Solid Black Sleeve Tattoo Australia

Passenger in trance (2005)


always remember a schoolmate, the first day of classes in April, I had the summer skiing in the mountains of Chile. I remember the stories of my first cousins, whose parents had more money than mine, recounting his travels through European cities. Once asked my father if he could go travel and the answer was that there was enough money. I'm not complaining about my childhood. It had more amenities than the Peruvian environment and my holidays were sweet next to the river of the small farm of my grandparents and the cold sea off the coast of Arequipa, between the farmers and country style marisqueadores, relatives of my mother. But what lay beyond the borders of my country? That was my big question.

In 1987 my father started to do more independent work, extra money to his meager salary of a bank clerk and suddenly there was money to "The Journey". The whole family, all five. No plane as I had my friends from school if bus. We would go to Buenos Aires, to visit his good friend and godmother to my mom. Taking it to his goddaughter, the redhead Carolina, who at age 11 would keep forever the memory of an idyllic family trip to the shores of Mar del Plata.

My mother remembers better than me the joy of my first foray into foreign lands. We crossed the desert in a bus to Santiago Fleet Barrios, listening Soda Stereo was the top band. We crossed the Andes with an old driver mendocino, shocked to hear us say "We are entering the land of rock." My father had to bribe the ticket seller from the railway station to get five tickets on a train from Mendoza to Buenos Aires which was almost empty. We live in the house of the midwife and went back on the bus, happy doing scales in Antofagasta, Iquique, to visit the then-thriving Free Zone, and Arica.

In 1992 I returned to make the journey by land to Buenos Aires but kept me long to Rio de Janeiro. I was told by phone the death of my grandfather, a memory that always accompanies my shocking discovery of the thongs of Copacabana and pre carnival party night at a nightclub in Ipanema. In a bus of Paraná to Rio Grande, I met a blonde breasts I taught relentless give pleasure to a woman keeping complete silence. I learned Portuguese on the coast of Sao Paulo and Florianopolis beaches and spent three rolls of pictures dazzled by the Iguazu Falls. Ash Wednesday I went with some friends at a beach near Porto Alegre, on foot crossed the border with Paraguay and went back to my country in a bus in the afternoon, with a stopover in Chile to compare the waves of Viña del Mar with memories of my first visit.

In 1993 I made the same trip to Brazil, this time crossing the Bolivian countryside, facing the desperate passivity of the peasants of Desaguadero, gross silence I refused paceños a clean bathroom, the southern climate and tropical Cochabamba and Santa Cruz pop. The bullet train bullet Bolivian-anything-that gave me the best memories of the Pantanal of Brazil, leaning them on the edge of a car door, next to what would become my best travel companion, Rock Ross-alias -Diaz.

I found it on the platform of the train station of Santa Cruz and travel together to Sao Paulo where we met a Brazilian who started the adventure to England and India. I missed a few days in Curitiba Europeanized; returned to Iguazu and Buenos Aires suffocating before returning in Orme-supply- Go to Lima.

In 1995, Peru was at war with Ecuador and destroyed a well-planned expedition to Bogotá. Rossana convinced me to go with her to Santiago. We took the train south to the island of Chiloé, bathing in icy beaches of all the large towns of Valdivia Castro. In my memory, the memory remains magnificent Osorno volcano and the wind of the stretch by boat to the landing of Ancud.

returned to Santiago for a concert by the Rolling Stones, for the first time in its 25 year history in South America rested his feet. After the Rolling Stones, Ross learned to live with in 15 days backpacking adventure on the roads, pulling finger to Buenos Aires and back to Lima, surviving on $ 40 in his pockets. The list goes on trucks, cars and trucks that took pity on the Argentina-looking Peruvian rock, asking the jalaran the edge of the recently privatized Argentine roads. We slept in a fire station in a village near Luján, in the chairs of the Tocopilla police station in a whorehouse provided in San Martin, and hippie on a mattress under the apocalyptic sound of a hailstorm on the outskirts of San Luis .

In 1996 I went to the north. A video of Mano Negra rekindled the desire to know Colombia. Months earlier he had met in Lima to the lead singer of Los Aterciopelados and I was giddy with the account of Rock Park, which was performed every year in Bogotá. That was the pretext. With 180 precious dollars in a fruitful time of unemployment, took a direct bus to Tumbes and then I managed to cross to reach Ipiales Ecuador and Colombia. On the bus from the border to Quito, a gracious hostess majestic brown butt handed to me around midnight. There were three intense hours on the last bus seat, peered through the curtains as an endless landscape of banana plantations.

In Bogota, as well as fill my head with Colombian band names, I fell in love with a woman who said bring in Villavicencio the stomach was voracious from very young. I remember his body barely covered with tiny white thong, walking in the shadows of a room facing the Plaza del Chorro de Quevedo in La Candelaria. There I also met the Divine, a language surfer straight hair and long beard, bursting with the same peace that once caught me in Lima the youngest son of Bob Marley. The Divine walked always flanked by two priests, two angelic face big woman who followed him through the streets of downtown, around Carrera 13, pleading for donations for the fund's cheerleading Divine and bottles of wine with which it entertained me, he and their friends in an almost intimate salsódromo a tiny house near the Jimenez called Pleasure. Always returns to mind the graffiti scrawled in large letters phosphorescent paint on the bathroom sink: "The country is collapsing and we ... to party."

Upon returning to Lima, Cuzco and three trips to an intense but unrequited love, those who transform everything into ashes, I traveled to Europe.

then I had gotten three jobs that gave me slack economic and prepared to meet board trains European geography in my first vacation in 30 days. It was 1999 and already beginning to receive in the country's economy a rotten smell coming from Asia. I was almost certain that this would be my last opportunity to tour Europe and know everything I planned. From Paris to Bordeaux, to make love with a French Doucement fiery poet smile, next to a thriving farm pigs and ducks on the narrow mattress and a quarter of students on campus, listening to the guitar away Roma, and then to Italy: Rome, Florence, Naples, Sorrento, Pompeii and Venice in a week. Atravecé Switzerland Bern to Frankfurt in Germany and then to Spain, from Galicia to Barcelona and the final stop to take the plane back to Madrid. It left me wanting to go to Holland and England, but the visa process in Europe took more than a week. It was too much.

In 2000 I had another vacation for a month. The Asian crisis had contaminated everything and the economy was falling apart. All spoke of the dread of unemployment, which was compounded by political instability generated by the power struggles prior to the general election. One Saturday afternoon I decided to start my vacation with a photographer friend, driving my truck to Ecuador. Life was very cheap and very quiet. Met Guayaquil, Santo Domingo de los Colorados, Quito, the idyllic hostel Tongoyape, beaches and blue for a few hours Esmeralda Basin historic colonial appearance. I returned to Lima prepared to advise anyone who asked me to conduct one trip. I handled the last leg from Lima Pimentel to stopping occasionally to drink a coffee and a snack cake. I remember talking to the peasants in the restaurants of the road, saying they would vote for Fujimori, but without conviction. They began to receive between them the turmoil generated by the struggle between the political and economic powers that would eventually seize power Mr. dictator.

in Lima and had only one job and did not offer me the same as before. I guess my story is worse than the many stories of those who left the country. My boss was an unbearable and sickening type who cares nothing normal hours work. Monday through Saturday from 7:00 to 22:00. Sometimes more. I began to feel a sore back every morning is now associated with the onset of a stress attack. Projects that had offered to hire me in 1998 were all filed in the hope of better times. Decided to leave. The company owner, who appreciate the best of friends, I advised the same.

On July 10, 2000 I left Lima. My plan was to return to Europe, where my friend Ross had offered to build me a producer and get to work on film projects. As sometimes happens, that "project" was just that.

traveled with her and her husband around Galicia. After a month of idleness abuse, with little money, she suggested I go. I went to Lisbon backpacking, sleeping in streets, walking at night to save my money accommodation, or waiting at the door of the train stations to open in the morning sleeping in one of its wooden benches. At the exit of a theater in the historic center of Porto, where I was sleeping sitting on the edge of the sidewalk and leaning on my backpack, an elegant woman and covered with skins looked at me with contempt.

A trucker fat smile, I knew coming to Lisbon, I was offered a job as an assistant in a two-week trip to Nuremberg in Germany. Carrying under the canvas of a bulky cargo hopper corks for wine bottling French and a monumental train wheel aimed at the Siemens plant in Germany. Were 15 days of instruction for the orderly way highways of Portugal, Spain, France and Germany, drinking wine and fed Portuguese makeshift grills at the side of local roads, talking to other truckers lone earned their living on European roads.

Arriving on the outskirts of San Sebastian said goodbye to my friend hat. I spent a week in a house half an hour from the beach of La Concha, listening to the sea that burst against the iron of the Wind Comb, enjoying the weather of late summer and festive atmosphere of the famous film festival in the capital of the Basque Country.

Galicia Returning to a journalist who had met in my first month in Coruña, I offered to work as head of the page for film, television and events for La Opinion, a publishing venture that two weeks had no history and that it intended become the alternative to the almighty A Coruña La Voz de Galicia. I became very good friends there and I put together the money needed to continue travel.

when the time of my European visa (three months) I had two options. Or stay as illegal in Spain or go to London. My friend Ross, who had recently suffered all the vicissitudes of illegality, as I suggested. Her white skin had escaped the discrimination and racism of the police, but even so cruel experiences suffered in the hands of the immigration services.

So the day I turned 28, November 1, 2000, landed with a few dollars and a suitcase tired in Heathrow Airport. Friends La Opinión had fired me with endless glasses of champagne and two of them had taken the trouble to get my birthday in a bar in Santiago de Compostela airport before joining me.

the English in A Coruña I had mentioned how easy it was to work in London so I went there with that hope. I found it was relatively easy for Europeans, but the South Americans without work permits. My lean travel bag with which he thought to survive comfortably for at least the first month, sold out in less than two weeks. Just got a job to distribute magazines in a subway exit.

In a state of economic despair, were the visits to museums, free, and reading books in the library hall of London, which eased my pain a little.

I see even amazed by the exhibition of the Parthenon frieze, exposed in the famous museum of the British Empire. And I remember my discovery, almost by accident, the blast cabinet where, alone, is exposing the dark and hypnotic brilliance of the Rosetta Stone.

I left London, covered with yellow leaves, 27 November 2000. As if that was not enough my brief experience in London with the early northern hemisphere winter, the plane made a stopover in Iceland, that looked like a country finds buried in the snow. It was a cool fall night, and my plane landed, leaving me excited and broken at Kennedy Airport.

In September 2001 I first saw the smoke covering the city from a corner of Park Avenue and 34th Street, in 2002 I moved to Brooklyn and I shared my room with an amazing woman, reflecting the mix of nationalities in New York. It has three passports: European, Cuban and Israeli. A point of expiration of the term of stay of three months, Rachel got a job in the English department of the United Nations and is still there.

studied English for two years, finishing school to college Lehman in the Bronx, where I completed a minor in journalism. In 2004, just weeks before graduation, the dean offered me a job as a teacher. In late August this year 2005, after several months intensive reading and owner of a renewed love for the arts, I began my graduate studies in English literature.

been 17 years since I crossed the border to Arica and five years since I last saw the gray sky of Lima. And in recounting my travels and experiences bittersweet experience the feeling of knowing that there are still places I do not know and others who wish to return.

And yet I like to define my situation as a passenger in a trance, half-way, living in New York.

Pink Eye Plane Travel

In the jungle (story)


in the jungle sometimes you wake up under the bed and found a snake the size of an anaconda rondándote pins. I saw the eyes of a tarantula hanging over my bed, a few centimeters. Every day is different. Being honest, that's why I came: you can not get bored in the jungle.

Therein was the morning of October 25, 2___ year, writing on the computer, blowing the heat of the cabin, the only place where I could write you safe from mosquitoes. Last night the river rose and took my boots. Recoveries, began to dry. They were hanging from a vine in one corner. I went to get them, I thought I had lost my balance. All hut collapsed. That was the first earthquake.

woke up in a cave. Without memories, without boots, almost naked. Time calculated by the smell of my skin and the length of my nails. It was hot, my side had been a packet of sweets. Someone was feeding me, I thought. I found a jar with some water and drank. No one came that day, I waited. In the cave guarded preserves and biscuits. No one returned the next day, I explored the surroundings. I just found grass, I lost myself, I returned to the cave. That moonless night was a black spot in the jungle.

In the darkness I found the second earthquake. I managed to escape from the cave, without clothes, without food. Saved from being crushed by a tree. After verifying the destruction I started walking in the grass, a path cut by fallen trees. I found no one in my way. I saw spiders, snakes slithering in the distance. I remembered names of people who knew me Where were they? Nostalgia offers nothing as a valuable gift wrapped. It's a lonely path that one follows in the jungle. For some pain in the neck I knew I had been wounded. Someone was responsible for cure. Felt thanks to whom? In the jungle the hours pass like nothing. I climbed a tree and plucked fruit, I wanted to share my lunch. I in childhood. In a promotional trip to the edge of the universe. I had always wanted to come and live in the jungle. Hard to get bored with this heat.

a young man read a couple of stories of shipwrecks. They teach you to count the days by making marks on trees and trick the mind to keep her sanity. A good use of daylight and guarecerte of beasts and strangers taking advantage of darkness to attack. All that I applied in those days I wandered among the trees. I looked at the heights where they passed the leaves, and among them was slipping bits of blue sky. I became ill one evening and I could not move.

tore ate roots and soil. The rain forced me to go on living despite the pain. Evenings remembered the warmth of family and a dog's snout touching my hand. That comfort fled. That boredom escaped to get lost in the jungle. Midst of darkness, raved recalling some words of encouragement and one afternoon I finished a football game and I got sweaty clothes.

woke up next to a snake that crawled in the mud. I could feel the cold without touching your skin. Before nightfall I was better. I slept, I resisted the temptation to eat the earth, the next morning was able to move, I walked a few steps and found a fruit that served as breakfast. The first of my new life. At noon I knew it was imperative to make a choice: Follow path or camping. Settle down, make a home among those trees, near the anacondas and the river water. Or continue to travel: seek outlets in the woods, keep a journal and be a slave to him, traveling to fill the pages of facts and details. I reasoned I would need one day the grandchildren are supported on a pillow and listen to my stories. An inner voice told me to cough to continue walking, I gave instructions not to miss me. I decided to go traveling. I came to this forest to avoid boredom: I was getting.

During the third earthquake was naked up to his waist in water. I saw that moved through the jungle. However, the river was the route to the east, looking the sea. Some white fish with pink spots kissed my toes. In the bottom of the water found a coin. A hawk soared among the trees and another larger and aggressive bird jumped on him. Wallowed in the sky until it disappeared in the distance between the tops of the trees. A few hours later I realized that I had been a silent fight.

A cloud was shaped like a female. I like looking through a telescope by hand, so I stayed until the wind blew it apart. I camped by the river and the next morning, I started to follow.

You know what it tastes like wet soil? Neither knew how to converse with snakes, or stroke the water. The jungle taught me this. And I learned, with the desire to ever sit in front of a paper and write. In my dreams I was with beings who accompanied me to bed, tucked me in and gave me to eat before I go to work. I remembered a certain way to greet a good friend.

That was the engine of my departure. Scary vague idea that my doctor had awarded to knocks that made me lose consciousness after the first earthquake. My psychiatrist had been interested in medicine I took to be unconscious and temperature, which endured in the days of my walk. No day was boring, they were all different. I followed the path beside the river I saw ghosts. My wishes consoled with fresh water. I lost consciousness, regained it. Until

over the jungle. The river entered a marshy bay at the edge of a piece of asphalt, with a gazebo where couples once gathered to watch the treetops. A sign pointed to a broken door, put up by the roots and the leaves semitapada, the route he had to follow to reach the city. I walked for a few days, I could not recognize the input. I went into the city too late to see the smoke. Jumped a white ash soil when stepped on by marking the deep silence of my arrival. Tangled

Tetona Milena Velba Follando

I have to bring evil

like a ball in bed. His legs reflecting the intense light pink room. For the windows a sound which mixes horns and vocals that walk their bodies cold in December. A bar would have done the trick, but now I've found her. Are you going to say the following? Curls up beside me. I take pleasure in being calm and peaceful. "I know you have to bring me bad. In inches, in clouds of artificial respiration;)

I look at the past. Perceive details that until then had never troubled me, I had never crossed his mind to think of regret what? Did I do something better? He had it all planned. The world works as a perfect machine. Y control of that machine, I was.

yellowing newspapers next to the window. There is a stench of rat and moisture that keeps me awake. I have to do it, otherwise I'll just make me think. Thinking and thinking, imagining that I can call it, with this one. That I can weave and tangle again all this and that maybe. Claim you owe me favors, I demand that respect. Go crazy thinking about all the power that I lost. Plummet. Repentance? Something will help me to have been in a worse position than this. I've been hungry too. Have peed in my earlier. I can stand the stench of rats. Is that it has hardly been an hour and. I have to stop thinking. Allow time goes on. Imagine I am a normal guy, no power, no nothing.