We were in the desert of Judea, in the month of July, visiting the oldest inhabited city in the world. Water gives life to fruit trees, trade, to the life, in this unbearable desert, where everything is sand and sun.
It is where flows the love of the gods and the hatred of men. It is the city of cities, maze of creeds, origin of all that we are. It is the wall that contains the holy war, the sad song of the muezzines, assault rifles and the Garden of Gethsemane.
Today only twenty people walking off the green water and blue beach Tean. There are some modest houses between vegetation, where some elders who have seen their children live.
Bolivia is full of cliffs, carriers and unpaved roads. Poor mixing. The crossing guard one of the most breathtaking trips in America and his name does not help to relax the gesture at the wheel. The Highway of Death is a path of mud and stone that wind through the foothills of the Yungas.
Almost in whispers told us that the Mirador was the greatest legacy of the Maya, that beyond Tikal, hidden in the jungle are the ruins swallowed by weeds, a city larger than Chichén Itzá, Palenque oldest, most forgotten that all.
"They are 7 you 8 seconds of free fall, "he tells me a bald guy with hands in pockets, as he tells me the direction of a pharmacy. “Ah, Look how well, and gives me time to remember all your family "I think, already affected by nervous tension.
We decided to take a trip to the spring. We wanted to leave behind the ice, night advanced to the desktop, the slap of the morning wind, sea of fir: Alaska. After six months of cold, we escaped south, as winter castaways looking for a shore with palm trees.