Ene 15 2011 The fucking "evil of Africa"

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  https://www.viajesalpasado.com/wp-content/uploads/1.jpg

  Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul.

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  https://www.viajesalpasado.com/wp-content/uploads/IMG_0581.jpg

  Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul.

• IMG_0054

  https://www.viajesalpasado.com/wp-content/uploads/IMG_0054.jpg

  Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul.

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  https://www.viajesalpasado.com/wp-content/uploads/3b.jpg

  Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul.

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  https://www.viajesalpasado.com/wp-content/uploads/367.jpg

  Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul.

Back to Africa. Maybe back to Africa unless all imaginable Africas. In my Africa, on your skin, There are bars in which fuses look, linen napkin restaurants and painted lines on roads. All that awaits me back in Cape Town: European complexion, however, observed a black soul. And is that The neighborhoods of hundreds of thousands of people crowded on tin roofs and mud mats are hidden in my city. The sunsets here are so red as I behold from "my side", just mix with the smell of burning garbage, wire and cable fires of illegal catches light just let the air (the luckiest).

The difference between the two Cape Town is the amount. In the "rica", in which the drinking water tap and light bulbs to finger, There are also streams of misery that roam the streets. They do this by asking, stealing or waiting for someone to leave some food on the floor, there is never anything on the plate. The waiter always, with hardly ask, remains on paper offers Albal; remains that disappear as soon as the deposit in a corner (a lesson in life that maybe we could apply here). On the other, the miserable, the exception is not mop holders. Nothing superfluous.

It is difficult to understand the city, understand that where there is nobody there is always someone who is waiting. They expect nothing other than a piece of pizza or, perhaps, someone who believes that he could move freely without understanding that there are steals to neglect; neglect to believe you absolutely free. In Cape Town one is less free. It is the first resignation you do when you return to this wonderful place. The night stick claws running from mouth to mouth. It is true that the paranoia over security to South Africans living is too high; as well as in the months I lived there I did not quit never to board a minibus or down to the street, night, to buy snuff; but also never stopped looking to the side while crossing streets in shadow. The secret is to understand the environment, adapt.

I had heard before live with a certain intensity of the "evil of Africa", an alleged medical condition that makes the continent you into the heart and squeeze when you're away

And is that Africa, is a captivating continent, where dreams are poured in the eyes. I had heard before live with a certain intensity of the "evil of Africa", an alleged medical condition that makes the continent you into the heart and squeeze when you're away. Always seemed a petulant concept traveler who likes to mark the distance with the rest of mortal tourists, but I was beaten on the subway and bars of my friends Madrid, family and endless walks. I missed the chaos and that nature (African nature is unmatched). The routine of surprises, the absurd feeling of arriving on time for an appointment, sentences without a subject that is built to be forgotten. I want to relive all that, back to make way, this time for Mozambique, Tanzania and Kenya if the money and time does not prevent me. I want to retell stories in VOD, In the world or in any paper or screen that my eyes have hollow.

Back to Africa with less complex in the case and more truths "? Knowing that color does not make it worse, but no better either. Most travelers I've encountered know that romanticize this continent is a politically correct lie that helps to dry the mud. There are the writings and some talks I've had in recent weeks with the teacher Javier Reverte; the poignant and moving story of Miquel Silvestre and his book "A million stones; dozens of conversations I had in Namibia, Botswana, Western Zambia and Uganda to not accustomed to lying, corruption and the constant threat of a land fucked. All, however, have a common denominator: love this continent and back every chance they get to suffer "the evil of Africa". Not for love of risk, that travel is a concept I do not share, but the reward to verify that there shamrocks on the viscera grow. Is the constant surprise, nothing comparable to any place I have walked, for those who wish to find more when they are not looking for anything. I, in a few days, I return to my passion sick. I'm coming home.