After crossing Skeleton Coast, a long desert that ends at the foot of a sea that has left behind the bodies of ships along the coast, we arrived at Camp ongong.

And it is that I was in one of those, of homesickness country and memories of my winters in Pamplona, chatting with my friend Julio Blanco, a large Cuban, frank, sympathetic, full of stories and art, because my colleague, besides being a good conversationalist is a painter of some renown (julioblancoart.com), sculptor, musician, advertising creative […]

It is a magical and mysterious territory, it was like before the Trojan Hector and Achilles, or the underwater kingdom of Atlantis

Africa, sometimes, I despair. It gives and takes away at will. The timetables are fiction and commitments made with smiles that are not always met. These things travel, luckily, are usually arranged. ¿Point?