These are my nomadic perceptions, reflections from my journeys over the past 14 years.
The faces, the peeling walls, the thatched roofs of the huts and the tin shacks. The street food, the heat, the immense cities. All these strange writings in unknown alphabets, the curiosity of the people, the villages, the tea, the change of currencies, the border crossing. All the beds and rooms changed, every day a different day. Vendors of all kinds of merchandise, the schedules of trains and planes and buses and boats.
The cloaks and the umbrellas of the monks, the Buddha’s smiles, the happy eyes of the children, the sad eyes of the children. The big moustaches of the Indians, the serene gaze of the Dalai Lama. Friends from everywhere and their dreams, the sunsets over the temples, the various attempts to fool me, the blue seas. Savouring the Vietnamese salt coffee at the West Lake in Hanoi, the bats at Mulu Caves, farewells and the pain of parting. Finding out that the traditional market has changed to a modern one, the damned mischievous monkeys, the skyscrapers of Hong Kong and their neon lights.
Thinking what to do and where to go, the skipped plans, the new plans. To do and undo to create something beautiful. Getting stuck in the traffic in Jakarta, the endless bargaining for paying just a few cents less. Meeting a friend in Tokyo, speeding on a scooter through Kota Kinabalu’s streets, introducing myself to strangers who don’t speak my language, planning a trip and then having to change everything and improvise on the spot for something new and unexpected, A boat to the northernmost island in Sumatra, the misunderstandings due to language barriers with people from different cultures, wanting to leave a place, wanting to return to a distant land I consider home, letting go of a familiar hand, a part of me wonders if it’s forever.
The photographs, the boats on the Mekong, the kidney pain on a bus to Siem Reap, riding an elephant, the Tibetan flags. Learning how to say hello and thank you in the language of the country that I’m visiting. The gentle waves of Malaysia’s island waters vary in shades of blue, green, and turquoise, exploring Bangkok’s canals, washing clothes under the shower, the dust, the bicycle tours, drinking in an Izakaya in Osaka. The hope of the people and their fears, the requested information received with the utmost courtesy, climbing the Annapurna, the blue skin of Shiva, the belly of Ganesha. The Kuching riverside, the waits at airports and at the train stations, sleeping on any surface, the old Korean songs in a club in Hongdae.
Go anywhere and with any fellow comrade, the noodles, an old stranger woman who gave me a good morning in the streets of Melaka, getting used to the local food, the dragons and the tigers and the legends. Watching and contemplating unknown landscapes from the window of a broken-down bus, the song of geckos, the sand beaches, being seen as the aliens, my bad English, the infinite wall of China. All the time spent on finding a way to support myself, the visas and the long wait for obtaining them. Observing the next destination from the airplane above, unsure of what will happen or how long I’ll stay, almost crying in front of the Gundam statue in Odaiba, the scooters, the buses and the buses and the buses again.
The noisy fans in the room that made it difficult to sleep, the excellent shrimp eaten on a Cambodian beach, the endless check-ins and check-outs. Meeting someone important again, exchanging information and experiences with other travellers, the moto-taxies, the streets, the waiting for luggage at the airport. Laughing and joking with a young street vendor in a Bagan temple, the spitting red of the Indians and Burmese who chew the paan, the Vietnamese sleeping buses, recording some Youtube videos, the different power sockets and adapters. The bag that got snatched from me in Kuala Lumpur, the strange fruits, saying goodbye to someone, the crazy nights in Itaewon, the unique smell of durian. Riding a camel, surfing in Dulan, drinking with locals Beer Lao in a small remote village in Laos, the maps of the area, the endless 7-Elevens at any corners, sitting next to strangers and sharing a smile.
The Indian festivals held basically every day, the sad eyes of a lady gazing at the sea in Busan, the Tibetan prayers and their songs, the horrors of wars, walking hand in hand, cooking Italian food for strangers, singing in a noraebang in Seoul. Saying fuck off to someone, saying sorry to someone, riding a motorbike on the North coast of Taiwan, getting by in any situation at any cost. The accelerations that crush you against the seat of the plane taking off, the Korean East Sea, hitchhiking around Taiwan. Meeting again a familiar smile, the bumps on the streets that make you jump on the seat of a bus, facing any kind of problems by myself. The loud music, the Kilometre Zero of Indonesia, taking risks to avoid future regrets, walking with flip flops, booking a flight to some unknown destination.
A local market, listening to someone’s life story, climbing Mount Misen in Miyajima Island, the sea goddess Mazu, finding out that she was not the right one and packing everything and leaving, the will to live and not just survive as an animal, trying to understand a new culture, a giant dragon temple in Suphan Buri, hearing my name spoken for the first time by someone who will become special, meeting some old friends and finding out that they’ve changed too much, the green rice fields in Mae Hong Son. A coffee with a stranger, getting pissed by a culture, the funny panda, a friend who introduces me to the local food, the desperate need for freedom. Making my ex cry in front of the Taipei 101, the strange animals in the Singapore Zoo, the expiration date of the visa.
Trying to overcome the limits of our cultures, trying every kind of food that people usually eat even if it’s really weird, sharing everything with anyone, getting bored of a place, snorkelling in Malaysia, the Korean alphabet. The phones of local people with ringtones shot at full volume, writing a blog, the karaoke and the dramas on the TV on the Southeast Asian buses, leaving a country without knowing if I’ll see her again. Getting drunk at a village festival in the Borneo jungle, the ladies in high heels cycling under the snow in Fukuoka, the Tokyo subway, the amazingly strong Haenyeo in Jeju Island, the few things in my backpack. A friend’s wedding in Hangzhou, the kisses, getting lost in overthinking, the kindness of the people, the last goodbye to a familiar smile, the Nepalese boys who share with me some snacks, the Korean idols, the veils of female students in Malaysia. The first night in Bangkok where I could not breathe because of the extreme heat, the sleepless nights due to noise, the Nepalese glaciers, the rain, the wind, the new flavours, the emails and text messages with far friends.
Teaching someone else what you know, learning from every event and person, the love that is hidden behind the eyes full of fears, an endless beach of white sand, someone who’s waiting for you at the airport, the beers enjoyed in the bars along the Chao Phraya River, escaping the tourists and expats trying to immerse myself in the authentic local culture, the majestic power of the waves in Mirissa, the spicy food, the visa extensions, the colours of everything that surrounds me,
…aiming and gazing at the map of the world to continue to dream this beautiful dream.
