As announced kindly traveling this page, just published a new book of travels in Africa (Kenia y Tanzania), to which the holder has given me poetically Hills that burn, lakes of fire ». In a way, is a title also real, walked across ranges such as battered by the sun seemed to burn and the two lakes to which I looked, the Turkana and Tanganyika, caught fire in the magnificent sunsets.
Following the publication in 2002 the third book in my trilogy of Africa, "The lost roads of Africa", I had promised not to return to the black continent. But Africa is like a bad woman that you are hopelessly in love. And back in 2008 and 2009. I did not think to write about it, but African forces you to write about it: is like an evil boss who always imposes obligations.
And there's the book.
Africa is like a bad woman that you are hopelessly in love
I have sworn, anyway, not to travel to Africa and write a line in my life on it. But you know that man is an animal that is often lacking to his promises and oaths, what makes us worthy of hell. A few days ago I saw a video, Included on this page VaP., from a trip to South Africa, Malawi and Mozambique, and after reading a text of my namesake great Javier Brandoli, the African bug began to itch again. Why not return?
The first time I heard about the "African disease" I had not traveled to the continent beyond the Atlas mountain range.. I explained that was a rare heart disease that drives you, when you've walked the earth sub-Saharan, back there again and again.
Once I saved from malaria in the Amazon, but I have not been able to heal from the "African disease". I will die with the disease
And I. And contracted the disease. And there is no cure or vaccine. Once I saved from malaria in Amazon, but I have not been able to heal from the "African disease". I will die with the disease.
And write about it? It is impossible to escape: because when you take the pen to remember the days spent in the continent, back next to you smells and odors, the voices, the color and flavor of the African. Fatigue Africa, but in a certain sense what happens with it is what happened with the old "military": that over time, remember only the good. And you come to long for the dust of the roads and the fatigue of the hours aboard disastrous "matatus" or "dalla-dallas".
On his deathbed, still very young, devoured by malaria, Scottish explorer Joseph Thomson left the: "If I could get up, "I would put on my boots right now and go wander around Africa.".
Well, that.
