yes, four times. I was surprised for this, usually the things come in three, but not in this case.

We walked over the place, they don’t worship icons, just a red cross and the place where their prophet studied and died. We entered and prayed in several different rooms, he never forgot the joke and kept laughing. He was a good guy as far as a can tell. He asked me if I could stay two more hours to talk about it but we I told him that I needed a place to stay he gave no answer. Sorry man, no bed no faith.

He dropped me in Nara and asked me to come back and solve all my problems and diseases in that place. Yet another successful meeting with faith. I wonder what would happen in my after life, what a mess. I imagine myself in a long corridor with several doors, suddenly all of them open at once: Buddha, Allah, God, the Shinto Gods, Mongolian pagan Gods, all of them inviting me to their place and confused about the situation.

– “Come, you prayed to me, now you are welcome to my place”.

I imagine them gathering trying to resolve where should I head to, and concluding that such a sinner should definitely pay a visit to each hell for a while. Free ticket for several hells, fascinating.  Forever in the limbo I will be.

The road of bones

It’s been almost two weeks since I had started my trip in the North.

My trip started in Never, where the Lena Road and the Amur Highway join. Go to the map, find Chita in the main line, go east until you find a road (the only one) going north. There you go, 3000 km to reach Magadan, in the Okhotsk sea.


The Lena Highway was expected to be in terrible conditions but I was quite disappointed to find that great parts of it are now built in asphalt. The taiga, birch forest, is endless. Like thin needless pointing to the sky, the hair of the Mother Nature that has chosen this place to rest for the summer.

This is a land of extremes, +35° C in Summer to the record of -72° C in winter. Can you imagine that cold? I can’t. Anyway it’s dry climate so it hurts less, but I wouldn’t like to find myself in a winter night without a place to sleep.

While riding across the impossibly long distances saw two bears: big, powerful and amazing creatures that are a common sight here. Fortunately I was not chased by one of them, they are known for having a taste on foreigners’ flesh.


Across abandoned villages I arrived to Yakustk, the coldest city in the world. The architecture is not something to remark, aesthetically is a bland city. But they have the best conservated Mammoth of the world, with fur and even food in it’s stomach something worth to see.

The city is a half island since the only possible way to reach it from the “mainland” is with the Lena Highway, and approaching the city from the east (with the mentioned road) you need to cross the mighty Lena River, one and a half hours to cross the waters..


I am also happy to announce that I reached the budget record: in June my total expenses were $38 (USD), in July some $40.5 (usd), i regret that I went to the supermarket in the last day of July.

After crossing back the river from Yakustk I was in my way to the east. Kolyma, the infamous road. Home of the Gulags, the Soviet detention camps in the stalinist period. Human brutality, hunger, scurvy and cold killed around three million people here..

The interesting thing is that between the two types of convicts: simple criminals and the intellectuals (who said more than the recommended) the earlier had the role to supervise the later, being accustomed to the violence the criminals were efficient commanding the often less reckless writers, journalists and so on. You should read this book, that more than any other tells about what happened here:

There was a wonderful passage that said something like: “once we beat down the road in the snow we came back to the barracks, it was the turn of the horses that were ridden by readers, not writers or poets”. Download:

It was a long cruzade in the Kolyma, two thousand kilometers of gravel road. Russia, in any sense of the word, has no end, is the place where the land doesn’t knows about boundaries. I enjoyed this time here, mostly thanks to my russian that now is enough to get almost everything and even to make some jokes! Happy for that, I feel that my only and real achievement are the words that now float in my memory, ready to be a bridge between me and whoever is in the other side. But you know that a bridge can’t stand only in one side. 


It was a long road, sometimes without anything else to look at that the infinite green. Right now clouds are hanging within the trees and hills, a grey morning, I can listen the obscure sorrows that once where whispered amongst the trees, the silent witnesses of the brutality and the hope, the hope for life.

Past abandoned villages, destroyed buildings and hopeful people I found the way to Magadan. Arrived to the city on Sunday, was a foggy and strange night. Walked the center amazed by the mist around me, the visibility was reduced to fifty meters, so long I had been thinking about Magadan and now I was there, roaming it’s gloomy streets. The city itself it’s not as bland as Yakustk, has a charm touch in it. We will see what’s waiting for us.


Challenge has just started, so what now? With a map you could see that there’s nowhere else to go, only in winter the rivers get frozen and the drivers go madly over the former water.. So? I want to reach Kamchatka. It seems that it’s quite close to the impossible to find a boat, will try but as I have read it is not realistic. So the only option is to take a flight there.

I have only been in one plane to cross the Atlantic. Take another one and “cut” the road? Pay 50$ (month budget) for it? Doesn’t sound possible. Will try in the port and if not two more possible ways: hitchhike a plane, that means to walk to the agencies and offer a website I’m exchange of the ticket or to find a boat to Vladivostok or Sakhalin (remember that I am going to Japan after).

We will see, you should notice that the line of adventure traveler and freeloader is quite thin and I am afraid of that. Don’t know if I am already the later tough. If that options are not viable I have to hitchhike 4000km back, counterclockwise.. Something I really don’t want to do.

All the things we never said

First night in Turkmenistan, it was a little bit rainy in the capital but I was enough happy to be in this part of the world to think about the problem of getting wet.

I went to the train station, I wanted to know if there was any service going in my direction just in case I needed it for a emergency exit; it’s good to remember that I was in a transit visa, only five days and not a good idea to over-stay there.

I found the big building, white marble as the other megalomaniac icons around. All the lights were absent, closed. “Great”, I thought. I got closer and found one man sitting in a dark corner, asked about the trains in my caveman-like russian. “Trains”, “when”, “who”, “where”; and all the possible combinations of those words plus the gestures related.

He just went deeper in the shadows and pointed somewhere that could be anywhere. I went to the platform, only two souls there. I asked the only man standing, the woman sitting didn’t look so friendly. I prayed to all the Turkic and Russian deities to give me enough words to shake that mummified man.

I asked, without results, to the man that after being unable to answer more than five words just looked in another direction, it was a hard and unnatural movement because I was fourtyfive centimeters away.. But he managed to make me invisible. Looked to the woman, she looked as responsive as those that looked into Medusa’s eyes.

Turned 180° to escape, and I saw her. Walking in the wet platform, there was she. She was wearing a grey overcoat and two thin white lines climbed to her ears, just next to the infinite darkness of her hair. There was never a single night of such a deep and pure color. Black to white and all the possible components of the light in her graceful face. She was astonishing.

I approached her wearing the clothes I have been using for six months, every day with seldom and unproductive washings. Each piece of my outfit a gift from someone I met somewhere. As soon as she saw me and as I didn’t look like a local there (even my appearance as a russian is doubtful) she took out her headphones, but the rhythm belonged to her not to the music. She smiled, it stopped raining immediately.

I told her about my reason to be there (now I had much more to stay) and we walked a couple of hundred meters to another building, maybe that mysterious place that the man in the shadows had pointed before. While walking I thought for a second If he would be still there.

But there was something much more urgent in that moment. She smiled when I told her where I was from, the sound of the name of my country in her russian made me a patriot at once and for all. “Forget the anthem, put her voice”, I shouted to the parliament or to my inner forum.

It’s important to say that the sound of the russian language, with its sharp “i”s and its wonderful way to elaborate a meaning has conquered my heart long time ago. And when it’s grasped by the night itself, well.. “How difficult would it be to get a residence permit here?”, I asked while walking beside her the only few meters to the building. How slow can you walk without looking weird?

And I say yes, you’re are wonderful tonight.

We found an opened door, once in we had two minutes of solitude in a small room with four doors. Three of them closed, unfortunately the one that we came from was still working. Well, “there’s nothing else to do about your train tonight” her face seemed to say; her eyes as bright as the absent moon, she had her own.

“But”, she added, “Where do you spend the night?”

The time collapsed, the shadows cut from the lights, the rain dared to come over, our eyes in touch in an eternal blink. The moon that was not, the night running in her back.

How many answers did that question have? Where to jump when every ledge seems weak enough to throw you into the void?

“I am sleeping in my friend’s house”, I said jumping back to the stable rock, swimming back to the shore where all the things that we didn’t say lay, where they dry up, almost drowned in the salty water of fear and ashamed of being alive.

“Ah”, she said. “Priatno” (Nice to meet you), added while walking. I waited for a few minutes, I had to go in her direction, but anyway since we had lost our lifetime love it wasn’t a good thing to keep walking together.

I saw her, walking gently, away from the shore and the ground proper of those who didn’t jump. A mermaid that has no time for simple humans.

She faded away in a twisted stair, a whirlpool that took her deep into the darkness of my memory.

We’re all that things we never said, that things we never did. The words that after the silence became rocks impossible to swallow, the ashes in the hands that never let those flowers go, the salty tears that blur our eyes every time we try to recall that things that ashore wait to jump back into the water. Just waiting for another reason to swim until their cramped arms will lead them to the most beautiful darkness, deep and away from the light. And her eyes..

The armenian sleds

Today was a hitch-hiking day, those one that I love because they always end unexpectedly.

Today I began on Yerevan, my road was going south, getting closer to Iran. Did not have a clue on where I was going to stop, generally I just decide before the night falls.

So, one car with really good people picked me and told me that they were going to a town I wanted to reach: Goris. But, they said, that place would be really cold and full of snow. The place that they advised me to stay in was also full of snow..

After a couple of hours of frozen road, great mountains and trucks that slided off the path we reached the town. It was small, like everywhere on Armenia. I stepped out the car, waiting for the blizzard that was going to cut me in two pieces.. But that white demon never showed up, the place was not so cold.

Time to find where to sleep, I walked on the main street, there were only a couple of dwellers around. Soon I stumbled upon a group of children (the eldest was fourteen maximum), two of them had home-made sleds. As soon as I greeted them they invited me to play with them.

In that moment I did not know that the hospitality was downhill. But I did know that is mandatory to follow this fate signals. I ran with them uphill, I put my backpack on the snow and was commanded by one of the children. I was the passenger, as always I am.

There I was, slidding downhill with this little kid in his sled. If the day was not so cold it was because we were suppossed to play. We slided down and run uphill, again and again. There were five of them, three boys and two girls. I asked to one of the girls about a place to put my tent, the girl was speaking enough russian to understand my neolitic-like version of the slav language.

We slided down once more, this time with my backpack. The translator stopped at a door and went upstairs, it took her two minutes to come back with a key. She opened a door on a backery next to the stairs and all the children took me inside.

We ended up in a confortable room, they wanted to see my tent so I pitched it on the room (not so necessary but required by the little ones).

Here I am, in this beautiful room, my tent is next to me and the little and not-so-steep hill just a few meters from here. I dont know where are the sleds now, I dont know if they are in home or in a dark and cold corner of the backyard. I’m grateful with them, their simple metal structure allowed me to be in a warm place today. I feel good and happy, I just hope they do so.

My backpack was a sailor

After a few days in the busy and vibrant Milano I set off on my road to the north. It would have been an interesting experience to hitchhike out of that concrete jungle, there are entire blog posts dedicated to the art of escaping for free of this mammoth.

While it’s true that I like challenge I didn’t feel like facing police and stone-faced drivers, hopped in a train and lost the combination that was leading to Como. I was not alone in the empty platform, a fancy dressed guy with small luggage.

Milano train station

We were both alone there, so the conversation was a must. He had a good sense of humour, his colorful clothes were a precise description of his mood, he was from Nigeria and as many others he was fighting for a better future. He had been living in the streets and in a student house alternatively, now going to Switzerland with not much more than hope on his pockets.

The next train arrived, with it’s strong presence was hard to keep the conversation, I felt that all that metalic noise was unnecessary. A strange animal in need of attention. “Look at me, it’s late, come in” the grey snake was saying while we stepped in it. Maybe long time ago this beasts were god-like creatures, they were respected and admired; but now they were just a tool for the former worshippers. From master to slave: we set off to the north.

He was sitting opposite to me, while we shared some cookies, I gazed at the floor and I realized that between us there was crack. Between the seats and parallel to our shoulders a silent and sharp line dividing us, I rubbed the line with my right foot, nothing seemed to happen, tried harder but it was impossible to erase. He didn’t seem to notice what I was trying to do, he just smiled and hugged the hope while we stopped in nameless stations. He mentioned God many times.

The speaker announced the next station, mine. As soon as the train started to slow down I stood up, the line was still there, it was the witness of what can’t be understood, those of who can’t get what’s happening next to them. Those who see it are, for sure, blinder than anyone else. With a strange urgency I gave him my crucifix, shook his hand and jumped out of the train.

Como, another city from Europe, clean, neat and quite organized. The lake had his charm, so the tree lined streets. It was not a big city but it was not a village, where to sleep? Roamed the streets and sent requests via Couchsurfing, around two hours later a man from a village nearby had accepted my request.


While asking how to get to the village a young boy felt sorry for not being able to let me in, was a moving gesture. In the bus to the village I met a lady from Ecuador, she was wearing a hijab.

When I arrived to Mario’s place it was dark and we shared some talks and mate over dinner. “Nice beggining”, I thought. Didn’t know that the following day was one of discovery on the nature of my gear.

In the morning Mario took me to the center and walked in north direction by the shore of the lake, I stumbled upon with the ecuatorian woman and we had a small chat about the tense atmosphere against muslims in the country and she warned me that Switzerland was full of psychos.. She gave a small Tupperware bowl with some past inside.

I kept walking past fancy villas until I saw a staircase going down to the lake, followed it, next to the water the sign was clear: “No Swimming”. Came back and found a hidden terrace under the stairs, was clear and couldn’t be seen from the street. Nice place to have a nap.

Como Lake
The fancy Villas

I put my mattress and relaxed for have an hour or so, the morning was warm and the air pure, I could hear the small waves against the cliff and the cars passing by. “Why are you going so fast? Don’t you see the beauty around?”, I asked to the drivers. I dozed and woke up suddenly (don’t know the reason), my electrified right arm hit the small backpack that rolled like a rock down to the cliff. “The trees will stop it”, I said while trying to understand what had happened.

My faith didn’t meet despair until the backpack hit the water. No, that’s no possible. Yes, it was, run to see where was it, five meters below my backpack floating in the green water.

Sailing backpack

Run downstairs to catch, when I came to water level the backpack started to navigate offshore, in direction of the empty and expensive boats around. Undressed as fast as possible and pondered if it was worth to interrupt such a nice sailing, what’s inside? Jacket, toothbrush, charger, map, and sandwiches; the last was deeply felt.

While thinking the brand new sailor was way far off the boats, still floating and going further. The detachment itself, never better pictured out. So it sailed, I kept looking to it in its graceful trip across the calm water, bon voyage my friend. “You too”, a distant voice said.