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thoughts

Remember me my love, I’m the one you’re dreaming of Going for a ride, I’ll keep you warm inside I’m Gonna roll up the sidewalk, I’m gonna tear up the ground Comin’ round to meet you, The long way round Sooner or later, I’ll get me off this track Gotta do what it is that I do and then I’m – coming back Got sun in my face, sleeping rough on the road I’ll tell you all about it, when I get home Gonna roll up the sidewalk, I’m gonna

Man’s real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot. – Bruce Chatwin There is always frustration when you relate to someone who does not speak your language and does not seem to make the slightest effort to try and understand you. In Latin America the frustration sometimes made me fume because I knew I did not speak Arabic (by now my Spanish I spoke it was relatively fluent) but sometimes it happened that people looked at me

Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry – Jack Kerouac. Disclaimer: I will use the term Americas referring to the whole continent. Americas to me is the whole of North America, Central America and South America. Where I come from in school you learn there are five continents like the Olympic Rings, one is America or Americas. It’s been almost a month since I arrived in Ushuaia, the world’s southmost city in, in Patagonia and the point of arrival of my crossing of the American continent from tip to

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ― Mark Twain Gotta do what it is that I do, Then I’m coming back. Got the sun in my face, Sleeping rough on the road, I’ll tell you all about it, When I get home. ― Stereophonics, Long Way Round The greatest danger in life

Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting: Holy shit…what a ride! – Hunter S. Thompson What a crazy story. A year has passed already since 13 August 2015 when in the early afternoon of a normal rainy day I left Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse on the Arctic Ocean to enter kilometre zero of the Dalton Highway, a spot considered to mark the beginning of the Panamerican Highway. It’s easy to indulge fully in a