When you ask people what their tastes and pleasures are, travel comes almost first. In theory it is beautiful to travel, change the environment, move, go sightseeing, observe other spaces and see the diverse human fauna, which runs from one place to another dragging suitcases.
Arriving at my town.
My excitement about traveling is related to the emotions and the people that I am going to see when I arrive at my destination, but not to the trip itself, this seems like a crazy trip to me. The night before it, I practically didn't sleep, because I was attentive to the phone alarm, I still have the aftertaste of the alarm clocks, which stopped in the middle of the night, and didn't wake anyone up.
The main fight is against my own obsessive-pessimistic thinking, which abandons any self-help theory, law of attraction or assumption that exists; He begins to repeat to me, insistently and mercilessly, in a voice from beyond the grave: "take care of your suitcases", "don't lose your money", "hide your phone", "don't get lost yourself" and all the warnings that my grandmother would give me if she were alive.
Once, at a stop they make for the passenger to go to the bathroom and eat something, (not in the bathroom), I saw a white bus (the driver) blow the horn for the passengers to get on; I hurried and went up with them, because mine was also white, (the one from the company that provides the service); Once on top I noticed that everything was different, the faces did not seem familiar to me, then I made my mistake, a passenger from the other bus was already running to tell me that I had made a mistake, I got off embarrassed and thought: "no one knows me here." Later, after some time, when I ran into an acquaintance on the street, she asked me with a laugh: "Since when have you not taken the wrong bus?" "My son saw you."
Crossing the mighty river before reaching the destination.
The first adventure is going up to the unit, in a society of people of different sizes, I don't know why they place the steps as if we were all 1.90 tall. Almost always a merciful hand pushes me and I grab momentum and go up, or if not, I use the handle of my umbrella as a handle and hook it on the entrance tube and push myself with a vigor that surprises me myself. From there it is entertaining in this first stage of the trip to observe how each obese or elderly person gets on the bus. That scares me from sleep.
When I arrive at the terminal, always in a hurry, I am stunned by the screams of those calling out different destinations. Several approach me determined to take my suitcase to help me, I barely make myself understood, most of them move away and I let myself be helped by the conductor of the bus where, with luck, I will travel. Now it's time to hope that my travel companion isn't big and doesn't fall asleep on me.
It's six hours of travel that I endure imagining the faces of mine when I arrive. Recently, a friend traveled from Venezuela to Peru to see her son, and it was six days, that is my consolation.
Sleep accompanies me, several passengers are asleep with their mouths open, since masks now exist, I take advantage and take mine out, just in case, while asleep I want to imitate them. It's not going to be that one day I find a friend who tells me: "Since when have you not traveled with your mouth open?"
Halfway along the way they warn that they will transfer and that we must move to another bus with all our belongings. I barely drag my suitcases, counting them over and over again, when I'm already settled in the other unit, someone comes running with my umbrella, saying "Who left this?"
The trip continues, now the sun makes me sleepy and the fat man next door nods with his mouth open, I only care about arriving and being welcomed at the terminal with open arms, traveling is an odyssey.
Thank you for your kind reading.
My content is original
Two original photographs from my recent trip to the state of Apure, Venezuela.
I have used Google translator.
