Of going back

Santiago Airport, Santiago, Chile – 13/01/2009

The strange taste of going back. I spent the last today with a huge tantrum inspired by forcefulness of my return to Barcelona, to work, to my “normal” life. Now, sitting on the plane ready to take for a 16 hour flight to Zurich and then to catch another plane to Barcelona, the only thing I want is to return as soon as possible.

I hate returning in direct proportion to how much I enjoyed myself during the trip. I think most people do. Once the trip is through and the goodbyes are made, I only wish a trouble-free and expedite return.

Going back to Barcelona. To work. To my “normal” life, though the most “normal” I feel and the happiest I ever am, is whenever I am travelling.

Partying+Travelling=ouch

Ezeiza Airport, Buenos Aires, Argentina -  03/01/2009

Do as I say, don’t do as I do: when travelling, take care of yourselves, rest, sleep a lot and as soundly as you can, so you can face each day with all your energy and health. Since I’ve begun this trip I have already performed 4 trips in a less than ideal physical condition mostly, not to say wholly, due to the lack of sleep and the excess of alcohol.

While still in Portugal, on the eve of my departure, I landed on my bed at 8am, knowing very well that I had to get up early to go and have lunch with my grandmother and then fly for more than 14 hours to the other side of the Atlantic.

In Santiago, perfectly aware that I had to take a taxi to the airport at 5am, I join the improvised barbeque that spontaneously spawned in the hostel and ended boarding the airplane soaked in Pisco and with no hours of sleep on me.

New Year’s Eve in Piriapolis, stayed in La Rinconada until dawn and got to the ferry with little over an hour of sleep.

Yesterday, even though I once again knew I had to take a taxi to the airport at 6am, I just couldn’t say no to the invitation of going out with Juancho and his friends and now, of course, here I am, watching the Ezeiza airport through a blurry filter of Fernet and Quilmes.

Of time and stuff

Hostal Forestal, Santiago, Chile – 28/01/2008

Time is relative. Supposedly Enstein said it. He didn’t say, though, that when travelling it is doubly so.  Allow me to explain…

Between the hours of sleep I managed to capture, Galeano’s Espejos – Una Historia Casi Universal, the newspapers, the writing, the music and the movies, the over 13 hours of flight were easily spent without much ado. I got an emergency exit seat, which allowed more than enough room for my legs and for some serious rest, the movies weren’t horrible (quite entertaining actually), Galeano’s book s a wonder in print and the writing is always a trustworthy companion; so, the trip, which a priori frightened me  a bit with the  ghost of boredom, was quite easy to digest.

However, the little over two hours I spent between landing at Santiago Airport and arriving at Hostal Forestal  were excrutiatingly hard to swallow and almost impossible to digest.  Firstly, the queue I mentioned in my previous post, which I claimed to miss. It was partly true, but more than the its slow pace it’s its inconsistent rythmn that turns out to be truly annoying. Either it moves at a snail-like pace burrying me in a pit of monotony dug tiny step after tiny step, or it accelarates quite harshly giving us all hope for a swift end to this odissey. False hopes of course, shattered by the quick return of the snail steps.

The worst, however, was definately the luggage wait. Never a pleasure, I know, but this time it was sheer torture. It’s been a very long, long time (can I say ever?) since I’ve waited so long for my luggage. First, it took an unexplainable hour and a half to get the platform moving and then, and this is no one’s fault I know, my backack decided to make a very late appearance at the very last load of luggage.

What a rockstar.