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viernes, 9 de diciembre de 2011


As a teenager, and in the era of no computers at home or at school for students in Europe, (I‘m talking about 20 years ago), I remember how much I enjoyed having in my hands a “Mapa Mundi”. Yes, one of that books full of maps, describing the geography and the names of the places that in other parts of the world existed. My dad had an old one, not too thick, not too thin, but big enough to make me dream about the places that in the future I wanted to visit.

I can remember the occasions where he would mention that as a young man he boarded a Scandinavian ship and travel to the north of Europe, escaping from the routine of life and thirsty for adventure. That was the time he would bring an English book with him and study it at nights, in the coldness of a moving cabin in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. As a waiter he liked to practice his English with the different travelers he met. I never expected I would have the desire, as he did, to learn a different language, but when I realized that could help me fulfill my dream of traveling to another countries, I couldn’t stop.

Between the places I dreamed of it was India. A far, far away country that I imagined would smell as spices, and it would be colorful as the rainbow. I could visualize the smile of the children, the bright colors of the fabrics, the elegance of the buildings, the sunsets, the crowded streets, and de cows, yes, the sacred cows.

Let me show you something…

(Pronto… traducción al español).
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