Mzungu Chronicles

Febrer / 2015 Han estat tres setmanes d’experiència fins ara, i és moment de fer una petita recapitulació del que ha significat. Queden molt enrere els dies de repressió a l’oficina, d’embussos i estrès diari. Els han substituït les onades, els paisatges plens de màstils de velers a les marines on paràvem cada nit, el fred i núvols i l’imminent viatge que m’espera, en un parell de setmanes, cap a Austràlia.

As days advanced we were getting closer and closer to that one single incredible moment: the start of the four-day-race from Sydney to Hobart. Yes, in my path towards becoming a Yachtmaster down under, I was offered to be part of it on Arctos, the boat I’d been sailing pretty much all of the time there. During this time we had developed a love-hate, but in any case, close relationship. She had become, in the course of more than a thousand miles, the stage for the most incredible moments in the journey.

Here I am again, walking in these busy streets filled with a taste of every bit of the world, under custody of the now peaceful waterways. Colourful walls, red lights and random construction placing me in the middle of this once sinful city. I suddenly find myself not walking in Amsterdam, but instead revisiting my memories, realizing a long lost loving feeling. Here I am again, in my fort, my private pirate bay, the stage for my bohemian rhapsody, my city on the water.

As time passes I wish more and more to be a simple man. Get away from all the trouble invented to sedate my instincts. I want to develop my natural skills. Not just live, but survive. Surrender to my wild side pushing me to get lost, to find myself. To lose in order to find again. Let go of everything to build from scratch. I want to feed this intrepid thirst that is constantly yelling at me that life is a fight, and that only when we fight we can feel alive.

This one in English. In the first place, because of whom it is aimed for. Also, because of whom inspired it. Finally, because I will translate it anyway. There is this feeling though, I will not be able to transmit the message as well as I would in my mother language. But then, I remind myself… I could not transmit this one particular message in any language. No words can do that.

No hauria d’haver deixat per tant tard escriure aquesta entrada. Les coses ara es veuen amb massa perspectiva, amb massa experiència pel mig. No obstant, espero que l’exercici de memòria em torni aquella sensació de llibertat, d’ésser insignificant i, per mitjà d’això, canviar la meva vida i el món. A qui pugui entretenir, inspirar, fer reflexionar. A mi mateix d’aquí uns anys, quan la rutina i l’estabilitat contaminin el meu dia a dia.