We left Madrid, After a fun night of parting with my friends who returned me to demotrar people who are worth, with sky on our car throwing a downpour of snow. Leandro, which it is of the Azores, She watched the show with surprise. "I never saw in my life so much snow", He said with his eyes transgressing the glass. All, somehow, we understood that this snowfall, Guadalajara that almost cuts the highway, It was the perfect prelude to a journey that will end in South Africa, amid a storm of sunshine.
That afternoon we arrived in Barcelona where friends and businesses together two nights when we enjoyed sell a message, our expeditions in 4×4, in a place where travelers huddle. Thanks to all, but especially Cristina Baths and Álex Póo, for your time and looking forward. They are the symbol, with Sofia, José María Joan or the best of travel: meet people thousands of kilometers and reacquaint months and thousands of kilometers later.
The car must always portrayed with something characteristic of the place where we sleep
In Barcelona I took a photo again forcing us to repeat it everywhere we go through: the car must always portrayed with something characteristic of the place where we sleep. Madrid was the Cibeles; Barcelona, the Holy Family; in Marseille, City Hall; in Genova, Columbus statue ...
Leaving Barcelona had the feeling that somehow the real journey began. We left the Iberian Peninsula and we went into France. And France exerted too much of France with all its negative and somehow became less bearable topics. I like this place, I think it's the country that have most traveled, I have very good French friends, but the country when it wears itself is complicated for my desire to enjoy things simply because yes.
We arrived at 22:10 Campanille hotel hours, seven kilometers from Marseille. Nothing else leave luggage after a long day look left and see that they are beginning to remove the buffet. "Forgive, we were almost eaten and we are hungry, Can we eat something? "Sorry, The restaurant is closed", We answer the receptionist. I looked to my left and saw overflowing plates of food go to the kitchen slowly while trying to understand what the guy said. He is looking for ourselves, hungry, and he looked at the face of absolute apathy receptionist, as if we were three strange that night we were bothering her professional tranqulidad. We decided not to explain to the guy above a schedule rule there are a thousand variables to please a customer. The first, want to do it.
We decided not to explain to the guy above a schedule rule there are a thousand variables to please a customer. The first, want to do it
So where we can eat?, we said with some anger from exhaustion. "In the Bufalo Grill, five kilometers, it closes at 23 hours". We went there flying, We arrived at 22:45, We saw the place was full and we hasten to sit at a table to order dinner. No one came until some time later a girl looks at us from afar and tells us that the kitchen was closed almost without looking at us. Only nod, enough to lend. It does not matter what we said, It was closed by order of Napoleon himself and ran.
Street again, Victor asks a group of people talking at the entrance. forgive, Do you know any place open here? Where are you? "From Portugal". "And he does not tell me again the man and only one woman deigned to tell me that there was nothing", I answered him to return to the car. Finally we had dinner at an English pub. The truth is that dead with laughter at both nonsense.
The next morning we left the hotel room road had cost us like an excellent nights sleep in the Palace of Versailles, We went to the lobby for coffee and the receptionist (a different type of night) asks us: "Will you have breakfast?”. “No, we only coffee ". "Then it has to be there", and points low tables next to the reception door. "We can not go to the dining room?”. “No, it's just for breakfast ", she replied with a wide smile and dry. We had to take coffee at a low table and stools. And 12 hours everything had been cold, stereotype of a France that I like less. There are good people on this earth, travel teaches you that, and also that there are certain stereotypes that are true and sometimes France is not the friendliest place in the world (own opinion).
And 12 hours everything had been cold, stereotype of a France that I like less
We decided to visit Marseille and on the way to Italy. We went down to know a city that has a very pretty harbor, surrounded by bars and restaurants, and where ships are queuing to stay afloat among its crowded waters by running with difficulty the air. "Too bad I did not come here last night, This area seems cheerful ", thought.
From there we made the French Riviera. Quite a spectacle for luxury, Earth seems almost perfect for those who like perfection (it's not my case). The French have in genetic aesthetic taste for perfection and recreate know better than anyone: Provence or French Riviera looks like a Cezanne still life painting. We passed through Toulon, Saint Tropez and its high erotic lingerie beach and came to Monaco where we saw most Ferraris and more police than the rest of the trip together.
That night we slept already in Genoa. Italy is a weakness and has come to be these days. We slept in a small hotel, in the center of town, where the receptionist ended up asking for a job and ensuring that Victor left his girlfriend if he were to go to Mozambique. It was a humble area, full of African immigrants, where we find a single parking for our tank. What father and ruled an enchanting child concerned to see pictures of the car they asked: «Forgive, Do they carry animals in there?»
forgive, Do they carry animals in there?
Then we showed a wonderful restaurant: Mario's Trattoria. Small, authentic, homemade food where after a hearty dinner with three bottles of wine paid 40 EUR. It was a special night, good conversations, where we strengthen something that seems a certainty: We are a team of travel and as such act. Personally I think I could not travel with two best mates.
After the previous regional and exaltation chants of friendship night, We left for Trieste and stopped earlier in Brescia. Brescia is one of those wonders that Italy has scattered his map. As beautiful as real with its Saturday market where one watched with a smile that the disorder is not just a thing Iberian, It is a Mediterranean thing. We finally got to Trieste, from where I write these lines before going down to breakfast. Last night we discussed whether we were going to stop at Split or Sarajevo or Mostar better pull up ... The decision will probably take en route, but now we are all aware that the second part of the journey begins: the other Europe.
