I think there are many types of travel, these days I have known two:' given to her, 'pass me the word, which has its ends on the date of departure and return and the 'emotional', which begins and ends for its own account. Gia
'in Brazil and in Mozambique I heard that the trip was killed by weather and by the Southern Cross in Brazil it was the wind, while I was on a lonely beach, surrounded by palms and other trees to show me the way home. In Mozambique, one night he went 'off the light, and the African sky monster' in all its beauty, I tried the 'Cruzeiro du Sur' and for the first time I saw him, I knew it was time to lsciare that land.
Here the emotional journey and 'finished shortly after he entered the Tierra del Fuego, some days I felt light signs saying that the journey's end was near, certainty and' came from a guanaco. Along a straight, suddenly this animal jumps a fence and into the street, stops a few tens of meters from me, ride your bike, does not move, they are ', and turns towards my direction. I have the time to stop, look into his eyes, photograph it, watch it again, a long time, and understand that it 's time to go home, travel and' over them 'in front of that animal gentle and elegant. The guanaco tells me, of course, "back home, man, your land and 'away, go away."
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