43. A Mensaxe

A mensaxe.

Nesta costa que mil e una vez percorremos, as veces deixando que as ondas acariñaran os nosos pes, mentres camiñabamos sobre a suave área de todas esas fermosas praias e outras remontando os bravos cantís, deixo esta mensaxe na botella, coa infundada esperanza de que consiga atopar o camiño ata esa beira na que te atopas.

Agora que os recordos tan só son leves pinceladas.

Agora que xa non hai un xuntos  e o ti e o eu voltan a ser dous camiños.

Agora que xa non quedan palabras, nin risas, nin soños.

Agora que o único son é o murmurar do vento.

Déixame dicirche grazas por todo o compartido e desexarche que sexas moi feliz.

The message

On this coast that we traveled a thousand and one times, sometimes letting the waves caress our feet while we walked on the soft sand of all those beautiful beaches and others climbing the brave cliffs, I leave this message in the bottle, with the unfounded hope that it can find the way to reach that shore where you are.

Now that the memories are only slight brushstrokes.

Now that there is no longer a together and you and I become two paths again.

Now that there are no more words, no laughter, no dreams.

Now that the only sound is the whisper of the wind.

Let me say thank you for everything shared and I wish you to be very happy.

42. The mont in which every day was Sunday

The month in which every day was like a Sunday.

The month in which every day was like a Sunday was a strange month.

It was a period of time in which we saved hugs and kisses, like summer´s clothes are saved, while we wait for the end of Winter.

We stopped our work but we did not give up.

We forgot a lot of problems which were important only a minute ago.

We surrounded ourselves with four walls but we also Knew to be close other people, perhaps more than a long time before.

We felt that community is the foundation of our strength.

We remembered that we are concerned by other people well-being

We gave a rest to the planet, and it gifted us its best spring.

We discovered our neighbour fighting arm in arm with us, and we knew how express our gratitude for its sacrifice.

We realised that our ways were interrupted, but only for a short period of time.

We changed our routine because we Knew that it was the right decision.

We cultivated secretly the hope and it bore fruit.

The month in which every day was like a Sunday finally ended and it showed us how many beautiful things humanity can reach if we want to.

El mes en que todos los días eran como domingo.

El mes en que todos los días eran como domingo, fue un mes extraño.

Fue un tiempo en el que guardamos los abrazos y los besos, como se guarda la ropa de verano, esperando que pase el crudo invierno.

Cesamos en nuestros quehaceres, pero no bajamos los brazos.

Olvidamos muchos problemas que un minuto antes nos agobiaban.

Pusimos a nuestro alrededor cuatro paredes, pero supimos estar cerca de los demás, quizás más que en mucho tiempo.

Sentimos que la comunidad cimienta nuestra fortaleza.

Recordamos que si nos importa lo que le ocurre a quien nos rodea.

Dimos descanso al planeta, y él nos regaló su mejor primavera.

Descubrimos al prójimo luchando a nuestro lado, y supimos agradecer su sacrificio.

Sentimos que nuestros caminos se interrumpían, pero solo por un tiempo.

Cambiamos nuestra rutina, sabiendo que era lo adecuado.

Cultivamos secretamente la esperanza y esta dio al fin sus frutos.

El mes en que todos los días eran como domingo al fin pasó, y nos mostró cuantas cosas hermosas consigue el ser humano cuando realmente se lo propone.

41. Os vellos mercados/Old markets

Os vellos mercados teñen desaparecido, engulidos por un afán renovador que tan só busca eliminar o pasado en aras do beneficio económico a curto prazo. Pero tamén se destrúen as lembranzas dun pobo, a súa cultura e costumes. Os vellos mercados, como este de Agolada en Pontevedra que milagrosamente foi salvado, eran lugares de encontro para a poboación, non so espazos onde mercar e vender produtos. Eran nodos de interconexión das realidades individuales das poboacións cuxos habitantes acudían a eles, como un xeito de internet antiga onde a tradición oral crecía e se difundían as tradicións e a cultura. Legado perdido para sempre e irremplazable.

The old markets have disappeared, they have devoured by an innovator zeal which only is searching  destruction of past in the interest of fast wealth, but also memories of specific people, traditions and customs are being destroyed too. Old markets, as the present one in Agolada (Pontevedra, Spain), which have survived miraculously were locations where people met, not only spaces where people bought or sold things. They were connection nodes of nearby towns like an ancient internet where oral tradition grew and customs  and culture were spread. They are a lost and irreplaceable legacy.

40. Poem for a fisherman

Someone who only Knows inside places

is over the cliffs and sees the immensity of sea surfaces,

and while he contemplates all this waving rage in every hit

thinks naively, I can domain it.

But Neptune from his throne

wants remain standalone

and looking in the eye to a new pretender

says defiant, after rise his trident higher:

If you love your home

and return to a fireplace every day,

then don't do it.

If you appreciate the vision of every sunshine

but not the sound of the storm,

then don't do it.

If you are searching fast wealth

instead a life of pain,

then don't do it.

But if you are ready to sacrifice

and sail following an uncertain destiny,

then do it.

39.The lost flowers

If someone has not told me something different, I have claimed that reality only takes place inside a  changeable  semi-darkness, in a grey scale where a weak clarity is noise and the darkness is moans. The shadows which interrupt the light under the door in the end of the room only allows make out moments of frenzy inserted in great absence periods. Nevertheless, in the seat of this bus my eyes are injured by the clarity and the color of a different reality.

If I had to testify, I would claim that the sound is almost exclusively composed by weeping with  limited and agonic periods of silence in it. Nevertheless, my ears want to show me in this moment other different things which I didn´t Know before.

If my life had been in risk, and it is normally the situation, I would have told that hunger is more common in my daily life than I would like, and I have to get on with food in its distribution or be doomed to a forced fasting, however the rice bowl was only few minutes ago unusually full and for my unique disposal.

If I couldn´t feel it in my wrists and in all my body, I could think that  a fair purpose exists for the punishments and for being tied to the bed, instead of it, this morning I have felt the fresh sensation of water on my skin and the touch of clean clothes over my body, something that hasn´t happened perhaps in months.

If I Knew that dreams are more than a succession of nightmares and fears, I could enjoy this journey in a ramshackle coach from a  little town in the mountains to this space that is Known like "city".

If someone had given me this information, I would have Known that people weren´t born in Mrs Lee´s arms, and after that they have to live caging in small filthy rooms, disappearing at a short age with an unknown destiny.

The end of the journey is a  big and oppressive place, full of people which walk hurriedly in all directions, smoke, noise indifference....perhaps this is the place where, previously, all my sisters have arrived, however I don´t find any familiar face and I´m a bit scared for it.

We have walked but I wasn´t be aware of it and now we are in front of a couple, I look at them and they look at me. In their eyes I can discern myriad of tears which seem like they want to be released, and I don´t understand why, because they do not appear to be sad. She approaches to me, open her arms and surroundings me with them raising my little body. It is a new and strangely nice sensation.

In my hands I realize  that Mrs Lee has put a paper with an image in it which looks like me, and many curious characters  that are gracefully aligned. After that she has said goodbye and she has returned to that world which until now I was part of.

If someone has taught me to read, I would have Known that I´m six years old and that I´m going to be happy and be important for someone.

38. Luarca

Luarca é unha fermosa vila situada no Principado de Asturias, na zona norte de España. A poboación aséntase sobre as abas dos acantilados que delimitan a estreita desembocadura do Río Negro no Mar Cantábrico. Esta vila asturiana está chea de interesantes edificacións e espazos, como o antigo barrio de pescadores, o cemiterio ou a Ermida de Nosa Señora A Branca. As vistas tanto da propia poboación como dos seus arredores dende puntos elevados son espectaculares. É unha magnífica elección para unha escapada de fin de semana.

Luarca is a beautiful town located in the Principality of Asturias, in the north of Spain. The town was built on the sides of the cliffs  which enclose the narrow mouth of the Black River on the Cantabrian Sea. This Asturian town is plenty of interesting buildings and spaces to visit like the old fisherman´s quarter, the cemetery or  the hermitage of Nuestra Señora La Blanca. The views from the town itself and the surrounding areas from elevated points are awesome. It´s a magnificent choice for a weekend getaway.

37. IllasCíes/Cíes Islands

O mellor de visitar un paraiso como as Illas Cíes é facelo en boa compaña, percorrer os seus camiños visitando faros e cúmios, nadar nas súas limpas augas, e ao final voltar coa agradable sensación de ter vivido un día irrepetible.

The best of visit a paradise like Cíes Islands is do it with a good companion, walking its roads, seeing its lighthouses,  climbing its peaks, or swimming in its clean waters, and in the end of the day come back home with the nice sensation of  have enjoyed an unrepeatable day.