The amazing journey that I invented as a child and maybe one day

The amazing journey that I invented as a child and maybe one day

And, in fact, I think traveling is a natural desire that routine and years end up burying in many people. At least in its most carefree, fantasy and adventurous side.

That’s why I want to remind myself from time to time of a fabulous trip that I invented as a child. A trip that I imagined with great detail. A trip that, what the hell, maybe one day will come true, being able to enter the club where you can only join if you have visited a minimum of 100 countries. Why not?

When I say that I was a child when I invented such a trip, I mean the time when I consumed the novels of Jules Verne or the Tintin comics. And the proof of it was what I found in an old dirty and dusty folder: a thorough sketch of how my trip around the world should be the day I decided to cross the rubicon.

It was a sketch in which the transports that would be used in each crossing and the kilometers that would cover with each of them were specified. I don’t remember exactly when I sketched the sketch, but I know it was between 10 and 13 years old.

And I also remember that, to carry it out, I used a world map, in which I gazed at my eyes for hours, following the eyes of the cities and towns of each country, geographical accidents and secondary road lines, trying to project myself in each of them dressed as an adventurer : Fedora hat, neckerchief, sweaty shirt and pants pockets full of objects to get out of any obstacle, like McGyver. And also suffering all kinds of inclemencies on the trip, as in those films of the years 1980-90 in which a man, Kerouac, faced the American highway, from coast to coast.

For that reason, perhaps, I am a devotee of road movies, especially clowns and quirky, as Better only than badly accompanied or Dutch, your boyfriend smells bad (both, by the way, with the seal of the king of movies of the teenagers of the ’80 John Hughes ).

I felt identified, in short, as the writer Joseph Conrad in the first pages of The Heart of Darkness :

When I was little I had a passion for maps. I spent hours and hours looking at South America, or Africa, or Australia and lost myself in all the splendor of exploration. In those days there were many blank spaces on Earth, and when I saw one that seemed particularly tempting on the map (and which one does not seem so), I put my finger on it and said: “When I grow up I will go there.”

The summary of that imaginary trip around the orb, for nostalgic purposes and transcribed as I have been since my childhood, was as follows (forgive the naivety of some data):

From my room in the center of Barcelona to Rome by plane (800 km.), From Rome to the bank of the Tiber by truck (23 km.), From the bank of the Tiber to the other bank of the Tiber by boat (250 km. ), from the other side of the Tiber to San Marino by sports car (40 km.), from San Marino to Trieste crossing the Adriatic Sea by catamaran (50 km.), from Trieste to Zagreb by train (175 km.), from Zagreb to Bucharest by zeppelin (800 km.), From Bucharest to the Black Sea by horse carriage (175 km.), From the Black Sea shore to Batumi by seaplane (950 km.), From Batumi to Kabul by balloon (250 km.), from Kabul to Beijing in Concorde (5,000 km.), from Beijing to the Yellow Sea by motorcycle (500 km.), from Yungping to Japan by ocean liner (1,500 km.), from Japan to the Pacific Ocean by bus (400 km.), from the shore of the Pacific Ocean to San Francisco in hang gliding,from San Francisco to Colorado Springs on an old train, cross the Mississippi on a steamboat and continue on the most modern train that existed to Chicago, from Chicago to New York by limousine, from New York to Lisbon by sailboat, from Lisbon to Madrid by bicycle, from Madrid to my room in the center of Barcelona on foot… and back again but in the opposite direction and permuting all means of locomotion.

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