Prea multa patima

s-o lasam mai moale ca vine toamna.
adevarul este ca dupa ce-am umblat dilaila prin natura, mi-e al naibii de greu sa-mi mai gasesc locul printre betoane, de parca mi l-as fi gasit vreodata. plus ca nu (mai) sunt in stare sa iau o decizie, asa ca m-am tinut ocupata saptamana asta sa-mi aduc actele, contractele, corecturile la zi. adica exact ce nu-mi place sa fac, dar e prea haos in toate. calcule si iar alte calcule. pana si permisul de conducere a expirat. alte drumuri. se pare ca toata lumea a tabarat pe capul meu sa-mi fac odata ordine printre hartoage, unii m-au scuturat zdravan, altii si mai zdravan, si iata-ma cu drumuri pe la banci si fiscuri, saptejdemii de hartii, acte aditionale, numarat de cuvinte, schimbat de conturi, altele de inchis, recuperat parole, politie, pasapoarte, cozi. si dosare de tot felul.

asa deci. ca sa ai o viata (mai) linistita trebuie sa treci prin toate astea. altcineva m-a certat ca de ce pun caprioare moarte pe blog, sunt macabra, vorbesc despre estetica si oripilez lumea cu poze proaste. da, bine, moartea arata oribil in poze, asta nu inseamna ca nu exista. mai aveam si niste pasari sfartecate, totusi sa scutesc ochii sensibili. nu e nimic romantic in toate astea si oricum, desi nu se vede, sunt in dispozitii de blue heart. asta-mi mai lipsea dupa ce ca sunt complet neserioasa si nu ma mai dedic profunzimilor spirituale. o sa… dar dupa ce scap de aranjamentul contractelor.

am acum unul in fata si nu stiu daca sa-l semnez sau nu. problema mea este ca am prea multe contracte, sisteme diferite, oameni diferiti si ei cu probleme de tot felul. am un mail la care nu stiu daca trebuie sa raspund sau nu, fiindca mi se pare ca prea vine din senin si fara nici un efort. probabil o s-o las balta. asa cum acum cateva zile ma uitam la telefon si nu stiam daca sa raspund la el sau nu, rezolvand pana la urma in felul meu problema. am obosit sa iau decizii proaste.

w-end cu filme clasice si muzica clasica. stand-by.

Telefon off

hai ca s-a terminat cu smecheria. ma tot tin sa scriu un articol despre barfa, ca n-am abordat niciodata subiectul asta la modul serios si mi-am pus termen pana maine, deci am ce face si in noaptea asta. nu mi-a dat Did ideea, ca lucra subiectul in capul meu inca de cand imi caram rucsacul prin spinare si altii isi rodeau unghiile de nerabdare infierbantand sms-urile, mai ceva ca un hotline, despre cum am tiranizat eu niste pelerini ca au pus botul la vrajeala taranilor spanioli. S-a dovedit pana la urma ca habar n-aveau (tarani si pelerini) pe ce planeta traiesc, darmite cati km sunt pana in satul urmator. imi vine sa arunc rucsacul asta sa nu-l mai vad niciodata.

pe urma ma apucasem sa traduc ultimul articol despre camino, dar mi s-a luat. oricum ce-am avut eu de priceput din toata povestea asta am priceput pe cont propriu. ca mai toate lucrurile. acum n-aveti decat sa astepti trei luni sa ma documentez si alte sase sa scriu urmatorul roman. sau sa ma indragostesc de cineva care nu da doi bani pe mobilul meu. altfel, la urmatorul tirg de carte sunt doar un simplu vizitator. probabil…

inca n-am ajuns sa-i pricep pe barbati, drept pentru care dau vina pe mobil, aceasta masinarie moderna de care trebuie sa fii atasat minut cu minut sa fii gasit, sa stie toata lumea pe unde esti, ce faci, de ce te plimbi, hai nu ma innebuni, ca de rezolvat prea multe nu rezolvi cu el. si asta e o idee mai veche de un an: sa-l ia dracu de telefon! ca oricum il uit pe unde se nimereste. incep sa inteleg de ce intr-o vreme Andries, unul dintre cei patru corifei, nu avea mobil si toata lumea se minuna, vai, cum, domnule, nu are Andries mobil? pai daca ar fi fost intrerupt la fiecare compozitie de maica-sa sa-l intrebe daca-i e foame, mai ascultati voi acum nada.

45 de zile fara, sunam numai pe cine aveam eu chef si cand aveam chef. iar aceasta minunata treaba cu “cheful” numai eu si poate Zan o mai pricepe. doamne fereste sa-i spui unuia ca n-ai chef de el, asa mare jignire i-ai adus. oricum mi se pare mult mai cinstit decat sa inventezi pretexte si scuze si mai stiu eu ce ca nu esti de gasit sau de ce te plimbi. da, bine, parca eu mai pot sa stau in casa dupa ce m-am obisnuit sa ma ridic din pat si sa plec. sau de parca ar fi treaba cuiva de ce ma plimb ca sa nu stau intre patru pereti. asa ca n-o sa ma mai imprietenesc de-acum decat cu cei care n-au chef de mine si sunt in stare sa-mi zica asta. eu de ce nu ma supar??

discutie:
- vii la o cafea?
- n-am chef, ma!
simplu, nu?
pe naiba!
- cum adica n-ai chef?
- am sa-ti dau bani, ceva?
- nu!
- atunci n-am chef!
- dar ce faci?
- ce stiu eu?

acum din doua una: ori esti deprimat, ori ala te plictiseste. nici nu se pune problema ca n-ai avea timp, sau ca lucrezi la ceva. scrisul nu e o treaba serioasa, ce naiba! uneori de-aia ma plimb si sunt in locuri diferite ca sa fiu sigura ca nu se supara nimeni cand n-am eu chef. dupa mintea unora care vad in calatorii doar spart de bani, asta inseamna ca sunt neaparat si foarte bogata. parul meu se usuca si la soare, si cu prosopul, tot e mai sanatos decat al multora.

si mai simplu: de maine n-am nici telefon. ne vom intalni din intamplare. asa e cel mai frumos. si cred ca de-asta m-am si indragostit ultima oara. m-a lovit intamplarea peste fata. ei, de-acum tot intamplarea sa ne aduca in fata si sa ne faca sa ne privim in ochi.

mai simplu decat simplu: de ieri am renuntat si la mess. se poate trai si fara. daca va vine sa credeti m-am despartit pe mess de cateva ori si nici acum nu stiu de ce. treaba asta cu virtualul pentru unii e de-a dreptul serioasa. mai ramane sa primesc un sms cu “vrei sa fii nevasta mea?” au contraire, nu primesc nici unul in care sa mi se spuna: “hei, vezi ca ti-au intrat banii in cont LA TIMP, si pentru ca ai fost cuminte ai si un bonus de fidelitate. sau loialitate.” in fine, copiii se pot face prin sms? ca sa stiu daca ii cresc cu messu.

in loc sa-mi concentrez atentia si eforturile catre calatorit si vazut orasele visate, stau sa dau intruna explicatii ca de ce nu sunt unde trebuie sa fiu. dar unde trebuie sa fiu? mi-a luat un an s-o dresez pe maica-mea si inca mai face gafe. daca ii zic nu-i suna pe aia ca nu mai am nici o treaba cu ei, bineinteles ca ea exact pe aia ii suna sa vada de ce nu mai am nici o treaba cu ei. sau daca ii zic vezi ca sunt prin munti si s-ar putea sa n-am semnal, suna pana ma nimereste pe un varf de munte unde sunt si ursi si semnal. ca de draci sunt in stare mai apoi sa infrunt ursii. pai inca trei de-astia in viata ta si te alegi cu atacuri de panica la fiecare tarait de telefon. ia ca m-am saturat.

de ce nu se mai pot privi oamenii in ochi si sa citeasca de-acolo tot ce trebuie? pentru ca exista sms-uri si messengeruri unde-si pot arunca vorbe pe care in mod normal nu au curajul sa le spuna? nu, mersi. bine ca avem maimutoi care sa ne pupe in ferestrele deschise. m-a mintit vreodata un zambet real? i s-au umezit cuiva ochii la comanda in fata mea? whatever, cred ca m-am uitat prea mult in adolescenta la filme de dragoste. sau poate sunt too old fashion.

filmul asta nu l-am vazut. probabil insa ca dupa vreo trei episoade m-ar plictisi ingrozitor.

Let`s end with playing games. I am working to write an article about gossips, something I wanted to write about it, but I never approached this subject seriously, so… I have things to do tonight. The idea to work on this topic troubled me since I was carrying my rucsack on my back and others were gnowing their nails anxiously, sending some sms-s home or whatever, more like a hotline, how angry I was or upset or something very wrong was with me that day when pilgrims have questioned Spanish peasants about the place or the world where they`re living. In the end, it was proved that they had no idea (peasants and pilgrims) on what planet they live, no talking about how many kms are up to the next village. Sometime, I just want to throw away my rucsack and no longer see it again.

I have started two days ago to translate my last article on the camino, but I was gave up. Anyway, what I had to understand throughout this story I already understood on my own. Like all the things happened to me in past. Now you just have to wait three months or more to finish my searchings, readings, travelings and six other more months or perhaps years to write the next novel. Or to fall in love and love someone who don`t pay attention on my phone. Moreover, to the following bookfest I am just a simple visitor.

I still not understand men, I think it`s my mobile fault, this modern machinery which you should be attached every minute on your life to be found, and let everybody know where you are, what are you doing, why are you spinning around, otherwise I resolve nothing carrying with me. Another sound in hell. and this idea is older than one year: to hell with it! Anyway very often I lost it in some strange places, or friends’ cars, or whatever. I begin to understand why Andries, one of the four corifei had not carried mobile and everybody was wondering, wow, how, sir, Andries has no mobile? Well, if he was interrupted every composition by his mother asking him if he was hungry, we will hear none of his songs.

45 days without, and I only had called whom I have wanted when I have wished. and this wonderful thing with “wish” or „mood” only with Zan I can do. Or Pici. It`s related with some kind of relaxation. God help you to tell someone you are not in the mood to see him/ her. You already have brought himr/ her a huge offence. however it seems to me far more honest to say you are not in the mood than invent pretexts and excuses and I don`t know what other things just not to explain yourself why are you spending some time on your own. Yeah, well, like I could stay home, kept between four walls after I had used to get up and go. Or, like it`s someone else`s job why am I walking instead sitting. so from now on I will be friend with those people who were not in the mood for me and are able to tell me that. I won`t be upset.

Discussion:
“would you drink a coffee with me?”
“I am not in the mood.”
Simple, right?
To hell!
“what do you mean you are not in the mood?”
“Well, do I have to give you some money, or something else?”
“No!”
“Then, I am not in the mood.”
“But, what are you doing now?”
“Nothing special.”

now one of two: either you are depressed, or the other one is very boring person and you already know that. Of course, it`s not the question that you have no time or working at something. Writing is not a serious job, come on. sometimes I walk-off and I am in different places just to be sure nobody is upset when I did what I`m feelling. after some minds who were seeing in travels just a way to spend some money, this means I am necessarily very rich. Well, of course I am, I have so much potential, hehehe… my hair could dry on sunshine, or with the towel, and even so is more healthy than the others. So, what`s the problem?

Let`s make things more easier: from now one no telephone. we meet in random. Much better this way. and I think this was the main reason I felt in love last time. Some strange happening had stroke me in the face. Well, from now one let fate bring us together and make us look in each other`s eyes.

Let`s make things simpler than simple: I quit yesterday on mess too. Can live without so well. if you only knew how many times I broke-up with someone on mess-discussions and I don`t know why. For some people, this virtual thing became more and more serious. Remains to receive a sms with “want to be my wife?” contrary have not received any in which someone say: “Hey, see that I have sent you the money in your account IN TIME, and because you were good and so understanding person you have a loyalty bonus”. or fidelity. Otherwise, you have nerves to ask me what I’m doing. could children be made through sms? I`d like to know if I will increase them by mess.

instead to focus my attention and energy to travel and see the towns I dreamt, I always have to give explanations why I am not where I should be. So, where I should be? It took me a year to trane my mother and she still makes mistakes. If I say her „dont call these people because I have nothing to do with them from now one”, of course, she will call precisely those people just to see why I have anything to do with them. or if I tell her „I am in the mountains, sorry, no signal” she will call until I`ll find a peak where there are bears and signal. another three of these in your life and you`ll have panic attacks everytime your phone is ringing. I had enough.

why can not people look in the eyes and read from there everything they need to find or feel? because there sms-mess where they can throw words that normally do not have the courage to say? No, thanks. as well like monkeys which could kiss us in open windows. Have a real smile ever lied to me? or someone`s eyes gentled at my orders?

whatever, I think I watched too much Hallmark. or perhaps I am too old fashion.

Prin ochii lui…

nu stiu ce mi-a facut omul asta, dar prin ochii lui vad mai bine si in timp ce-i povestesc lucruri stupide devin si mai constienta de stupiditatea lor.

de exemplu blogul asta. ceva mai stupid nici ca se poate imagina. apoi o parte din vietile haotice ale prietenilor mei pe care in continuare ii numesc prietenii mei, poate din obisnuinta. unii chiar nu merita sa fie infuriati aiurea. oricum ce trebuie sa inteleg din toate astea este ca joaca s-a cam terminat. am urat intodeauna deciziile pe care trebuie sa le iau pentru ca ele aduceau si un soi de confruntare si de camasi zburlite cu nasturi smulsi si vorbe urate. de-aia tot evitam.

desi de cele mai multe ori una zicem si alta ne intelegem. poate nu vorbim aceeasi limba, dar mereu sunt inconjurata de replici stupide. se pune o intrebare, se da un raspuns total anapoda. azi de exemplu am aflat ca soarecii pot rontai si tevi, oho, pai daca e posibil asa ceva, atunci chiar ca traiesc intr-o tara unde pana si soarecii se adapteaza la romanisme. saracii soareci autohtoni, asta ca sa folosesc si eu un cuvant atat de uzat in presa. de foame, probabil se pot roade si tevi care se sparg mai apoi si curg de sus in jos pana la parter, trecand, inevitabil, prin bucataria parasita a lui Zan. apa curge, tevile sunt roase, sa ne intelegem. si asta asa cand mai trec si eu pe-acolo cand si cand, din ce in ce mai rar si vad dezastrul. o baltoaca, no big deal.

alta, mireasa fiind, i se propune sa fie furata. cinstita replica: ok, furati-ma dar dupa ce se servesc sarmalele!, ma face sa rad. ma gandesc doar c-o sa ma distrez de minune la nunta lui Pici, incep sa-mi revin, sa ma reobisnuiesc cu tocurile si fustele si cu aranjatul. cam greu dupa ce ti s-au lipit pantalonii scurti de coapse si ti-au lasat niste dungi de panda prin pustiuri, ca sa folosesc cea mai potrivita descriere pe care mi-a facut-o cineva. oricum de la atatea aranjamente mi se trage. sau deranjamente. dereglari de tot felul. mi se mai trage si de la faptul ca in ultima vreme am vorbit prea mult despre bani. pffff…

altuia i se spune “buna ziua” si ala raspunde la salut cu “pofta buna”. il scanez frumos cu privirea si vad doar o burta revarsandu-se peste curea. probabil ca e normal raspunsul. de-acum incolo cand o sa ma intrebe cineva ce mai fac o sa-i spun si eu “pofta buna”. poate primesc in dar un prosop cu chipul madonei la 25 de ani. de ce sa nu fie posibil?

e de-ajuns oricum sa deschid portofoliul de presa si sa ma cutremur de toate subiectele acelea stupide despre care am scris ca sa realizez ca tot mai bine e in biblioteca mea, care urla de carti necitite, adunate duium intre timp. pe ce naiba sa-mi fi cheltuit si eu banii, nu puteam sa-i adun la ciorap, hahaha… si-apoi rasfoind printre hartoage dau de paragrafe profetice in care am scris despre oameni ce nu existau decat in imaginatia mea candva si asta i-a facut probabil mai interesanti. iar acum dau peste ei in realitate ca si cum i-as fi strigat din trecut sa apara ani mai tarziu, adica anii de-acum, si nici nu stiu cum sa ma port cu ei, ca uite, la asta chiar nu ma asteptam.

in rest, urasc despartirile. hai sa ne vedem acum fiecare de viata proprie. pina la proxima volta. avem pasapoarte de adus la zi. posibil sa il gasesc si pe ala catre fericire. era pe-aici pe undeva. si cum intre timp mi-am dezvoltat si eu calitatile de vizionara, presimt un an pe cinste. cu de toate. yam yam! pofta buna va urez! asta dupa ce m-am pus la curent cu ce-ati mai scris si enjoy life

Through His Eyes…

I do not know what this man did to me, but through his eyes I see better how things are when I tell silly stories I become even more aware of their stupidity.

For example take this blog. Something more stupid no one can imagine. then a part of the chaotic lives of my friends, people who I still call “my friends”, maybe by force of habit. Some of them do not even deserve to be enraged for a triffle. And others you just have to give up. Anyway, what I have to understand from all of these it`s that the game is over. I have always hated the decisions that I needed take them because they were bringing all sorts of confrontations and rumpled shirts with cracking buttons and mean words.

Most of the time we say one thing and understand something else. Maybe we are not talking the same language, but we are always surrounded by stupid lines. put a question, the answer is a total nonsens. for example today I found out that mice may chew pipes, oho, if this is possible, then I really live in a country where even mice have adapted to Romania. poor local mice, to use an expression, so loved and used by press. Being so hungry, probably they can eat pipes which break and then fall from the top down to the floor, passing, inevitably, through the abandoned Zan`s kitchen. to make things clear, water flows, the pipes are chewed. and this when I pass by from time to time, less and less often and I see the disaster. Just a puddle, no big deal.

another one, being a bride, is proposed to be kidnapped, as the custom is. the honest reply: ok, but do it after sarmale!, made me laugh. I think I will enjoy Pici`s great wedding, starting to get used again with high heels and skirts and make-up. pretty hard after your short pants were glued on your tighes leaving some panda stripes to use the most appropriate description that somebody made me. the problem is having too many arrangements, or misarrangements. all sorts of faults and mishaps. All kind of derangements. and the fact that lately I talked too much about money. Pffff…

one is saying “good day” and receives the greet respond “enjoy your food”. I scann him curiously and see his belly rounding over the belt. And just like that the answer is becoming normal. from now one when somebedy will ask me: „hei, how are you?” I will say “enjoy your food”. Maybe I can get a towel with 25 years old madonna. Why not?

Anyway, it is enough to open my media portfolio and I shudder seeing all those silly topics about which I have written only to realise that everything is better in my peaceful library, full of unread books, collected through the years. For what a hell to spent money, if not for books, hahaha…

and then reading among old papers I find my own profetic paragraphs in which I have written about people that did not exist except in my imagination, and that`s why probably they became much more interesting. and now I find them in my life, real, asa if I have screamed from the past for them to appear years later, as I would have cried in the past to appear later years, meaning years from now, and I do not know how behave with them, because look, this is something I wasn`t expecting.

otherwise, I hate good-byes. let us now go on with our own lives. until proxima volta. We have to bring passports up to date. possible to find the one towards happiness. was here on somewhere. since in the meantime I have developed visionary skills, I predict one hell of a year. with everything. yam yam! Enjoy your food! And life!

Thanks, A!

And google translation:
shirts with buttons and talking smulsi out.
put a question, the answer is yes a total anapoda.
water flow, tevile are roase, we understand.

The man from the end of the world

doar fragmente:
“Above all these I recognised some sort of sour solitude and an unfinished sadness almost incurable of a very cruel and very betrayed expactations. It seems like the whole Santa Maria cathedral, with all its curves and arches and ogival vaults and all its richeness gothic details, it was crushed that day on his shoulders.

I found out, many kilometres farther that in that day, a little bit too chilly, Nico, this is his name, arrived in Burgos from Australia, by plane, and then took 3 o` clock train and slept for another few hours on the unfriendly chairs from the train-station, but very decided to begin his trip through the end of the World, the final point of the Camino pilgrimage, where it said that is 0 km of personal problems, Finisterre, the place where the ships enter in port in the most west side to the Spain, and also the Continental Europe.

To take a decision. Like this or like that. A white-black game of life. Never between decisions. You can`t ask something like that to a young man who is still dreaming. The symbolism of a journey until the end of the world and then, reaching the final point, burning the clothes that took you on the roads, getting over another way or start, like a continous refreshment, regeneration, purification. Conquered, re-conquered freedom.

That 4th July morning, he lifted up himself on the table after he drunk his caffee and went in his steps` law. I thought I won`t see him ever again, so I just was aware about his presence, or properly said his absence, and I entered in the cathedral, immediatly it opened its doors.

Albergues, kilometres, cities and villages, cigarettes, loneliness and little complicities

20 km away, in Hornillos del Camino I was seeing him again in same albuergue as I was sheltered too. I scanned him again up and down, he looked at me a little bit annoyed and then we saw each other`s nausea.

I was alone on my road since 4 days, and all this walking, like an impose marathon by my own will, seems to me more and more pointless. I didn`t want to give up, but I began to be more and more fet up. Nothing fabulous. Stones, bridges, churches, other pilgrims who tried convince each other of their own spirituality, oh, Lord, please don`t let me be missunderstood, but come on, they were lying one to the other that in the end they will find the Zen, and all the 7 chakras will be open to receive aliens information and will be rounding and rounding, and Jesus will come to save them, or perhaps they will be transformed into indigo children in Earth`s saviour, somewhere in 2012 year, the big year, when the profecy said that it will be the next Atlantida or I don`t know which earthquake will swallow the humanity and only the ones who are spiritualized now, on the Camino Real will escape. That`s what they said. Stupid pilgrims. And I was rising my shoulders very bored and very indifferent. Nobody has to frighten you with ending the world when your worlds invented by your own mind are already vanished. There is enough to realise how false they are, and all these perceptions rounding around your ego. Or your vanity. It doesn`t exist a sneakier-trickier plan than this.”

“Next day, entering in Carrion de los Condes, 19 km away from Fromista, he was walking in front of me, like he didn`t care where the road was taken him. Same strange sensation of carelessness I had myself too. It began equally for me where I`ll go or where I`ll stay. If something happend or nothing. If I go or if I stay.
Although I was walking. I was entering already in lovely tiresome of my own steps.
(…)

„I`m the runabout of my life/ Like a movie with Raj Kapur…”

The next five days I didn`t see him. I was busy to escape of someone who seems to aglutinate on me, like a clammy snail, or like fog to Galicia`s morning. I was running and eating dust and stones, screeching the grail under my foot, swallowing other and other kilometres, without finding a good answer why am I walking like this, why am I running, why I don`t want to go back, or stop forever, why I want to reach Santiago where some saint`s bones are laying, and maybe they are not even saint. Absurd! I was feeling like in one of Sartre`s drama pieces. I wasn`t finding nothing scary enough or something really unbielivable to let me stoned. Or make me happy. Just ground. And routine. My journey became a fucking routine. Wake up and go. Wake up and go. Wake up… and people and commun stories. Little amuzing things, here and there. Or soft moments of tenderness gave it to strangers without names. Or me helping people with their blesters. Or me listening, like I was doing at home, when somebody had the restless desire to cry, or to confess, or to whine or to think that his/her story is the most interesting and the only one who deserve to be taken in consideration. But those things are like a joint on Camino. And it`s very ironic that a pilgrimage became routine. I mean, where is the adventure? Everybody was whining about their blesters or physical conditions, and for me it became an usual custom to advice them to go home if they were suffering so much. Where is the miracle?
Hm…

And finally you start thinking of nothing, you forget why you left home, it`s seems that all your problems, all your existential dilemma, hand in hand with your searchings, were vanished between these little stones, or on the hit of messeta, or through the slippery mountains paths, or in the cold river`s water where you splashed your burning feet. Maybe this is the miracle. To walk and to find about yourself that you are able to walk at plus infinit and meanwhile the landscape is changing, people were changing, someone goes, other remains, and in the end, when you meet one person dear your soul embraces him or her with some childish joy, and when you meet others even a cold stone apears more friendly than their stupid faces.

I thought those days that in my crazy runaway to end my Camino once for all I lost Nico forever. That`s why, when I saw him again, five days later, in Vega del Valcarce, very very tired (he was made that day 40 km to Ponferrada) but absolutely happy, it was like I was redescovering an old friend. In my corner, hidden under a big umbrella, on a terrace, I felt, for the first time when I was seeing him on this Camino, blowing inside him the cruelty of youth and the brutal hapiness of his soul. He had such a beautiful smile and green intensive sparks in his eyes, like this runabout style of life finally rejected his sadness.
But I knew it`s just a short moment. And it won`t last. And it will be worse.
(…)
Star-dust sweepers…

In Samos, three days later, so early in the morning, we were again on the same terrace from the respective city. Different tables. We were drinking our loneliness from a sweet-sorrow black caffee. I remembered the morning from Burgos when I saw Nico for the first time. Now, as good as then, I was working on my articles. He looked worse than that far 4 July day, when he was started his journey. I looked at him under my eyebrows and I had the impression that I was looking at me in some 7 years old mirror. Or perhaps 8. God damn it! I had to talk with him. If not now, maybe I won`t be able next time, if it`ll be a next time.

I waited him to pay his caffee and I waved him to approach. (…) I have the string feeling to push him or to shake him somehow, and with this gesture to shake me too.
„Do you want to share with me few kilometres?” I asked instead.
„Of course”, he answered.
I pack my things and we came up on the street. We searched the yellow arrows and then we followed them conscientious until the border of the city. We left Samos easely, and the churche`s bells were singing behind us.
Simple. That`s how our friendship starts.
(…) In that day, other people didn`t exist for us. Whole the world was dissapeared. We were so far away of everything known, of our friends who were chosen other paths, other sticky roads, or other hollows, we were so deeply screwed into the forest that we didn`t have anything better to do than hanging around into the green nowhere.
His story – a commun one. I could go farther and say: like anyone else`s. Love dessapointment that he wanted to smash it on stones and to lose it permanently in forests. Or to rebuilt it from rests. He wasn`t too sure. Doubts. Doubts. Doubts.
(…)

When You`ll Be So Far Away …

I left him there, under a shadowly big tree, without having any clue and not wanting to know what happend behind me. Another people warn in love. Vainglory games. Some woman want some man to fight for her until all the animals in the forest will die. Until he`ll die. But most probably she had some other man who was offering something else. You could go in hell for her and return alive and safe, meanwhile enslave life and death and all the demons in hell, and even that you had another tests to pass, like poor cursed Sisif, and then you didn`t know if you are Sisif or his stupid boulder. Going back, or going down, these are bullshit, nonsens, and I won`t came to you to show you lessons about endless love, because in the end love die more quickly than other things. That`s why is very important but again not. And everytime it depends on the other one`s shows, figures or rights, it depends how good lyer is, he/she wants you or maybe not, I mean he/ she wants you, of course, but what if he/ she find somebody more interesting? And what if he/ she doesn`t find? What if remains alone, isn`t it better to have a safe hand? An A plan? Or B plan? Or C revange plan? Or D marriage plan?
In these cases it`s better to have dust under your boots. And unbroken dreams. And some wildness. Just in case.

(…)
I will make the long story short and I just want to tell you this: he was very happy to see me again, that kind of not heartbreaking joy, that kind of joy when you jump on other one`s arms and you know you are hugged as well as you are hugging, because you know nothing wrong will happend next to him, that nothing you shared together, moments, kilometres or stories won`t be destroyed, alterated, or vanished in the garbage of forgiveness. Something which should exist beyond distance, in presence or in absence of false gods, beyond each one`s ego, pure, incredible, marvellous fenomenal asexual embracement of souls.
I thought finally I had found my miracle. There. In a young man. I had realised then how disperate need I also need not to talk someone in vain. But it wasn`t over.

Don`t tell anyone….

Next morning, in Arzua we drank together a caffee con leche, this time sitting both to the same table. We decided to go in separate ways, each one on his/her own Camino. What more could we say to each other, after we talked and talked all night long and he said to me that after months and days he feels now again the taste of the bread when is eating it and the flavor of the caffee when is drinking it?
He gave me as a present his orange jacket who was smelling like wind, like rain, like green rich forest. Dust and water. Pilgrim sweat. And sun. A lot of sun. And it was like something very dear was coming back to me.
He left first. I watched over him until the yellow arrows swallowed him in the forest viscern. He didn`t turn his head. It had to be like this.
I didn`t see him from then. We write one to the other. I know he reached at the end of the world, like he wanted it. But I was sure about that before he said me so.

He wrote me these days:
„Everything is changing in my point of view. I have arrived to my city a couple or three days ago, and as I suposed, all is the same. It´s like that film with Bill Murray where he has to live in the same day everytime. But now something is diferent. I have learned that things are not so easy. But I have learned that you have not to see the next five meters, no. You have to see to the end of the world. To the end of the words.”

And just like this, what it began in a such beautiful named caffee „Bonfin”, just like in a some sort of profecy, it brings me back again the confidence in people. In some people only. The ones who didn`t want to pay in exchange dreams versus love.

Let`s Say It`s Over

and maybe a lot of things will became crazy, as it usually happens with good things that I have seen until they tend to minus infinity. and what was so great thing about walkig so many km on foot? Nobody put you to do this except yourself. and what motivation and why. and what you have discovered during this trip. things that probably is much better to keep them for yourself when you see how can they be denatured by superficial people.

In the end everyone splashes with the same hammer of ignorance in the mud. For this, the only thing you need is to have two hands to keep it well and some mud to splash in it and spitts the others. So easy, right? Splish, splash, I will take a bath, home, alone in a Saturday night…

maybe it will be better to change your language, your country, and customs, business partners, or some stupid friends, piss on your professional critics, these miserable bookrats, no money, a lot of fucking frustrations, because you realise so clear that everything is in vain. and of course the worst is when I am talking in general. How many caskets so many flies. that`s what I like most in journalism, it presents and reveals facts as they are, with real people, real names, real situations. not bulshit. well, it`s not the time or place here.

and when I thought that I won`t meet other Romanians on the Camino, in Leon I pop up over two girls, one cute than the other, and after the whole month not talking in your language you feel a warm feeling of hapiness when you meet two other women, same country as you are, having the same experience. or, whatever, some common points in it. and what you know is that not the language in which you express counts, but what you transmit with your soul, or the remains of it. Those remains that you hope they are still there inaltered and for that you went on the fields to rebuilt them, because you could not touch the surface of things among so many stupid missadventures.

and although on this road the only thing you have learnt is to go further, because you don`t have other choice, sometimes when you go back, and put your foot again on the same stones, you realise that is pointless. I will never put my foot on the same road for the second time. what I had to see I already have seen, what I had to understand, I understood, and what was too much was too much. that even if you want disperately to escape from everything`s lace, even if you want out of certain happenings, you are just involved there and you don`t know how you ended like this and so on. And so on… it will be a lot of work to sort out things, maybe months, who knows. not years, for sure…

(Mariana, 32 years, lawyer)

(Dana, 32 years, lawyer)

Cross of Iron after Foncebadon.
Although I had nothing left there to become ice, or sheepfold stone, as is it seams to be pilgrims` custom, I wanted, but… anyway, I had nothing to lose, so… if something in my life has to finish then so be it without many flops or too many explanations. and faster, senior, fuck them once. to spread some indifference and cruel lucidity and no other vagaries. to make them hate me and reject me and to count in a passive way their reactions. to laugh about and say: another one cracked! hahahaha!!!

in Molinaseca I looked at the people how they were splish-splashing the river and I`ve heard them laughing. I wished for a moment to be in the middle of the water and probably if I knew how to swim I have thrown it, dressed like I was, from the bridge.

I arrived in Santiago last night again. small and cold drops of rain dancing in the air, it was so cold and the cathedral was so closed, so quiet and wet. and I said, well, it really was too much. too long. too much. and I don`t know what to do for the moment with all these. probably I will go forward. by train. by bus. air or on foot. Some people will be smacked on me and others will hit me back. So… What is more important? some will be happy with me, others completely miserable. I prefer the first ones, right? I can go with them on down steep slopes, or climb in eagles` nests, or smoking among some broken houses one or two cigarettes, before going further on our path.

In the end, we are just talking about some perceptions, obsessions in which you can not get out, fast decisions, or bad decisions, hard decisions or cruel decisions, being tired of this or that, the desire to get out of the routine that pulverise you, and then the reinvention, remodelling. or evolution. spiritual or not. – that`s why I do not believe in fair play. but in deeds. – that`s why some can`t see 50 meters further from their yard, and others will discern things `till the end of Earth and how everything smashes in tireness or incompentence. and then some people will struggle to come to terms with and some others, but not with themselves. some will be in line to receive pasca row, and others will stay behind to watch, considering themselves not saints enough to receive it. Santos y pecadores. Kings and beggars all in the same pot. in the same porridge. you may think you’re special in particular moments when you become lame. Nobody will tell you how you really are, especially when you don`t know yet, right? RIGHT…

Well, and then you are wondering where all those beautiful things that you were keeping hidden in a corner of your pillow were gone, you are wondering at night, those things that you were finding always there when you were needed, just before you fall asleep. strange things happens with people, but I know that they are made of rage, a blind and uncontrolled rage, and I say okay, someone was furious but over a year this rage will pass, and this someone will reach, unfortunately, as well as me to the conclusion that it was better this way. only for his own good, life punched him. and look how another beautiful toy who makes you happy disappears… forever.

(places I`ve been)

(catedrale from Astorga)

(Gaudi palace from Astorga)

As probably like I`ll ask myself after a while where were vanished my craziness, my fervour, my courage, my beautifull cruelty, and how I became so like a vegetable, no, it’s not the case now, but the world is changing and you can not be strong all the time, you can not understand all the time, you can not be there all the time, available, hunger to jump to help people, isn`t it? You are just a human been, that`s why, if you were an animal you had an excuse… remains only to remember the sunsets you admired from cabs, in the mornings, when you were running to unknown destinations, and no, I am not talking about stopovers, but something else, if the world is changing and no longer feels in unison with you, maybe it is because never was there? And not this thing makes life more beautiful?

(sunset in Lira, fishermen village 60 de km near to Finistere)

(silent boats)

Maybe not to hit the same rhythm of the heart, only to keep the same drolling for several seconds as 2, 3 or 10 years? And those lines and remarks arised from nowhere who can destroy everything, and crushes everything … the things that can not be forgiven.

you can give thirsty people water when they need, hungry people food when they need, care to the foreigners when they need, you can sting how many ampullas you want, and comfort hundreds of hot foreheads rounding under your fingers, you can smile in hundreds of ways to children, you get lose the pocket money from a public phone only to hear the voice of someone dear, and to do more than 800 km hell knows why, if not the hell, but I am telling you, there are some things that you can`t forgive. and you want… and you fucking try and you say: come on, I have to forgive, I must to forgive, and then you renonce to do that, you let them in the mud of indiferrence, the mud that I was talking earlier, in which, as everywhere, sun is shining in the same way…

think to all your broken love-stories and this is enough for you, time had run, you are no longer as ten years ago, and you still don`t get it, at least if you had learned the detachement, the breaking out, the breathing in, free elections… people like mirrors … I saw them and I am not comfortable with that and I only hope that I won`t get into a certain kind… the vitality that it was hung out of my ankles, climbing through stones and dust road, I won`t lose it for widgets, nor among the garbage… but how do I know how curses will came and what astral map will say, hahahahaha… and how all of the widgets can be lost big friendships, like I don`t know as well… but, for sure some people have more rights than others… is so easy to feel tricked and betrayed, I can make you ten scripts right now. no way, relax, I think I`ll keep them for better times.

I also think that what kept me stocked on the road was only this foolish issue, some state of grace of eaten km one by one just for curiosity: the next tree, the next village, the next bar, the next man, the next desire, following nausea, following state of grace, the next almost desperate running in the arms of happiness… or running out of…

How do you feel with the next secret you think you can broke and became powerful because you recognize in it the weakness of the despot that wants to revange his imaginary wounds made by himself?… You can give a grouty answer, like you will lie me or like I care. I just want to remain with the impression that certain music still sings for me, even if others they have been burried deep, because I liked myself exactly as I was then.

loving and confident in people. meaning naive. not to say fool. and if some are not, there will be others. It doesn`t mean that all are equally, but some you can love safely, and others only if you die slowly. I surelly prefer the first ones, because if I will drink with them late in the night, or in the afternoons, I know how beautiful they lull you, without bubbles in the corner of their lips or stupid reproaches. Also they know how to warm your freezing fingers when it`s cold outside, or how to embrace you when it`s raining hell out and you feel like a dog lost under some old wall of the church , opulente inside, but smelling like Nala and Damayanti outside, and some blood leaked through the recess` bricks.

Something happens, I said before. I feel tectonics movements in my friends souls. and even if these happenings are not directly related to me, sometimes I feel like I am in the middle of the earthquake.

Anyway, I saw more than I needed to see. no angels, devils enough. and cold silent bridges that separate world in two other worlds. and you aren`t here, nor there. I don`t know how to explain better than this. and I don`t want to.

De-a lungul Spaniei

si de-a latul. si de-a curmezisul.

inapoi pe Camino, chiar in orasul de unde a inceput propriu zis o asa numita calatorie interioara, sa vedem. cumva trebuie sa dam intimplarilor o semnificatie, nu?
Burgos. Si acest calm cu care pot privi acum totul. am trecut aseara pe linga terasa unde l-am vazut pe Nico prima oara. interesant este sa descopar ca se numeste Bonfin. atunci, nu am dat importanta numelui, acum ma amuza, deh… aseara era inchisa cind am ajuns in centrul istoric cu autobuzul de Zaragoza.

mi-am amintit apoi, in timp ce stateam in pat, cu picioarele pe pereti, cartea aia de joc cu mesaje pretioase, care cica se potrivesc celui ce are bafta sa le traga dintr-un pachet smecher, carte bineinteles pierduta. ca si batul Don Manolo, undeva intr-o alta statie de autobuz, intr-un alt oras mare, Valladolid, unde am poposit vinerea trecuta. zicea mesajul ala ca daca fac lucrurile in acelasi mod ca inainte o sa am aceleasi rezultate, nu? ceva pe-acolo. bine, parca era si un film pe tema asta, cind unul si-a bagat picioarele in tot si a facut viceversa de cum ii obisnuise pe toti. nu mai stiu ce s-a intimplat cu el pina la sfirsitul filmului, dar fiind eroul principal sigur a fost ceva cu happy-end. Bonfin, cum ar veni.

ei bine, nici n-am terminat bine Camino si-a venit cu lejeritate spre mine un anumit soi de miserupeala fata de tot ce ma deranja pina acum.

(pe cind pantalonii mei erau inca lungi)

intru aici si dau peste alta desteapta care crede ca a fi scriitor este mai presus decit a fi om, si, ca orice basinoasa care vrea sa-si demonstreze dreptatea, mai ales atunci cind greseste, baga o atitudine de-aia dupa care mor eu, especially cind se crede inventatoare de penicilina si are impresia ca se trage din os de ceauseasca. bine, daca in mod normal altadata i-as fi zis vreo doua in fata, acum nu mai am timp, chef sau energie pentru jeguri de-astea umane.

in fine…

egoismul feroce al animalului demult fara nici un dumnezeu. lucrurile se intimpla sau nu. unele le poti controla, altele nu. sa-ti fie egal.

am innoptat din nou in Burgos, in acelasi Albergue de-acum 3 saptamini, simtindu-ma ca o veterana pelerina care s-a intors in locurile unde mai are cite ceva de verificat inainte de plecare. reluind traseul in sens invers trec prin locurile pe care le-am calcat a pied si ma cuprinde duiosia la fereastra autobuzului.

dimineata de azi a fost rece, parca statea sa ploua, parca nu. cerului ii este egal ce se intimpla in lume, desigur. eu, pe terasa strajuita de 5 platani uriasi. acum na, ce sa mai zicem, impresii gresite vor exista intotdeauna, in continuare sint convinsa ca legaturile dintre oameni sint importante si daca ajungi sa-ti bati singur joc de ele, poate ca nici nu meriti altceva decit singuratatea. e si asta un echilibru. unii il numesc cinism si chiar se mindresc cu el. of course, au muncit din greu sa ajunga acolo, asta nu inseamna ca sint interesanti. poate doar morti din pdv sentimental, nu?

despre ce dracu vorbesc eu aici?

sint in drum spre Leon.