Duas fronteiras mais e estará o sonho concretizado num círculo de forma tão original como a própria aventura. Mesmo apenas à distância de duas fronteiras e tendo uma delas já aqui mesmo ao lado, parece-nos ainda um cenário difícil de acreditar.

Enquanto nos entretemos com os últimos km de estrada, lançamos um último desafio: deixem o conforto deste banco de trás virtual que ocuparam o longo dos últimos 15 meses e venham ajudar-nos a dar o ponto final nesta enorme aventura!

Aqui fica o programa para a chegada esta sexta-feira, dia 10 de Julho:

• 11:30 – entrada em Portugal pela fronteira de Quintanilha
• 17:30 – concentração de 2cv na estação de serviço de Vila Nova de Gaia (junto ao nó de Santo Ovideo)
• 17:45 – Cortejo de 2 Cavalos até ao Estádio do Dragão
• 18:30 – Cerimónia de Chegada no Estádio do Dragão (junto ás bilheteiras da Alameda do Dragão)
• 21:30 – Jantar / concerto / festa de encerramento da Aventura.

O Jantar terá lugar no 4ever Club (indicações em http://www.2cvmarathon.com/nm_noticia.php?idnoticia=16), com início ás 21.30. Após o jantar, haverá uma breve apresentação da viagem (incluindo algumas das fotos, filmes e histórias da aventura), a que se seguirá um momento muito especial: um concerto dos Yemmandala, onde será apresentada oficialmente a música do projecto, Linha da Mão, composta pelo grupo (tanto a “nossa” como outras músicas deste novo projecto de Bossa Nova podem ser escutadas em http://www.myspace.com/yemmandala).

Informações e reservas através do telefone 914542545.

Caros amigos,

Daqui a cerca de 30 minutos (assim me permita o trânsito de umas das maiores metropoles do mundo) o Deuch e eu iremos cruzar a ultima fronteira intercontinental desta enorme odisseia que nos levou do Porto até às margens do Oceano Pacífico.

Quis a geografia recolocar-nos no continente Asiático ao trocar as margens do Mar Negro, tornando assim ainda mais marcante a passagem por esta cidade que está já já muito bem tatuada em mim. Istambul foi em 2007 o ponto mais distante da até aí mais distante roadtrip que havíamos abraçado. Esta cidade mágica surge agora como a mais perfeita metáfora do rumo que as nossas vida tomou neste dois últimos anos e de todas as implicações que esse rumo teve em quem agora somos. Isto porque Istambul marca hoje o início do final da nossa aventura. Como o mundo “encolheu” nestes últimos 24 meses!

Partimos rumo a casa. Não queira o “Pequenino” voltar a trocar as voltas e estaremos de volta a casa ja no dia 10 de Julho. E sim, de 2009. Conto com a presença de todos nesse dia para o “banho de normalidade” de que estamos ambos tão necessitados.

E o Porto é já só do outro lado...do continente!

Até breve,

tma

quando trocamos a margem norte do Mar Negro pela sua margem sul. Quis a geografia tornar ainda mais marcante a passagem pela cidade que está já há muito, bem tatuada em mim. Istambul marcou em 2007 o ponto mais distante da até aí mais distante roadtrip que havíamos abraçado. Dois anos volvidos

Indeed, so it’s travelling...

6.30 am... one last night at home making July a month so much distant on the calendar, the uncomfortable traineeship reports which, one by one, comfort the decision taken over one year ago, a curiosity prior to my departure completing my white night just because this time around it is set on the departure point itself. Add a flight in about 2 hours, a packing process still to be dealt with and the perspective of 24 hours spent among flights, airports and transfers and the day could hardly get a better start.

Or so I thought... The Low Cost companies made the travelling routes shorter and way more democratic, I give them that. But, where is the pleasure of fully enjoying the flying process to be found? A check in which the surprises are always unpleasant and often budget unfriendly, a boarding process in which one has to fight for every single inch… ok, we are left with the male illusion we are so tall when compared with the tiny leg room and the comfort of knowing our sleep won’t be interrupted by a meal or any other amenity. But, can you sleep on an empty stomach?

Dead tired and sleepy, I close my eyes at last and prepare myself to miss the take of, when the steward brings me back to a even more cruel reality: Mr. Moreira Alves, please contact the stewards at the front door. Perfect, a problem with the luggage carrying my return’s technical reason (not the most important one though): the parts in need to repair the White Little One.

Perdido de sono, fecho os olhos e preparo-me para falhar o take off quando uma mensagem da hospedeira me traz de volta a uma realidade ainda mais cruel: Passageiro Moreira Alves, é favor derigir-se à porta diateira do avião. Há qualquer problema com a minha mala, a mala que transporta a razão técnica (importante, mas longe de ser a decisiva) deste meu regresso: as peças necessária à reparação do meu Pequenino.

I am informed my luggage did not pass the luggage control and I am to follow the steward to the place where the control is made. While on the way, I can only think what the hell I am to do if the parts won’t be allowed on board. It only took some more minutes though to be able to relax again: the X-ray controller only wanted to make sure the parts I am transporting do not have any trace of gas.

Back on the plane, a fellow talkative traveller seated besides me plays the right button: Were they trying to prevent you from travelling? With completely different lifestyles and travelling experiences, but sharing the same open spirit to embrace the new with our own two hands, I doubt a flight between Porto and Girona has ever touched so many different and distant points of the globe. The conversation was as lively as to postpone the introduction to after we were back on the land. While exchanging contacts and travelling tips, an unexpected comfort to the nomadic soul who insists in taking control of my spirit: Keep me posted on your following adventures as my company Tubembal might be willing to give you a hand. Aurélio, future possible cooperations aside, I could never imagine to speak so highly of whoever would contribute to make my white night last well over 12 am. Specially when considering it is still accumulating seconds, minutes, hours.

Girona welcomes us with a sunny day, a balanced temperature and a lovely bad news: there are no transfers directly to El Prat airport. I have to go to Barcelona’s city centre before. The sacrifices I am willing to make…

The hour and a half separating us from our first checkpoint brought the perspective of the so much needed power nap. But today didn’t want anything to do with the Sandman (the English version of our Portuguese João Pestana for those wondering). While rearranging my suite case, I immediately recognise the unmistakable spirit of a fellow lonely traveller. With an easy, disinterested but highly interesting conversation, Julia had the still fresh passion for Porto and Portugal as a starting point to prove something I was already well aware: Australia exports some of the finest, most easygoing and coolest of the travellers you can find a little bit all over the World. I delight myself with travel stories and future projects which make me understand there is still a lot of World left for me to explore. While jumping from one language to the other, an innocent question catches my attention: Tiago, how many languages can you speak? I know an international company on the travelling business which most likely will value your life style as solid work on building your CV? What?! Come again?!

So, where I am in Barcelona’s downtown, appreciating the little pleasures which make like so enjoyable in a city where enjoying the little things of life is a very serious business. As the menace of boring marathon of flights and transfers becomes a potential sponsor, a contact of a possible employer who may recon my current lifestyle as an important asset for his organisation and, above all, the privilege of stealing a couple of hours to a couple of people whose life experience still makes me envy.

Impossible not to find myself thinking how much I have been losing every time I let myself be defeated by tiredness

Indeed, so it’s travelling...

I know you all should have a great deal of questions on the top of your tongues for quite some time now. Sorry to say I will be very brief on the topic. I am currently in my favourite town in the World, Istanbul (just confirmed it once more), while the White Little One is once more lost in the depths of Russia with a mechanical problem which could not be fixed on sight.

But enough about me, about us, because today is all and only about one of the most extraordinary human beings I had the pleasure of meeting and, above all, have the enormous pride of calling a brother: Emin, In fact, for sometime now, Emin and his more than everything, Beste.

Emin and I go a long time back and he is someone already familiar to those of you who have been following my prior roadtrips. We lived and worked in Brussels for one year back in 2003/04, together with, among others, Isa, Iulia and Sara; the Blue Team that once more comes together for one of its more important and pleasuring missions: Beste’s and Emin’s weeding.

I can not put into words how great of a feeling it is, 5 years past, to see all of us older, wiser (ok, ok, some, aka you guys, more than others, aka me), certainly evolved, pretty much leaving the lives we were dreaming of and, most reassuringly, still exactly the same Isa, Iulia, Sara, Emin and Tiago we were back then.

But today one of us has the spot light and we proudly welcome a new member among us. About Emin I can hardly say much more. A brother who, like my blood one, no distance can make apart. About Beste I only have to drop few words to say it all, even if at the risk of steeling a line of the speech Isa will held later tonight during the weeding ceremony: we could all only dream of one day seeing Emin being as happy and complete as he is with you. You are probably the only girl I have ever been jealous of. But as I’ve told you earlier today, I forfeit: you won

One last line to you, Muslim Brother: if little Emin would be looking at you today, seeing all you already achieved and the smile and inner peace present in your eyes, he could only be as proud as we all are.

The rush of emotions I have been living over the past couple of days are pretty close to what I always imagined to be experiencing in my own weeding: that is how happy I am. Happy and, once more but never too many, proud. So allow me to again steal a quote that so well fits this remarkable day for you and Turkey:

NE MUTLU EMIN VE BESTE NIN ARKADASIYIM DIYENE!

After an unbelievable ride through the depths of Siberia, surviving its harsh roads and ruthless winter, overcoming dozens of small and not so small problems and an endless chain of fantastic adventures, we have at last made it till our biggest psychological frontiers. March, the 14^th 2009, around 5pm local time. Still overwhelmed by the torrent of feelings and emotions running through our mind, we were only able to process one single thought: ìû òîæå âëàäååì âîñòîêîì!!! (Mi toje Vladiem Vostokom) we as well have the East!!!

It seems it is possible after all!

Only a couple of hours later, while already having the obvious celebration (one of the most surreal night outs ever; after all, the celebration had to live up to what being celebrated), we finally start to assimilate all the weight of 23.000 km and two continents crossed end to end. Coast to Coast, Atlantic to the Pacific, a tiny and likeable nutshell and an improbable Portuguese. But above all, a dream come true. Vladivostok is still a faraway dot in the map of our imaginarium. But simply because our imaginarium is now almost as big as the World itself.

Coming to senses

Over the next couple of days I was able to have the rest I was so much in need. While I recovered my energy, the Deuch was becoming the most popular car in town. Once again, if only we could get ˆ1 per each photo taken. This together with Slava’s passing the word on our arrival in town to a couple of his local colleagues put us again on the media radar. Two TV reports, a photo session and plenty of photos spread over local internet forums and I am officially the craziest Portuguese ever in Town. Though the geographical location of Portugal is sometimes a mystery: last Saturday I was recognised by the cashier of the supermarket, who wanted to shake my hand, repeated respect dozens of times and wished a safe return to… South America. For some reason, everyone thinks Portugal is this warm easygoing tropical country. Even those who know I am European.

Déjà vu?

Friday morning, I open the computer, log to CouchSurfing website (http://www.couchsurfing.com/) and start writing on the Vladivostok forum: My name is Tiago, I’m having a roadtrip from the Atlantic to the Pacific on a Citroen 2cv; my car broke down and I am waiting for a part which is on his way from Europe. Can anyone give me a place to sleep? If they only know how that apparent trivial message ended up in Ekaterinburg, no one would take the risk of taking me in.

Naturally, the long km of hard road and harsh conditions had an impact on the White Little One. The electrical contact points were completely worn out and it was impossible to even start the engine. Funny, how the Deuch died just 5 minutes after we stop shooting our 2^nd TV report. Always keeping his face.

To solve this problem we will need… a part which can not be found here, only in Europe. Do you see the similarity? First action, call Sr. Magalhães, my mechanic, to confirm the problem. Second, prepare the part’s expedition with my father’s and Sr. Magalhães’ help. Hopefully, we have our past experience and the fact this is a tiny part which can be fit in a normal envelope in our favour. Hopefully and not fortunately, as this is yet to be proven. In the meantime, I had several replies to my CouchSurfing request and had everything set to stay with Julyia and Greg from the next day on. Who said life has to be complicated?

And... what next?

For me, another tasty meal cooked by Julyia, followed by a football match with Greg’s friends. You know I was never much of a planner! About our near future, I can only tell you we are expecting the part to arrive anytime now and my Russian visa is expiring this Monday, the 30^th. Dèjá vú?

Day 6 – Sweet nightmare

We fell asleep complaining about the dullness of a problem-free day to wake up to a day in which there was nothing left to happen. Be careful with what you wish, because you might just get it!

The day even started on a positive note. My sleeping bag passed his first true test to its glaciar temperament flawlessly. The coldest night since we are in Russia (which naturally makes it our coldest one ever) spent in boxer shorts and t-shirt was surprisingly comfortable. I literally slept with my whole body inside it, which allowed me to maintain an agreeable body warmth through out the night. To gain courage to unzip it in the still very cold morning was the only real problem. But the Deuch decided to give me a little push.

Sadly, the White Little One doesn’t still have his own glaciar sleeping bag where to cuddle and the -30º left their mark. As you know, since we are back on the road, our sleep is structured in blocks of 2 hours, in between each the Deuch´s engine has to work for about 15 minutes, preventing it from freezing. Till 7 am everything went ok. But by that check point the first signs of the (many) troubles ahead: part of the electrical system stopped working. Two hours later, the whole battery was out of charge. The timid morning sun still barely had any effect on the cold temperature, but the window of opportunity to act was too short to allow us the console of a couple of snoozes. In no time the engine would be frozen, exponentially enlarging our scope of problems.

To complete this lovely wake up scenario, we were short on gas. To refill the tank is now turned into one painful process: 10 minutes standing still holding the pump’s frozen metal and finishing it off by taking out the gloves to make the payment; all this out in the (overwhelming) cold. As it became our habit, the previous night we had driven almost till running out of gas, stopping near a gas station and postponing the re-fill to the following morning. Logical considering how essential it is not to lose precious body warmth before going to sleep.

No battery, little gas on the tank and engine about to freeze. Top of the morning for you too! As always, the needed help come in no time. And how well the Deuch knows how to trick them: attracts with its distinct charm and before they know it, there his most recent fans are pushing us along the road. But the most impressive: he manages to make them do all this and still put a huge smile on their faces. After all, the White Little One just made their day, giving them a story they will repeat to everyone over and over again.

With the help of some clients of the nearby coffee, we were pushed back to life. But there was still the (lack of) gas problem. While writing this post, I can’t understand how could I have missed the obvious easy solution. We were carrying a 20 litres canister on the back seat. How could I not think about using that gas in the tank and re-fill the canister, all this before getting the Deuch started? I don’t even have the excuse of having forgotten about the canister, as it was always in my mind as our B-plan if we would ran out of gas… How clear everything always is in the aftermath.

The battery wouldn’t charge and while I went out for a couple of minutes to attend a call from mother nature, the engine went off. We tried to connect the battery to another car, but no sign of life. The problem was more serious than we thought. New fans, new push and there we are on the road again. Being an Atheistic, ironic how often I find myself here: Godspeed.

We were in an urgent need for a mechanic. Even the engine was running poorly, with constant cuts in the gas flow, a problem which increases the millage considerably. However, we were over 150km away from Kemerovo, the next city in our way. A distance within our range… would it be real. On the Russian roads it is common the distances indicated on the road signs not to be trustworthy. We often find a sing indicating a greater distance to our goal then the one indicated by another… 20 or 30 km before. Sometime I wonder if we are going backwards. A common annoyance made particularly irritating by the given circumstances.

About 20 km away from our goal we run out of gas for the second time. There was still some few left in the canister, reason why we shook it till the very last drop and there we were once again waiting for help. Though this time we were in an area where traffic was scarce. About 10 minutes seated on the PARA-LAMAS waiting someone to come across. 10 minutes in which I had at last the opportunity to appreciate how beautiful this sunny day was, still and always dressed in white. Siberia and its inevitable dual personality.

Once more pulled, this time by a pick up driver who, once we were up and running, escorted us till the exit to the city, making sure we took the shortest way possible. Still, not short enough. When already in the suburbs of Kemerovo we run out of gas for the third and last time. That was it: from here on, we would only go if carried. For the first time since in the country, all people who came across seemed to have built up a driving attitude by the book, refusing the traditional pulling with the use of a rope. We managed to have someone calling for a towing car, which would never arrive though. One hour was what it took us to run out of patience and again appeal to the Russian comradeship. Sergey, who was on his way home after his working day made a u-turn, tied a rope to the Deuch and off we go. Ah, there are some true Russian in this town after all!

We had no more than 4/5 km ahead till the nearest mechanic shot. But today the White Little One was on a muddy temper. On a slightly ascending street, Sergey’s car starts having some troubles of his own. The engine is forcing his way through, the wheels are slipping slip, smoke all around and we could hardly move… Guess who finally decided to join the party? Our good old brake problems. The ones who when attack make it impossible to move a single inch. What is left to happen today? Poor Sergey was astonished, hardly believing such a fragile and harmless looking little thing could cause such a trouble.

Yet, our luck was about to change. The Deuch tends to know where to stop and our Days horribilis was no exception. It took less than a couple of minutes to be surrounded by a group of Russians whose clothes were covered in oil and in whose eyes the amazement could hardly be more obvious. We had stopped right in front of a car’s restoration shop. BINGO!

So it ends one of the most problematic days on the road ever. Only the Deuch could paint it in such a bright and pleasant tone.

Wake up with an heavy head, have a good breakfast and let ourselves be astonished by the Russian hospitality once more. My host did not let me part without first knowing Kemerovo main sights. With a friend who was a taxi driver as guide and lots of beer down the throat from early morning on (for once, with the road excuse I was able to pass this one), I was taken in a 2 hours tour around the city centre. With another curiosity worth to be mentioned: the pleasure Russians have in giving little presents to foreigners. Something obvious since day one, but particularly manifest today. Fridge magnets, cd’s of our musician friend, a Red Army Bania (the famous Russian sauna), food for the road, among other little souvenirs. But there was more: one I asked for the repair bill, a handshake followed by are you sure you have enough money for the gas?

All this is so more surprising as the people in question whose life is one of struggle to make it till the end of the day. Lives the current world crises did not make any easier. Still, instead of the obvious opportunity to make some easy bucks on the foreigner’s expenses, they are instead caught by the thrill of a unique experience and so prefer to, with a little gesture, make a huge difference in someone else’s life.

Couldn’t resist touching everything (something which always causes me some disconfort, I confess), delighted every time some one honked or waived in praise of the Little One, always enthusiastically waiving back. What a show!

 

It was a sweet ride till Krasnoyarsk. In the end of the day, just one more of his many charms: only the Deuch allows one to fully appreciate the simple fact he is working…smoothly. Again as Hank Muddy (Californications, a series not to be missed), is the little things.

Day 8 & 9 – Spoilled Kids

The two shortest road days so far.

A late woke up (we are back to our sleeping on the road top form) for a day in which the wind would play us a trick. I was trying to clean the windscreen using the snow, so we could have some clean video shots, when a strong wind took the door, opening it fully and violently. When I tried to close it, the door was… too short. No matter how harder I’ve tried, it seemed it was missing a couple of cm. I couldn’t see this coming…

It was impossible to solve the problem on the spot, being on the open and with the wind still blowing strong. So, we were forced to drive very slowly, while I kept one hand on the wheel and another one on the door. Luckily, there was a cafe about 10 km away where we could shield ourselves from the wind. It took a while, but we could solve the mystery: the two small metal parts holding the door were over bended. Solution: as often, not too fancy nor complicated – hold the door and with my foot push it back to its original position. Solving the Deuch’s problems is almost always all about simplicity. There were some bruises left, the air draft is now (even) bigger, but nothing too serious. On the other hand, since our last visit to the mechanic the engine is heating up properly, hence keeping the inside nice and warm. Now at least while we are on the road, our Little Ice Cube on Wheels melts and we can see through all the windows. It was indeed a crime to be crossing Siberia with such a limited vision span.

As soon as the night fall, we drove across a small town (or a big village, as you prefer). Passing through a guesthouse the appeal of a shower, good night of sleep in a decent bed and a couple of beers made us call it for the day.

Our unexpected night out in the countryside underlined something these first days of deep Russia had already made clear: the differences of life style between the big midsize Russian cities and the rural areas. One of the most obvious being that there are after all Russians who live up to the expectation when it comes to drinking. Even during daylight it is common to see man hardly able to stand on their feet, any interaction with a foreign is an excuse to another vodka and to find a sober person in a cafe after nightfall is an almost impossible mission. In Ekaterinburg I was repeatedly told vodka and beer were a terrible match (nothing I hadn’t already found out at my first dinner at Slava’s…better, the following morning). Here, the motto is vodka without beer is a waste of vodka, and I am quoting.

Day 10 & 12 - Irkutsk

A long day rolling till Irkutsk, the usual base for who aims at attacking the Lake Baikal. It was very late when we arrived at the hostel, where we had no reservation and had to wake the person working the night shift. After having done that, I had to nerve to go out again and find out how does Irkutsk looks like in a Saturday night. I had already been in town twice, but always just to get my Mongolian visa and with less than 24 hours left on my Russian one. Once more, one of my favourite sides of travelling, to explore the local nightlife, had to be postponed.

Ah, as well worth to mention I shared room with an old German with a chronic gas condition… during the nights I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

Dear all,

After having survived the pick of the Siberian winter, ironically I got sick at the beginning of the Russian Spring. Hence the reason why the White Little One has been seating at the parking lot over the past week. By the way, did you know up north the seasons start at the day 1 of the months and not on the 22^nd as back home?

After a lovely partying weekend in Irkutsk catching up with Omar, my buddy from Olkhon, I got flu and was forced to stay in bed with a light fever from Monday till yesterday. Didn’t really plan to spend my birthday stuck in bed, but can I really complain? After all, is there a more thrilling way of celebrating once birthday than chasing a dream of a lifetime?

I woke up this morning without fever and feeling much better. So, time get back on the road and kick off the last phase of our way towards this project’s central landmark: the Pacific Ocean! We are still close to 4.000 km away from Vladivostok. But after everything we have been through and all the km we already left behind, it feels like it is just around the corner.

To the East!

Olkhon Island, 26th of February 2009

Once more, our stay has stretched, stretched and stretched again. Both the Deuch and I were unable to resist the many charms of this idyllic place, where the clock beat seems to have its very own rhythm. I have arrived here as a tourist and depart as a volunteer, after 10 thanking the bed, delicious food and perfect atmosphere doing a little bit of everything. Washing the dishes, waitressing, transporting water or wood, teaching Portuguese and English: each day a new combination between the camp’s needs and my skills. Though each day the camp directors’ main need was for me to feel at home. Nikita’s Home Stay, the latest responsible for a loss of another piece of my heart.

But besides the irresistible spirit and endemic friendliness of all those who work here, which doesn’t leave any of the tourists unaffected, the scenario is sublime. The world’s deepest lake, holding 1/5 of all its potable water, completely frozen, inviting the Deuch to breathtaking rides literally on the top of its water and with the surrounding white mountains as background. At each stop, the reassuring conclusion that no matter how much he overwhelms us, the World will always have an endless ability to surprise us.

While we jump once again in the far east, we leave you enough posts to keep you entertained for a while. Here you have the diary of our first 5 days on the Siberian roads. We prescribe / recommend one a day.

We’ll meet again by the Pacific,

tma and Le Deuch

Day 1 – The (almost false) Start

Over 5 months waiting for the Deuch to get fixed and there we are hitting the road again. At last. One last meal with Slava (by the way mate, end it up with a sober meal? So much have to have a remake), dinner with my last host (Roman and Tobi, will be missing the comradeship), the loveliest of the breakfasts, a massive though effective packing process and we are all set to go. Or so we thought.

The White Little One could not leave Eka without playing one last trick. A normal car loses the breaks. The Deuch got breaks. Too much of them. Every 10 minutes of driving, the breaks would get stuck, making it impossible to move it one inch. This problem had occurred a couple of times before, but sporadically. With the Deuch, the majority of the problems are dealt mostly with a little bit of patience: you wait along for a bit and, as if for magic, the problem fades away. Patience had proved effective in this case before, but today the problem just wouldn’t go away.

Big headache ahead? Not when you have the Deuch’s charm on your side. After exhausting our patience, another call to my mechanic, Sr. Magalhães to report the symptoms and the diagnosis is immediate: either we needed to change the breaks oil or the break oil’s pump had blown up. First scenario, the only problem was to find a Citroen dealer, as we were in need of a very specific oil only there to be found (no problem, as we were still in Eka). The 2^nd one though could bring us into a 5 months process similar to the one we had just dealt with.

To leave early in the morning after a long and good night sleep – that was the plan for our first day in the road. Well, this travel’s plans work pretty much as the deadlines to the conclusion of public projects in Portugal: the only guarantee is any scenario is possible, but that initially presented.

It was past 8 pm when finally Eka was left behind. Can no longer tell how late we were, as we have long lost the reference point to address to. But even though it was obvious we were indeed late, it still felt way to soon…

Day 2 – Siberia’s first warning

The first day (night, to be accurate) on the road was a short one. 150 km were enough to defeat us: first the hunger and than the irresistible comfort of the warmth. After all, we have had a long day on our own.

The plan turned into a nice night of sleep, preparing us for a long road in day 2. So, you know what didn’t happen. Today it was the coldest day this winter so far, with a temperature always bellow -25º. So, after a night outside, the Deuch’s engine was simply frozen. Battery was working, but the starting engine wouldn’t give any sign of life. The oil can in the car gave us a hint on the problem: if the one in the can was frozen, very likely the one in the engine was as well. Even if still at distance, Siberia sends us a first warning.

Time to experiment a innovative therapeutic: the warmth. We had to find a warm place to spoil the little one for some hours. Counting on the Russian hospitality, not much of a big deal. Viktor, a local scuba diver and radio expert came into our rescue. Via radio, he got in touch with his buddies working at the local civil protection and in about half an hour the Deuch had an ambulance (?!) ready to tow him anywhere. Yes, an ambulance. Sadly, the cold made other victims: all our gadgets got their batteries frozen, so it wasn’t possible to record this other singular moment for future visual memory.

The question was still where to? Not far. The owner of the guesthouse we were staying at was kind enough to take his own Citroen out of his warmed garage and offered it to the Deuch for the night.

Day 3 & 4 – Simply…Siberia!

We may not remember everything from the night before. But this morning’s hangover will be hard to forget. But with the Deuch in the warmth and the guesthouse people kind enough to let us sleep through the day, it wasn’t before late afternoon that we got back on the road.

But after two straight nights sleeping over 10 hours (can not remember the last time I had done it) and with the White Little One spoiled with a night under +25º, we were ready to rumble.

Today (better saying twodays) it was our first real day on the road. What a treat it was! To kick it off, another psychological barrier went beyond: little over 15.000 km after leaving home, Siberia at last! We were up to 600km through our first white night since leaving Eka. We entered Siberia as one should: dark, dark night, heavy snowfall, almost no living soul to come across with and cold as never before in our life.

After a long night on the road, one of the highlights of our Siberian journey so far: driving through the sunrise. As if for magic, we are taken from one end to the very other of the chromatic span. The darkest of our nights suddenly re-invents itself as a morning in which the shining sun is the only thing breaking the absolute whiteness surrounding us. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!

A snapshot on the drive:

These two days, we drove as far as Omsk, crossing as well Tiumen. We only had time for a short drive through throw the respective city centres. Nevertheless enough to delight ourselves with the surprising charm of these two Siberian cities. Ironic how the massive deportation of intellectuals and some of the finest Russian families during the Tsars times ended up shaping in the far east some of the most western alike cities in Russia.

This driving marathon brought us back to an old summer habit: find a little gas station outside the urban areas and call it the night right there. Just this time with temperatures always bellow -25º and a frozen Deuch.

But the cold is now way more than a simple discomfort. It is now one more and rather relevant risk to which we have to be aware 24/7. A risk which is already re-shaping our way of life. The 2cv is turn into a little ice-cube on wheels. With the exception of the windscreen, all other of its parts are literally frozen. Windows, metal parts, cover, everything is victim of the combination between my breathing and the frozen air. Even when full acceleration, the engine never reaches a relevant temperature, making the heat sent to the interior barely noticeable. Hence, our driving vision field is limited to what is going on ahead of us. At each cross, the only (and painful) solution is to open both side windows.

The most limitative consequence is, however, is the engine (apparently, the oil) getting frozen if not working for 2/3 hours in a row (depending on the temperature). During the day we only have to be aware to sudden temperature drops during our stops. But at night the scenario is very different. Our sleep must be interrupted every 2 hours, in between which we have to start the engine and let it work for some minutes. At least to sleep in the Deuch became handy.

And so the dance continues!

On the 5^th day, finally everything goes well. The 2cv runs smoothly, the best road conditions so far and even the Siberian weather gives us a break. In other words, a day of dullness. Smooth drive till Novosibirsk, the current capital of Siberia. The biggest in the region, this is a rather new city shaped by its sudden growth of the past couple of decades. We always feel uncomfortable giving an opinion on a place after having spent only a couple of hours in it. But we must confess we weren’t particularly impressed. Lively, despite the cold and the fact of being a Monday, it seems a city more interesting to live in rather than to visit.

When we were preparing ourselves to leave the city, again the break problem attacked. Twice in a row, the 2cv got completely blocked, taking over one hour till we were able to departure. The waiting wasn’t particular problematic. What this relapse means is. It tells us the problem is most likely in the breaks’ pump, not the oil. Hence, the second scenario we have mentioned some days ago becomes once again a real possibility. Let us see for how long we can postpone the problem.

Indeed, even the endless experiences do come to an end. The planed one night turned into a 5 months stay, which turned into the biggest challenge of our journey, later turn into the most difficult moment since we first left Porto. Eka is at last (but definitely not least) left behind.

I believe I have written about this here before: I do believe there is a fundamental decision with a fundamental implication in one’s life: to be happy or to avoid unhappiness. This not being the place nor the time to jump into such a philosophic discussion, I can break it down simply into how much one is willing to risk to achieve happiness. From the little I have managed to figure out so far, one can only be as happy as willing to assume the risk of ending up in the very opposite side of the emotional span. The higher you climb…

Quite often, the first step towards happiness is to set yourself free of what I like to call our places of comfort. In love, like in life, for example: there is no other feeling like being heads over hills with some one, that very moment when passion and love are indistinct. That feeling’s kick is greatly enhanced by the abyss we are always overlooking at the very same time. One way or the other, I believe we all learnt by now that those we love the most are exactly those with the greater power to hurt us. So suddenly, we start loosing the comfort of the ground beneath our feet and with it we star loosing control. What the heck: if nothing comes easy in life, why would its ultimate goal?

My trip is all about that: trying to do what makes me the happiest by now. Setting sale from my places of comfort, in particular from my most comfortable harbour being the first step. The second doing it alone. Nevertheless, there is a fundamental contradiction in my way of travelling, one which is so clearly exposed by the Ekaterinburgs of my life. When I am travelling, no matter how much time I will spend in a particular place, I do not tend to pass by, but always do my best to stay. Some times for 5 hours, others for 5 months. Is not only a matter of seizing the day and not focusing on the future. Is to accept you don’t either know or control the tomorrow, thus nor its timings. In other words, to try to go through life as if all the people and places we come across with come without expiration date. To be honest, at least in my imaginarium those meaningful never have one.

Hence, the fundamental contradiction: to search for the new, suck all the thrill out and turn it into a new place of comfort. And so the dance continues… Many of you are probably thinking this is just the combination of an adventurous spirit, youth, & naivety. Well, I hope you are right. I am far from complaining for the time being. Though this nomadic spirit on someone so attached to places and people as I am comes together in the most thrilling, but as well a highly emotionally exhaustive lifestyle. For as big as my heart may be, it is for sure not big enough to keep on going around indefinitely leaving little pieces of it behind.

In Eka it wasn’t even a little piece, but a big chunk. It had everything to be the black hole of our trip: an ordinary looking Russian city, a torrid summer heat, no water to be found and the Deuch deciding to take a rest. I must confess, I hated the city for the first 10 days. But as I have predicted at the beginning of this apparent nightmare to be, the Deuch, as always, knew what he was doing. He wanted to test our travelling philosophy to the extreme. A forced stay in a far, faraway city which we had no clue about, in which we knew absolutely no one and where the only language spoken by the vast majority of its population was unknown to us: not exactly the most comfortable of the scenarios.

But Ekaterinburg was doomed to be the confirmation of many of our theories. As we have as well written at the same post, nothing is what it is, but what we make out of it. Looking back, we believe we could have hardly made more out of it. Specially because the city and, above all, the many, many friends we now have there could hardly have made more to turn Eka into one of the most comfortable of all my places.

We won’t even make an attempt to as well here thank one by one all those who definitely would deserve it. Gladly, we had the pleasure of doing it personally to all of you. Either during my last couple of days there or during my amazing farewell party (Kvartire, 2ky, Dabar and then… Dabar again till we were all kicked out at 9 am J ). Anyway, no matter how many times I repeat the word Спосиво, we will always remain in debt.

Besides the theories, Eka seems as well to confirm our contradiction and biggest emotional threat: when it gets too cosy, we do know it is time to hit the road again. Novelty is fading. We know we should, because our experience taught us something along the way will justify it. But that something is, even if highly appealing, yet just a promise to take place and form. A promise which demands us to set sail from a place in which we fell just like home.

We know we are terrible at it, but indeed never any gain from making goodbyes long. So, let us cut it short (well, cut it not as long, better saying…). Over the past 5 months we kept on calling Eka our Russian adoptive city. Well, don’t know if it goes both ways or not. But we do know it goes at least one. We may have parted (for now), but the city will never leave us: we did adopt Ekaterinburg with all our heart!

After a lovely Christmas break in Porto, here I am back in Ekaterinburg, back in the freezing cold though quite amusing Russian winter. The setting may remain the same for the time being, but as you already know, 2009 opened in full speed!

There’s a lot to catch up. So, let’s take it step by step.

I flew to Porto with the highest expectations: after all, I was on the brink of having the best Christmas ever. On top of that, almost 8 months afterwards after having left home, the perspective of seeing my family, my friends, and my little doggy sounded quite a treat. Big expectations often lead to proportional disillusions. But not when you have my 3 Marys on the case.

This was indeed a magic Christmas, only a snow fall away from perfection (yes, I still keep my childhood dream of a white Christmas). After 6 years, to be back at my Family’s house at the eve of the 24^{th with the Moreira family all gathered around the table was a feeling it can not be described, but only shared with those other 11 people who were around me. I was expecting something of extraordinary, of very, very special. However, I ended up overwhelmed by the very opposite: how natural and comfortable everything was. Like that gap of over half a decade had never existed. The expression was never more fitting: it felt just like home!}

My grand-father’s eyes would again shine of pure happiness and that was the best present my E-Santa (quite modern of our Klaus to take request over the internet these days) could have ever given me!

Following the tradition of the Russian Literature Classics, our Tale did not only have one, but two Epilogues. One week later, the family got together again to celebrate the New Year. This time around at my Parents place. In case doubts were left (not really, but in that hypothetical event), the matter was settled.

This was indeed the best Christmas ever!

Gladly, to return to Porto was much more than simply about having the Best Christmas ever. This had been the longest consecutive period I have ever been away from home. This 8 months coinciding with the period of my life in which I have lived it the fullest, not hard to imagine how eager I was to spend some quality time with those closer to me.

I was once again overwhelmed, this time with the impact of returning to Porto. At all levels

First of all, to return to my most comfortable shelf. After such a long time almost always dealing with the new, this feeling of home felt particularly cosy. The people, the climate, the sights, the food, my bed, to understand everything which is being said around me. As one of my favourite TV characters, Hank Muddy (Californication, one of the wildest TV series ever released) uses to say: "it’s the little things".

Inevitably, it was however pretty much about the people, my people. The much needed catching up, to spend some quality time with many of my very best friends and, above all, to have these people back in one other type of my places of comfort: my inner self. At last, a handful of opportunities not just to tell and be told stories, not just to share experiences, nor just trying to be discovered by and discover the one(s) seated in front of me. At last, a handful of opportunities in which the level of intimacy shared and the deep knowledge on one another’s inner-self allowed a first real deconstruction of all the many new and overwhelming experiences I have lived since the beginning of our journey. Together with the return to our starting point, a first chance to assess and evaluate the long inner path already travelled. Rare, hence always priceless moments.

Reassuring is another adjective which can describe this homecoming. Every time I return, the feeling grows stronger and stronger on me: no matter what twists and turns my life takes, Porto will always be the safest of all my Harbours. To me, travelling is, in great extent, to conquer the places I visit, to turn a dot in the map into a reality in my imaginarium. I don’t remember any place I have ever visited which did not stay, at least in some extent, within me (or in which I have left at least a bit of me, but there we are back to the same question of a couple of posts ago). Some of them (Istanbul, Brussels, Ekaterinburg being the most relevant) even grew solid foundations. But no other place set such ground foundations as the one which made ground for all the others: my Porto.

The cosiest of all my places of comfort. The kindest during the inevitable grieving process after each return and that which more clearly allows me to, afterwards, acknowledge how closer I am to become myself. The place I know it won’t ever cease to be mine and where my absence, even if only a small drop in the ocean, has nevertheless the strongest impact. But on the other hand, and as every true home, a place in which the novelty is scarce and where the context’s power to influence my day-to-day self is the strongest. No matter how de-attached, how context free I may have returned, it was obvious it was only a matter of when, not if, Porto would force me back into a life pretty similar to the one I just left. Not saying it was one I disliked, nor one I will never be willing to go back to. Just not for now.

In short, to be back in Porto made it very clear to my eyes the reasons why I will always be eager to return, but at the same time the reasons which lead to my current nomadic lifestyle.

Some final few lines on something closely related to everything I have written above, but which has particularly stroked me this time around: the personal ties. Short, but full of emotions, this visit made me realise when one overcomes its inner tabus, the circle of certain personal relations can travel over 360є without yet being closed. Indeed, there are Tattoos which will never be removed.

And when the last are the first: the particular strength of the blood. Far from being a surprise, a reassurance at most. With all the away time elapsed and the thrill of family emotions lived in the past weeks, one tie emerged as stronger than any other: the one with my brother Luis. No need to be too long about it. Because no matter what life brought or will bring us, we both know this was, is and will always be the tie none of us will ever accept to break. No matter what!

My return to Ekaterinburg suffered a delay according to our original plans. Thanks to the contacts Slava had managed to make at the Russian Customs, the perspective of soon having our new parts cleared was at last realistic, the same being true to our return to the road. Being still 8000km away from Vladivostok and having Siberia in the pick of the winter in between, it became impossible to draw a timetable to finish the Russian stage of our journey. Hence, it became essential to return with a Visa longer than the standard 1 month tourism one, which made the visa procedure in Lisbon a bit longer. It is one thing to make a visa migration while settled in Ekaterinburg. To do it while somewhere in the middle of Siberia is a whole different story

With a 3 months business visa in my hand, I have arrived in Ekaterinburg on the 9th of January, not in time of celebrating the New Years Eve here as initially planned. But still in time to add a new landmark (and the respective celebration excuse) to our calendar: the Old New Year. More accurately, the New Year according to the Julian Calendar, the one used by the Orthodox Church. And what a party it was. At least for the part we can remember, right Tobi?

To leave Porto to return to Eka was just like leaving home to return…home. I have arrived around 4 am, having left Portugal in alarm due to the lowest temperatures in years to be welcomed with -17є upon arrival. Nothing preventing me from taking the train (well, the elektrichka, kind of a Russian suburban train) plus a 20 minutes walk from the train-station, while always greeting back the city with an open smile. It took only a couple of hours to get back to my Eka rhythm. Arriving on the weekend still during the holidays was quite a help and the dinner at Slava’s did the rest.

Upon arrival as well, the news we were for so long waiting: our parts had finally arrived and were waiting for my visit to be cleared at the Ekaterinburg’s customs. Even after more than half a year in the country I was as naïve as to believe a simple visit would do it. But of course, nothing comes easy in Russia, specially when you are to deal with public administration. Misha (I guess no one him will be more relived with my departure lol), the Director of the Yuma Auto Service (my mechanic shop) and I were up to two days which we could only imagined as out of a play written by Kafka. How many of my passport copies and signatures do the Russian Federal Authorities need out of me?! Just to give you an idea, and while killing a considerable number of trees with all the paper spent in the process, a short resume:

You don’t understand a thing? Don’t worry, I was there and still couldn’t quite figure the logic out myself. But as always, there is a bright side. The whole situation is as illogical as surreal, hence as annoying as it can, at times, be delightful. Plus, is on times of need that a foreign has the opportunity of experience the true Russian hospitality and kindness. I have less and less doubts on saying that for the majority of the times, life gets way easier for a foreign around here.

Great news followed the good ones: two days afterwards My Little White One was fit and we were back on the roads. God, how I missed to be back on that magic wheel!

Once again defying all local opinions, and even if sometimes with a bit of struggle, the Deuch is, at least for the time being, cooping fine with the cold weather. So far, the temperature has been rather mild for the local winter standards (an average of -7є/8є, never bellow -17є. But so far so good!

At last, we address the question in everyone’s mind: we are returning to the road today, Thursday, the 29th of January. Even though leaving Eka is proving to be a heartbreaking experience, the road is still for the time being our (the Deuch and mine’s) natural habitat.

So, what’s the plan? Well, I know this is not the first time I have told you this, but I do believe this time it is for real: the adventure is starting now! Again, against all local opinions, our plan is to resume our journey heading east. First and most important stage, to link Eka to Vladivostok, with a pit stop at the Lake Baikal. About 7.000 km to finish one of my dreams since childhood: to link the Atlantic and the Pacific coasts by road. An old plan with a new key challenge: to cross Siberia when Siberia shows its true and more notorious self - the peak of the winter!

As I have mentioned, the season has been rather mild so far, but the experts are announcing a sharp fall on the thermometer starting today. The expected temperatures for this weekend are around -35є. If after more than 5 months away from the road we would be in need of extra motivation to set sail once again, the present conditions and the disbelief of all locals in our enterprise would be it!

But don’t worry too much: we have not (at least) yet lost sense of reality. We have packed warm and already made some try outs on the road under the cold winter and the deep snow. Besides, we will keep ourselves to Russian’s main road connecting Moscow and the Far East. Even if far from the being the region of the World with the highest population density, we will stick to the Russian’s main lifeline. If things get extreme, there is always Vodka to keep us warm. Plus, even if my friend Agnes (an modern art performer with the most original working method and some of the most mind teasing pieces of art I have ever come across – check Agne’s work at www.ffur.de) ruined my metaphor with her ice digging work in the country, I am still standing to my example: to visit Siberia outside winter it would be like going to Brazil to ski. So, our timing couldn’t be better. After all, our chance of making this the coolest roadtrip ever!

Time to pack and hit the road again! We will do our best to keep in touch, even if internet access will again become a big question mark from now on. Anyway, as long as the dot in the GPSR map keeps on moving, we should be on the safe side.

A warm hug from the cold,

Tma & Le Deuch

Dear All,

Thank you very much for your understanding.

In the meantime, 2009 did not stand still. After a lovely visit home, we are again back in Eka and the we is indeed is again a literal one. Yes, as you may have noticed through the GPSR map on the first page and some of the comments left in the guestbook, the Little White One is back on the road!!! You can’t imagine the feeling of being again behind that magic wheel!

But we leave that to a post soon to follow. After all, between our Christmas Tale Epilogue and our return to the road, there is so much to tell you about!

Пока,

Tma & Le Deuch (gosh, how I missed my buddy’s company on this line!)

Not a single form to be filled up, less than 20 seconds at the passport control and finally I can again understand every word being said around me.

Yes, I on my way home, writing you from the Barajas, Madrid’s airport. Tomorrow morning I catch a plane to Lisbon and then I’ll be only a 3 hours train ride (how strange to again measure a train ride in hours, not days…) from Porto.

Apparently, Christmas still has the makings to make some miracles happen. Indeed, I am on the brink of the best Christmas ever!

A question has been on everyone’s top of the tongue over the past couple of weeks: what about Christmas?

In the middle of the huge question mark this delicious adventure has turn into, there is only one certainty: to finish our roadtrip within the planned timeframe is an obvious impossibility. As turning back is something which did not even crossed our minds yet, hence the obvious conclusion: this year the Deuch and I won’t be around Porto for Christmas.

But being true we won’t be both, there is, however, the possibility of one of us pay a visit on behalf of the duo. Keeping the adventure’s tone, as well our Christmas’ destiny does not lay in our hands. Though this time around, it lays in those of three people who, through out my life, kept on proving to be trustworthy of such challenge. Welcome to the emotional side of our odyssey. A Christmas Tale of our days, without Once upon a time, with an interactive end, where the young man is the one with the beard and the old guy has 3 much more charming ladies in its place. Make yourself comfortable: this might take a while.

About a month ago, and after 7 on the road, for the first time since our departure, I have cried. Without warning, on my way to Slava’s home town, Krasnauralsk, on the back seat of Masha’s car and during a very joyful trip couple of hours, a music makes me break out in tears. Ne me quitte pas, de Jacques Brel, on a woman’s voice. A blitz which forgot its thunder.

There are moments, places, musics which are, at some point of our lives, stolen by some people close to us. They cease to be ours to, within our own imaginarium, be appropriated by these people. This particular music has the originality of having been stolen exactly by the person who offered it me: my grand-father Manuel da Cunha Moreira. Confessed admirer of the francophone’s culture, this was one of his favourites. One that, since a kid, I remember hearing on the vinyl player at his/our place.

Suddenly, I find myself in an unexpected flashback. During all my life, I have lost four people who were very close to me, four people since ever part of my imaginarium. The kind of people you have never met, who were never introduced to you: they were simply just there since ever. I believe I can say I have lost three and a half family members. My Great-Grand-Mother, my Avó Rosa, an extraordinary woman who lived through the ten decades of the XX century; my dear, dear friend Sr. Casal, best friend, father and grand-father of, respectively, my Grand-Father, my God-Mother Mité and Ruca, my best-friend; a truly unique character, full of those adorable little flaws and with an irresistible individuality; one of my favourite story tellers and the only person allowed to smoke at our place.

Now two of the people I have always most identified myself with, a feeling growing stronger and stronger as the years pass by: my Grand-Mother Avó Linda, a magnificent cook (very best one I have ever known), a women with such an energy, an never-ending strength and with an heart as big as the World; and my Grand-Father, Manuel da Cunha Moreira, my Avô Moreira, an impressive life story, built up with its bare hands out of scratch; a person truly and altruistically committed, more than the public one, to the causes of all, in particular of those without means to make their voices heard; a man with the most extraordinary character I have ever known; with all its flaws and virtues, someone truthfully committed to its principles and, specially though not only for that reason, a person who left a distinctive mark in every single one of those with who he came across.

The three first ones made the many of us to whom they meant and mean so much a huge favour: they let us know in due time they would be leaving us. One is never prepares for such a moment. There are always things not said and, for as much as we try, one can never make them realise how important they are in our lives (as that is a feeling which strengths keeps surprising us through out life). But we get the sweet illusion of having been there when they needed us the most, of having done our utmost best to show them how special they were and are to us. On a more selfish tone, of having squeezed to the second their precious company. How reassuring it was having the opportunity, at the end of theirs lives, to pay back, even if only a fraction of, the many sacrifices my Avó Rosa and my Avó Linda did during the critical first years of my life. Or, as for this one, to have tasted, once more, her delicious iced coffees or having the opportunity to join her and her friends (always so thrilled with the company of a grand-son who always distributed kisses among everyone) for the afternoon tea. What a privilege to once again end my working day listening the countless and surreal adventures of Sr. Casal´s life, in between which he would often confide me I don’t know… Ruca an outdoors architect? What to you think of it Tiago?

That November night, that stolen gift made me abruptly conscious that my Grand-Fathers’ sudden death had as well robbed me of something: the possibility of that goodbye, that sweet illusion. For the very first time, the notion some words which should will never be said.

An ocean of contradictory emotions rushed through those unexpected tears. A strong initial sadness, balanced however with a no less sudden wake up. We often find ourselves powerless against life’s everlasting capacity to surprise us. But for the majority of the times, our pride, stubbornness or even an absurd shyness are the sole reasons preventing us from expressing the best of our feeling to the best of our people. The impact of this thought was such I did not lose any time to call and open my heart to those who deserved it the most: my parents. Our of site, out of mind: guess there is no other saying I disagree more with. For as much as I travel, I will never cease to be overwhelmed with the distance’s power to bring us closer to those truly important to us.

But more relevant for this Tale, the true wake up of this adventure. I have lost count how many times I was asked about the why behind this trip. My answer varies according to my mood. Though I confess these days, partially worn-out by how common the question became, I rarely find the strength to go much further than a couple of common places (a why not? has been proving itself quite effective). Truth is when I part I never have a clue. Sure I have a thousand of reasons to be here and each day on the road is only adding to it. Nevertheless, the true reason, its ultimate meaning, that I never know. In fact, it is not even a search: somewhere along the way, I will just bump into it.

In one of the first post written from this adopted Russian city of mine, I told you, even not having a clue what, I had no doubts the Deuch had stopped for a very strong reason. Ironic the answer to arrive in his French language.

One of the most vivid images I have from my grand-parents is that of theirs eyes of pure happiness while contemplating the whole family gathered during Christmas. For both, their families were their most precious thing, that what made them proud the most. Hence, to see all their sons and grand-sons together was their supreme joy. This was as well one of the deepest marks they left in me: the curious contradiction of a strong emotional link to my family within a spirit chronically rootless. Well, maybe, a spirit with roots spread out everywhere. Anyway, philosophies apart, each of the ways leads me to Rome.

Time runs always in the same direction and what wasn’t will never be said. But if time can not walk backwards, memory does have the power of going both ways. The eyes of my Avó Linda would shine as much or even more today should she have the chance of taking a pick at the Christmas of the Alves family. Sadly, the sight of the Moreira family´s one would be nothing but painful to my Grand-Father.

For over 5 years now, my mother’s family shares little more than its surname. A well-intended common-life experience among characters way too similar lead to a family completely tarred apart, literally broken in two. An abnormal outcome, even for me, victim and inevitably actor in this tragedy. Something, I confess, way beyond my comprehension.

That November night, that stolen gift presented me, at last, the ultimate reason of this adventure: to use my distance as the element which would bring my family together.

Mum, Aunt Lena and Grandma: by this time you already realised it is in our hands the faith of this tale lays. No matter the water under the bridge, the link between the 3 of you is awesome. It doesn’t take to know you too well to realise it. Curious irony how it ends up being something the three of you share the reason why this abnormal situation lasted for so long: your stubbornness. Knowing you well enough, I take the step none of you seems to be willing to take: the first.

After all this time, I confess I am already quite homesick. Plus, as you well know, Christmas is a season I particular cherish, but empty of any meaning if not in the company of my family and those dearer to me. I already have the Matrioskas to offer my aunts, and Prima Luísa, I even know which t-shirt I’ll be using. I promise to bring some caviar along, but Tio Avelino, I do only crave for our Portuguese Bacalhau and to break the Christmas Bingo tradition with Ruca is something which would make me so disappointed. I have arranged everything to make a short break in this adventure and pay home a visit during the Holiday.

However, this Christmas I will do it only under one condition: if everyone makes up and the Moreira family will once again gather around the table on the night of the 24^th. In other words, if we again live up to the most import legacy left by the one who gave us so much and we once more let the best and the strongest of our feelings prevail.

Another original side of our Tale: I leave Santa out of it and address my Christmas request to the three Mary’s of my life. This year, my request is a simple one: I want my mother’s family back.

Maria Celeste, Maria Fernanda and Maria Helena: I am looking forward to be told the rest of this story.

After 7 days and 6 nights in some of the most idyllic settings I have ever had the chance to visit, the return to the sad Ulan-Bator. Once again in our journey, a phenomenon that as been repeating itself over and over again: the always brutal shock between the idyllic and the real world. Normally, repetition means habituation. But in this particular each time is as if the shock’s brutality is drawn more and more clear.

The desert’s fascination is something far beyond any expectations. Its complete emptiness, the apparent endlessness, the total silence underline by the absence of eco: the impact of all this, the impact of all its magic is something to overwhelming to be reduced into words.

I am, nonetheless, yet to find that pure place, the untouched virgin scenario which fills up my drive to go deeper and deeper into the wild. Yes, it is true: even the Gobi is no longer that isolated place completely apart from the “real world”. Even though most probably the most genuine of all places I have ever visited, the “western” world is worryingly settling in.

The “tourist camps” are pretty much everywhere. Of course, one still sleeps in a lovely Ger (the traditional tents still today used by the local nomads), they are all run by local people, normally extremely kind, Mongolian-only speaking old people, places where electricity is not available and where you put into perspective all the so called “comforts” of our daily life. But standardisation is attacking hard. The Ger experience is pretty much alike wherever you are, that standing for the food you get (yes Uncle, mouton, mouton, mouton… - and if you allow me a Portuguese expression: nada de cabrito, só mesmo … cabrão), the timetables, even the price. From my experience, the main difference between Gers is how isolated the place is, how well the cook can disguise the old mouton meat and how fortunate you are not to have any other English speakers around. Don’t get me wrong: I am one who loves to socialise. But not in the desert.

The second disappointing thing is the fact that once in a tour (and it is a bit hard to avoid being in one) your trail is due o be following and be followed by those of other tourists. Again, standardisation… It is surprisingly disappointing to roll on the van for over 6 hours to arrive in this remote place and… to see the promise of the empty land ruined by a couple of other groups of white faces.

The last downside, the time spent on the Van. To anyone adventuring her or himself in such a journey, I do strongly recommend to make it in at least 10/12 days, allowing yourself some days off driving, probably tracking in between sleeping spots for a couple of days or simply enjoying, for instance, nice walks and the sun set on the sandy dunes. In case you are on the clock, then focus on the most beautiful places and make the most out of it. By the end of our journey, we could all agree to spend about 5/6 days in the van everyday is way too much.

But not all bad on our van. Miska, our 60 years’ old driver was The Man. With his little English and my even smaller Russian, we did just fine. Roads do not exist around here and the reference points are scarce, being euphemistic. Nevertheless, maps, compass, GPS are things which use he can not understand. By the end of each day, it was always a challenge to both of us to draw our route on my map. I kept pointing to the so called roads and he kept saying Here Miska no road. Plus, the van, an old Russian model who literally had some mechanic problems every single day, really added to the whole scenario. Radiator malfunction right when he picked us up at the hostel, the engine broke down on the second day and every morning to start it up it was quite a challenge. But Miska’s face was always tranquil. His mechanic skills were as good as his driving ones. Thus, it would never take too much time for him to come up with a solution. Owen and I were always praying for the problem to be a definitive one, so we could finally have the chance to sleep literally on the middle of nowhere. But Miska never gaves us chance.

Well, if the chance is not given, you go and look for it. After sleeping one night outside our Ger literally with the camels, the call of the sand dunes was almost irresistible. Around 11 (one curiosity: having no electricity, your biological clock quickly gets synchronised with the sun) everyone in my group was already asleep, but I was still up for something. Went out to write on my diary, chitchatted for a bit with some of the other tourists in the camp, but as well them were on their way to bed and an early rise. When I grabbed my bottle of vodka to join the only ones still around the fire, Miska and the other locals, Owen came out of the Ger. I was on the bed thinking: that Portuguese bastard is most likely up to something I will regret not having done tomorrow morning. So, let’s go and sleep in the dunes? That was just the last push I needed. In a few minutes, there we were, back pack and sleeping bags on, vodka and Port’s bottles with us, in our 40 minutes walk to the highest dune.

Our group’s dynamics was close to perfection. The best example on how well we all got along is the fact that one hour after arriving in Ulan-Bator, after being stuck with each other for 7 days, there we were all together in the Pub, drinking and going through all our stories and adventures. In a time I am more and more used to travel on my own, it was a surprise how much I have enjoyed Paula, Mat, Mark’s and Owen’s company. With very different profiles, we share the same will for travelling, discover the unknown, talk, drink, enjoy ourselves and, by the end of eat, our hate for mouton. Impressive how after so many ours together, we were always able to keep the conversation alive!

I guess I can say Owen and I were, from the 5, the more adventurous ones. We could not come across a dog without making friends with it, we could not resist talk and pad the camels till they allowed us to hug them (ok, ok, the fact we were giving them a bit a vodka cola might have helped in the process) and we could never come across a distant mountains or dune without wanting to walk till its top. In that sense, he is probably the most alike person I have ever met. This said, we had to be the two on that dune.

I don’t recall a freezing night to bring me such memories. The fact the whole thing was unplanned, came out of nothing, out of our pure will for adventure, the fact we had no clue what animals we could come across, what exactly would we need to bring with us, how could would it really be. The fact there were so many question marks only made the whole thing more enjoyable.

One night keeping myself as warm as I could inside my sleeping bag (again with the help of the Port and the Vodka), after waking up and, still freezing, climbing all the way up to the dunce once again (we end up sleeping in the bottom, to protect ourselves from the wind), the greatest of all compensations: the sun rise.

I could be going on for hours, trying to describe everyone one of the flow of sensations both of us went through that night. But it would only be painful for your patience and undermining to the emotions themselves. I can only tell this was a night I will never, ever forget, one of the single greatest experiences of my life. Looking back, I can not stop wonder how similar the mighty water on all its magnificence, my beloved Ocean, and its complete absence are!

But back to the now, back to the shocking reality. Even if quite fed up with all the bumpy rides (how I missed to be driving then…), how disappointing it was to meet an asphalt road again. After all the breathtaking settings we had just visited, the calm, the quietness, to re-enter Ulan-Bator was almost painful.

But more than painful, I would say even sad, was to realise my own limitations as a “western minded” one. To realise that if I had to choose living in any of those heavenly places or in the chaotic, shallow and characterless Ulan-Bator, a city on the brink to loose the little of itself which is still left, I would most likely to for the second one…

This is a topic to deserve much more attention then the one the last paragraph of such a long post is able to provide. But I leave you with one last thought. Or better, one last provocation: there has to be something of fundamentally wrong with our society, with our way of life, for us to be so apart of such beautiful and pure places, of such pure and simple ways of perceiving the world.

P.S. – I am uploading this post just about an hour before leaving once again to the Mongolian countryside. My visa is sorted out and I will be leaving back to Ekaterinburg this Friday, arriving on Monday the 27^th. Sadly, Paula and Mat are already in Beijing, so this time will be only Mark, Owen and I. The plan is to horse ride for two days, always between villages. Then I will be back directly to my train, while the other two will keep on their journey for some days more. These couple of days in UB only made the last words written in this post more notorious. Hence, I am very glad I will be going directly from the countryside to the train, with the image of true Mongolia still fresh in my eyes. And here I have, another new experience: horse riding. I hope they give me one of those old U-shaped horses lol

P.S 2 – I am sorry for the probable spelling and grammatical errors. Again I am on the clock, without time to proof-read the text I have written a couple of days ago. My apologies.

Dear all,

I shall start by sincerely apologising for such a long silence. It seems that, unlike me, my “gadgets” do not get along that well with this adoptive city of mine. After my dear 4 wheeled friend, this time it was my laptop, my second skin, to face the unfriendly side of Ekaterinburg. Nothing to serious though, just a little problem with the changer connection.

Nonetheless, the white smoke starts conquering the horizon: the car parts were located (not yet here, but an important first step) and my dear laptop is back! Apparently, it is possible to get things fixed around here, after all. With my laptop, my adventures are back on the blog! Adventures that, despite this forced silence, keep on happening at an astonishing pace: Mongolia, the surreal Trans-Siberian, the surprising reception at Eka, my emerging social life here, just to name a few.

For the time being, I leave you with these words of contrition. But more is just to follow! Starting Euronews style, no comments: photos and videos from my past weeks just to spice up your appetite. After all, following such a long fasting, you deserve nothing less than a feast of stories, adventures and sweet desaventures!

Пока,

ТМА & Лы Деущ

This has to be quick!

I am on the road again. Or better saying, on the track. With a 100% rate of success, our Mongolia mission finally comes to its end. The success rate is, however, still depending on me writing this post quickly enough to make it on time to the train, which is leaving in 20 minutes.

I am leaving the surprising (on a negative stance for the most of it) Mongolian Capital, Ulaanbaatar, heading again to “my Russian city”: Ekaterinburg. Once there, again the fight to find the parts, lost somewhere in this huge country. Quite looking forward to again meet up with the many friends I left there.

For the next 3 days I will be stuck on the train, only having the chance of a couple of 20 minutes hop off’s to buy some food and other essential goods (mainly, Vodka and beer). While I am in the train, I would like to leave you with one of the most important sides of this adventure: its Social Project.

As you know, this Sunday the Paralympic Games started in Beijing. Unfortunately, our adventures and misadventures did not allow us to arrive at the Chinese Capital on time for the event. But though physically distant, our spirit and soul are set on the many outstanding athletes who, against all the odds, will be given us all a true example of courage, sacrifice and perseverance. Through their everyday life, these exceptional men and women teach us to look further our own belly, putting our life, our problems in perspective. Teach us that there is always a way, the majority of the times, even a better one.

From some weeks now, through this website you cab buy a postcard, which I will have the pleasure to send you from the point of our journey of your preference. Each postcard has the cost of 5Euros (paid by bank transfer, as explained on the instructions given during the operation). From the 5 Euros, 2 will be donated to the Paralympic Movement of your country!

A little contribution that can make a huge difference in the lives of people whose merit id beyond any question!

Should you have any questions regarding the social project and the postcards purchasing process, please contact us through the following email: expedition@2cvportobeijing.com. We will be glad to answer all your queries.

Missão Pernas para que te quero: balanço intercalar

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Sempre fui uma pessoa muito á frente, mas agora ainda mais. Não, o meu ego não conheceu um repentino surto de crescimento. Acontece apenas que, uma vez entrado na Sibéria, passo a estar 8 horas adiantado em relação á maioria dos que me lêem em Português. Com honrosas excepções, como o caso da nossa Macaense Rita, com quem, salvo o erro, passo a partilhar o fuso horário. Confesso que estar á frente é algo de que não gosto particularmente. Parece que tudo leva mais tempo a acontecer. Sobretudo os jogos do meu Porto. Ainda tenho o Dragão a despertar bem cedo na manha de cada jogo. Só que agora ele só sossega já vai alta a madrugada... A única vantagem é que devo finalmente deixar de receber telefonemas a horas impróprias. Com 8 horas de diferenças, já devo ficar a salvo mesmo dos mais noctivagos.

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Mas vamos ao tema deste post: a nossa operação de fuga está a ser, até ao momento, um tremendo sucesso. Num país em que o caos e a confusão são ainda dominantes, os comboios são sem dúvida uma lufada de ar fresco. Pese viajarem por mais de 4 dias, são de uma pontualidade quase britânica. No interior, uma vez passado o impacto de inicial de um comboio cheio e sem assentos (apenas camas), nova agradável surpresa. Deixo as descrições mais detalhadas para mais tarde, mas posso adiantar que mesmo viajando em 3ª classe temos à nossa disposição os confortos mínimos necessários para 3 dias traquilos de viagem. Uma excelente oportunidade para por o sono em dia e, claro está, continuar a conhecer pessoas um pouco de todo o mundo.

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Sem sobressaltos, cheguei a Irkutks ontem já de madrugada (3 da manha locais). O objectivo: conseguir um visto para a Mongólia em menos de 24 horas e conseguir ir ainda a tempo do único comboio que me poderia colocar a salvo de uma nada simpática aventura com as autoridades fronteiriças russas. Como a bilheteira apenas abria ás 8 da manha, despedi-de um um grupo de 2 espanhois e um tuga adoptado com quem acabei de partilhar grande parte da viagem e deixei-me dormir ali mesmo. Uma estação repleta, mas onde aparentemente não é permitido dormir no chão. Mas quando o sono aperta, a cabeça apenas exige um qualquer apoio. Às 7.50 da manha acordei como novo.

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A primeira parte da nossa missão em Irkutsk foi muito tranquila. Encontrei uma bilheteira deserta e ás 8.20 tinha já o bilhete para o comboio desta noite na mão e as malas no depósito, pronto para o desafio maior: o visto. Caminhada de cerca de 30 minutos até ao cosulado, espera pelas 9.30 e o primeiro susto: enquanto esperava na fila e pese tudo em meu redor estar escrito apenas em Russo, apercebi-me que o preçario apenas fazia referência a vistos em 7, 5, 3 ou 1 dia. Ups... Será mesmo!? Chegada a minha vez, tempo de fazer o choradinho. Surpreendido por um inglês muito razoável da contra-parte, expliquei a minha situação, contrapuz o sermão do deixar a coisa para o último dia com o infortúneo do meu fiel Deuch (mas será que ela não viu que tenho passaport Português? Se não deixo a coisa para o último dia ainda me arrisco a perder a nacionalidade) e recebo um encorajador: Maybe, maybe. Corrida ao banco para fazer o depósito, entrega do formulário devidamente preenchido e ordem para levantar o passaporte ás 4 da tarde. Pelo meio, tempo ainda de dar uma ajuda a uma escocesa numa situação similar à minha e que seguirá, juntamente com as suas restantes companheiras de viagem, até Ullanbatar no mesmo comboio que eu.

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Agora, resta-me não perder o comboio e esperar que as autoridades fronteiriças de um e outro lado não me apresentem problemas de última hora. E já agora, que as amigas da Samantha, a escocesa, sejam jeitosas LOL

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Vemo-nos pela mítica terra dos Mongóis!

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So, the Deuch needed parts are still to arrive in Ekaterinburg. They have left the UK on the 16^th of August and are now somewhere lost in Russia... and Russia is not exactly this small place where things are easy to find. But if you think these were the bad news, you are wrong.

In the mean time, my Russian Visa is expiring on the 2^nd of September, meaning, in 4 days. According to Russian regulations, it is not possible to get an extension, thus, I am forced to leave the country. At 7.30 pm this afternoon I will take a train towards Irkutsk, where I will arrive on Monday (indeed, 3 days on the train, nothing at all unusual around here). Once there, I have 24 hours to get the Mongolian Visa and catch the train towards Ulaanbaatar, the Mongolian capital. If I don’t manage to cross the Russian border before 23.59.59 of September the 2^nd, I will become an illegal alien, something that could awesomely complicate my life around here. Again, if you thought these were the bad news, sorry to tell you wrong once again. These are no bad or good news: these are simply the facts.

Here another lesson of this endless learning process: to accept what it can be changed or controlled by you. When to embrace such an adventure, there are something one has to accept from the very start. For instance, if you are to travel by car for so long, you have to accept the high probability it will eventually get stolen and learn how to live with it. Sure, I make my best to park it on a nice place with a lot of movement, preferably nearby a hotel or a police station. But once I turn my back, that chapter is closed, as I can not afford myself to be constantly hunted by the fear of losing my things. Not if I am to enjoy the process. Or, using a living example: if I am to travel for over 50.000 in an old car in such extreme conditions, to face mechanic problems is a statistic true waiting for confirmation.

The same with the car parts. I have done my homework. First, trying to get Citroen to pay the bill. When that didn’t work out, finding the cheapest possible way to get the parts here, place the order, follow it up and getting a mechanic in stand by to start working on the Deuch as soon as the parts are here. That’s is pretty much all I could do. From then on, you already now the answer: “God only knows…and I am an Atheistic” J

I may not have been able to control how much time I spent here. But it was only up to me to decide what to do with that time. After a week lost going around in circles, I decided to take control and make the most of it. Can’t say I am dissatisfied with the result! One month: it was how long it took me to build up my own life here. Apart from not having a job, I have pretty much all my social connections established. Even finally managed to find my Sunday football buddies. Russian style, but football nonetheless. But besides socially networking (finally I can say I made Friends in the country), I didn’t stay still. I had some Russian lessons and thanks to Valentina, my great and sweat teacher, I can now say my Russian skills are a basic work in progress. But above all, we made our adventure widely known around here. Nothing less that 5 TV reports (4 already aired, 1 to be in September), including all major regional channels and even one National one. I was even recognized by one of my neighbours, go figure it (ah, Portugalia!!!). Plus, the cherry on the top of the cake: the editor of a woman’s magazine saw one of the reports and invited me for a photo session. But it gets better: I wasn’t alone. A gorgeous model shot with me for over 2 hours, Adam and Eve being the topic. God, I shall never be interested in any other apple in my life! So, you have to pretend you find that girl very attractive, that you want her! Are you kidding, I thought to myself. Pretend?! Piece of cake! Lol

Unfortunately, my train will departure soon and as I have explained you, this is one train I can not afford to miss. Plus, before that I have to meet some of the many friends to say the so Portuguese Ate Já, or Paka in the native language. I suspend the social adventure for some days (about 2 weeks, the time to go to Mongolia, get a new Russian visa and return to pick up the car). Time to leave the couch and jump into the wild again. To start, a 3 days train ride and a marathon against the clock. Then, the mystic Mongolia, mine to explore! Again, the fact is I am to leave the country till the 2^nd. But who told you I won’t be able to enjoy the process? Always adding to the adventure.

You must be wondering by now: what about the bed news? Well, first, I will have to leave Julia’s home and her unmatchable hospitality. And second, I am spending the whole weekend in the train. Meaning, I am losing Porto’s match against Benfica… well, maybe some facts are not that good after all lol

Handwriting! A unhabit I hardly (if) ever miss. My basic school teacher, D. Alexandrina (a personage crossing generations in my family, having thought my mother, my aunt and two of my cousins before ending her brilliant career with my own generation) tried everything to erase the gatafunhos (non-understandable characters) from my writing. Your handwriting is not exactly hugly, but all those gatafunhos… - she always sympathetically said. Yet, all the double line notebooks in the world were not enough to save me.

Since an early age, my thought got used to be much quicker then my pen. The one to blame? My mother. Thanks to her, I learn how to write long before becoming familiarized with the alphabet. I was only 4 years old when I discover the pleasure of setting my mind, my thoughts loose! No concerns about logic, about where to end. Just to materialize the Self in words. I did the talking, my mother the writing.

Far from imagining she was doing so, my mother was sentencing me to life. To a life being, living according to my already at the time emerging personality. If I am allowed two Portuguese expressions, the words on the top of my tongue, the heart always in my mouth. Always eager to live the next word to be said, the word not yet spoken, though sadly not always patience enough to properly taste the one just spoken.

My distant handwriting as the perfect metaphor of the truest self of myself. The impatience to live, the endless search for the word not yet spoken, regenerating itself at every new one I manage to speak. A way of looking the World through my two eyes only. An handwriting which, similarly to my own life, is only tasty and meaningful when drawn exactly as my eyes see it!

How a laptop without battery and one of those moments which only the the words can make eternal come together, as if only to show me how this unhabit of mine was (and is) after all, always so present.

Once again, we found ourselves in my very own inner Ekaterinburg. The Ekaterinburg of my own thoughts, always ready to defy and twist any premeditated goal words may had on their own. And suddenly, this post becomes the description and own demonstration of what has just described. In the end of the day, just one eccentricity more in a day full of them. From wanting to learn Russian in 7 days, to not being able to resist any longer and blow E35 in a steak finally worth such title. In the meantime, the biggesteccentricities off them all and mother of this once to be straight to the point post: the Olympic Smile!

Only now, after all this time, it finally hit me. While seated in a Pub at Ekaterinburg watching the Olympic Games’ Opening Ceremony I do finally understand our marketing move was itself the excuse to keep in hiding a dream now made so clear: the thrill of being there.

No, no. Forget the stands. Those are already waiting for us in 4 years time. Give eccentricity a break, people! I meant the floor! Not just being there, but being part of it! Let’s, for once, put the secondary in a secondary plan: the politics, the (even if understandable and, I would say, legitimate) opportunism of profiting from all eyes of the World being set in such an appellative spot. That smile of pure joy, of a dream and a lifetime’s illusion come true present in the face of every single athlete walking in that stadium! That smile is the Olympic Spirit’s own handwriting!

 

Another phenomenon in a adventure that has already made them into something “natural”. I leave you with some images of a moment as rare as fascinating: a solar eclipse.

One curiosity though: as well here, each time such a happening takes place, the so called “experts” guarantee us to be in the presence of a once in a lifetime event. Something that will only take place again in over 100 years. Anyone counting how many times were we already told this? This never gets old, does it?

Waiting... waiting... waiting... Yet, not news from Citroen. Usually no news is bad news… My friend Misha had our contact in Citroen on the phone. She postponed any decision either for this afternoon or tomorrow. But apparently her tone was far from the enthusiasm shown during our meeting last Friday.

Both Misha and I came out of the meeting with a good vibe. Despite the expected communication problems, the conversation went quite well: we had the chance to present the project and both Citroen people attending seemed quite into it. I know I am a suspicious one, but this has the makings to be a sweet deal for both parts: we are in a deep need of help, with out finances in jeopardy; Citroen is virtually inexistent here (besides the Deuch, I think I have only seen another Citroen car at the dealership…). So, they are being given the chance to emerge all over the news in a week time playing the “Big Heroes”, the brand which is always there for its costumers, o matter what. TV, radio, newspapers, all local press is theirs to grab! On the top of that, finally a golden opportunity for Citroen to have its breakthrough into the imaginarium of their local potential clients. I know I have been telling you this over and over again. But you can not yet imagine the impact the Deuch has in the eastern countries, especially here in Russia. Sadly, Citroen is losing this apparent huge window of opportunity, as no one identifies the car with them, obviously. What a huge difference a simple sticker with their logo on the car would make!

After getting Misha’s call this morning, I had to move quickly. There was a little window for one last anticipation move. For our surprise, communication with Citroen has been proving very problematic since we first send them our project, back in February. Well, the language barrier is not making it any easier. During the meeting, the talk went Me – Misha – Them – Misha – Me. I tried my best to make the most of eye contact, nice smile, but by adding a third party, the noise (as the experts like to call it) in the communication process increases dramatically.

Not being sure the message went through, the typical follow up email summing up the points building up our case was the only move capable of causing any impact. They were yet to discuss the matter with those with the decision power and over 3 days have past since a meeting in which communication was an issue. Thus, we would only stand any chance if we could present them a solid material clearly stressing our strongest arguments. Cheapest way to the press, conquering their potential clients imaginarium and, more broadly, the possibility of using the project in any events they wish: those were the 3 main points stressed out.

Well, it seems we are doomed to be waiting for Citroen’s answer. Ad eternum… I should be used by now, but I must confess with them it gets particularly annoying. It was about time to show a little consideration, I guess.

Anyway, nothing is supposed to be easy when it comes to love relations, isn’t that so?

As you have already been told, the Deuch refused to start again last Sunday. However, this did not happen out of the blue. First of all, our original plans were either to rebuild or even replace the engine before starting our journey. The engine was tired from many years of use and, above all, from our prior marathon to Istanbul. Done with tight schedule and budget, these 11.583 km in just 38 days were particularly painful to it. However, for our great surprise, during the 3 weeks the car spent at the Citroen’s garage the engine itself was untouched… When we have found that out it was however too late to do anything else but regret the decision of putting the car there. We took it due to the fact we were at the time trying to get Citroen as a sponsor, being clear their support would only come if the Deuch would be tuned up at an official dealer. Well, neither had we any answer on that, nor was the Deuch set up for such an odyssey. But they did not forget to send us the (quite expensive) bill… How surprising. Well, lesson number one for our futures enterprises: no mater which sponsors we will be hunting down, no one else but our mechanic since ever (the already known to you all Sr. Magalhães) is to be trusted with the Deuch’s preparation.

Cutting the story short, the Deuch’s condition was quite a poor one from the start. Same bold facts to give you an ide: an engine in normal conditions has a top speed of 110/120 km/h, while ours was 90…; we had backfires since day 1; During the 10 years I own the Deuch, not for a single time have I spent a deposit of gas making an average over 7lt per each 100 km, this including our 2 prior travels and all those long days in Porto’s traffic. Since we left Porto, the average is 8 on the road and reaches almost 10 (! while in the city… All this to say, we did learn our lesson!

Little by little, we started having more and more difficulties getting the Deuch started. Usually everything would go easy in the morning, but especially when we would stop for gas it took quite a lot of patience and accumulated experience to have him restarted. Last week, for the first time, we had to count on the help of a couple of locals to push us down the hill. The aim was to get a little further, till the Lake Baikal, where we had the contact of a mechanic who could give us a hand. Plus, it was a place where we had planned to stop for some days. Thus, repair wouldn’t make us fall behind the schedule. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it that far.

So, back on Sunday the 20^th, in Yekaterinburg. I headed to the Deuch still undecided how many km were to be driven that day and far from imagining he had already made that decision on my behalf: none. As always, we did not fell short of help. Sasha, a Russian on his thirties who was parked just beside us, immediately came to help us. First pushing the car, then driving me to a Car Shop to buy a new set of candles and lastly, trying to figure out what could the problem be. We quickly came to the conclusion something was wrong with the “left part of the engine”. It could be the ignition box, the wires, the candle or, most unlikely, but as well most worryingly, the cylinder or even the engine. Logically, on a warm summer Sunday no mechanic was to be found working. Thus, nothing to be done besides waiting for the following morning.

In the meantime, two friends made during my stay in Yekaterinburg took our problem as if it was their own. Anton and Misha didn’t leave us alone for one second, either crossing the city or the yellow pages trying to find the right person to help us. Monday was a particularly despairing day, as we seemed to always be going around in circles. No mechanic would take our car in. Besides, as we were unable to move the car by ourselves, we couldn’t simply pop up at a mechanic shop. Nevertheless, we made some progress: the Citroen staff was, from the very start, very helpful: even though clueless on the Deuch (as mentioned before, western cars from before the nineties are unknown here), they looked up through their files for the reference of the parts we might need, indicating a company who could ship them to Yekaterinburg.

Once in the mechanic shop, the Deuch instantly became the centre of all attentions. Hilarious watching the owner calling the younger fellows to work every 5 minutes, as their eyes kept being dragged to the Klassne Machina! A task force of 3 mechanics was quickly set up to find out what could the problem be. Everything seemed ok with the electrical part, the candles were ok, so the first hunch was the ignition box. They started by trying to replace it by a Volga (a Russia classic from the eighties, famous for being one of the first cars running on Natural Gas). But the Deuch’s electrical resistance was too low. So, the task force focused now on tailoring an ignition box for the Deuch, putting two “one cylinder” ones into a single piece. The custom made part proved to work, but still the Deuch wouldn’t start. Soon we have confirmed one of the worse possible scenarios: one of the cylinders had lost all its compression… The problem was far more serious than initially thought. The diagnose: the tired engine had put a hell of a fight, but was unable to resist the bad quality of Russian gas…

The crowd around the Deuch had been growing bigger and bigger. Around him were now not only almost all the mechanics, but as well all the clients and the office staff. The task force seemed defeated. Machina caput. Porto – Yekaterinburg. Sell car and fly home, just to mention a couple of the scenarios presented to us. NO, NO and NO I refused myself to accept it. I’ve started by letting very, very clear I would never leave the Deuch behind, not even taking into consideration any buying offer. There had to be a way. It can not end up like thins. It simply can’t!

Little by little, I have been coming to this conclusion: in such scenarios, when you are in no position to present a real alternative and a proposal not fitting your needs is presented as the sole solution, the best course of action is often to say nothing, to do nothing. By not accepting the given solution and showing unimpressed by the pressure, people tend to feel the problem won’t fade away unless they manage to come up with another way. Thus, two common effects: either they put their minds back to work, or become more willing to compromise. The strategy seemed to be working. Despite the apparent final verdict, 10 minutes afterwards people started gathering around the Deuch again. Sign they knew this story was far from being over.

Perfect timing to make a call to Sr. Magalhães, explain him the situation and ask him what had to be done. But how? My Russian number can not make international calls… As always, a Russia comes in our help: seeing me with that powerless look, another client, who had in the meantime become a fan of both the Deuch and our Adventure, gently ask what the problem was and immediately gave me his cell once told. Ok, there is a solution. Now I just have to convince one of the mechanics to take the job. After much hesitation, a young guy made a couple of calls and told us he and another colleague would be up for it. But the colleague was on holidays and he himself quite busy, so they would be only able to start working on the Deuch next Monday. The poor guys, however, couldn’t imagine a third friend was just about to come in action to ruin his plans.

Jenya, a friend we have met together with Misha and Anton, managed to get one of the local TV Channels interested in our story. So, Wednesday morning we headed back to the mechanic shop, but this time with reinforcements: the TV crew. Suddenly, the mechanic was no longer busy: he grabbed his tools and started working on the Deuch’s engine with no further delay. Soon, the engine was de-assembled and our report in the air. And what a report. The Yekaterinburg Channel 4 people not only presented our crazy adventure, but as well focused on the unfortunate problem we had in hands. But on the top of it, set up a phone line where anyone willing to help could contact us!

Guess who called? Citroen PR department! Not a clue how willing to help they are, as we are only going to meet tomorrow. But it’s not a bad start. Above all local companies, they are the one who could profit the most with this entire situation. By far! Problems are often a window of opportunity to great solutions. This could indeed be the beginning of a beautiful friendship! Though, nothing but possibilities. Good ones, I agree, but still just possibilities.

However, there is something I forgot to mention on yesterday’s post which adds to our expectations. In 10 years, this was the second time only the Deuch left me in the middle of the street. The first time, I couldn’t be happier: the Little One, as if reading my mind, stop outside the city we were leaving against our will and where my heart had been left. Thus “giving” me two of my sweetest days ever. I wonder what his agenda is this time. I confess it’s not as obvious as it was back in the summer of 2001, but something tells me since the beginning he has one. I’ll be glad to find it out!

So, we have stopped in St. Petersburg yesterday. Well, unfortunately, only for writing purposes. We moved out St. Petersburg quite doubtful indeed. The trash out Dacha’s party I’ve told you about yesterday seemed quite a happening. Not only a HUGE party, but as well quite a peculiar moment to get on camera. Plus, you could already breathe the weekend mood all over the city.

Nevertheless, after spending some 3/4 hours at the Ermitage, our rational side managed to, for once, speak louder and there we were on the move. Direction: Novgorod, a city about 200 km away. Curiously, even though its name means “New City”, it is told to be the most ancient city of Russia.

Time for our first real experience on the Russian roads. To start, to leave Russian’s second biggest city on a Friday’s evening. Ah, having only Lonely Planet’s (our guide book) tiny historical city centre map. We just figured out what direction to follow and off we go. Once in a (long) while, we would come across a road sign saying “Moscow, Tallinn, Kiev”, cities whose location wasn’t exactly on the same direction. But we kept heading south, or at least trying to. After almost an hour and when we were clearly already on city’s outskirts, it finally popped up as a good idea to ask if we were heading on the right direction. Can you believe we actually were? Another helpful and friendly Russian we came across showed us on his map how close we were from Moscva Prospekt. From then on, always straight!

We arrived in Nodgorov around 11 pm, starving! HehhhHHJSDASHeaded to the centre and crashed in the first restaurant we saw. Apparently they were still serving, but the waitress was trying to tell there was some problem with the order. As always, an English speaking Russian would come to our rescue. A young couple from St. Petersburg, spending the weekend there, with who we started immediately chatting. Needless to say that after being told our plan, they were divided between the words “crazy” and “amazing”. To add to the adventure, another pair of Russians who could swear the route we are up to its impossible to be done, for the simple fact that it does not exist. We have been getting this all the time since we entered the country. No one ever tried it, but all tell us it is impossible. “Only with big truck”, they always say. I try to explain what I’ve read, that apparently there are some Russians driving second hand cars from Japan till Moscow via Vladivostok, but still they are never convinced. This couple even mentioned that they have once lived in Siberia and bought a car there. When they’ve returned, the car was shipped by train, as they were told it would be impossible to drive it all the way back. Well, will be glad to have a final word on this discussion. For the good or for the worse.

We said goodbye, not before, of course, the usual picture at the car! I’m just glad cars don’t flirt. Otherwise, this one would be already married by now and I would have to find another mean of transportation!

The night wouldn’t end without our first little scare since we left. Before going to sleep, I left the Deuch to a rest and went for my typical walk around, to check the place out. Apparently, the night was off, even though it was still rather early. The only people still see in the streets were hanging in close groups, usually seated down drinking and chatting on the parks around the city’s Kremlin. But eventually we met someone: Anja, a very nice Russian girl, who was kind enough to take me for a drink with some of her friends. For some reason, she kept insisting I was Spanish, tell it around to everyone we met. Normally, there shouldn’t be any problem and I’m far from being nationalistic as to feel offended in anyway. But it happens Spain had just kicked out Russia from the Eurocup the night before. Thus, not exactly the best way to be introduced to quite wasted Russian guys… For the first time, I felt a bit afraid. Russian is a very closed language, with a harsh accent. Adding to it, Russians do not particularly give smiles away (we Russian’s smile not when people expect us to, but only when we feel like it, we were told by Ksusha, a friend from St. Petersburg). Vodka doesn’t exactly make this characteristic any softer, so… As always, the majority of them were just teasing, but not a couple. Some loud talking, even one fist raised in mix of threat and defiance, but somehow I kept cool, resisted every provocation and tried to move along towards the more friendly ones.

At the end of all this, I can’t really say if the fact that I was completely sober (I still up for some driving) whether saved me or put me into the situation. In a normal scenario, this would be a stupid doubt. But not here. It’s of course very important to keep one aware of everything what is going on around, no doubts about it. But, in one hand, I was clearly out of the picture, which never helps when you are trying to fit in. Secondly, and most important, these situations are 99% of the times solved with a round of Vodka and a loud Nasdarovia!

Nonetheless, I somehow didn’t feel comfortable to let me go with the flow, as I almost always do. Thus, trusted my instinct and stepped back. Maybe it was just misses one other great night out. But at least I am here “in a single piece” to write about the one which was not that much.

Indeed, we haven’t been stopping daily to write down our everyday adventures (almost better to day, everyhour ones). But if you realise only tonight we managed to sleep for over 3/4 hours since our last post, I believe you will all understand why we finally get back to our writing.

Nonetheless, this past week won’t go unnoticed. It could never! Well, I must confess some parts will have to go unnoticed, but that’s a all different story. This, time to rewind a bit, going even further before our last post. Back in Finland, therefore.

More than going back to our 17^th country, we go back to the company of our hosts. Time has been scarce, way too scarce. Many are the things I’ve liked to have done and didn’t have the chance to. Probably on the top of them all is to give a proper word of gratitude to all those we came across and played a key part in our journey. We have visited a handful of amazing cities on our way, which certainly create the sight and the setting. But the countless unforgettable moments, those we due them all to the people we met along the way.

Riikka and Kalle stand as a perfect example. We met back in 2001, as well in Helsinki, during a seminar / law school Riikka organized and I’ve attended. Kalle immediately became dislikes by all the foreign males attending the event, as he was dating the most beautiful girl for the Organising Committee. But eventually the friendship prevailed

The relation with this two is, at the same time, very hard and very easy to explain: impossible to understand exactly why, but they are these rare kind of friends I am somehow sure will stay for life. They thought me pretty much everything I know about their country and the finish (in great extent as well the Nordic) culture and way of being, the majority of the times even without them noticing they were doing so. The first lesson was that it’s impossible to run from your own routes: anytime we meet, not matter how much I try (and believe me, I used to try!), I would always end up arriving late. Wrong meeting point, wrong timezone, I am bound to play the southern stereotype! The second, and most important: its quick to conquer the Fins politeness, but it takes quite a bit longer to conquer their friendship. In my case, it took a second presence at the Law school and some Portuguese sausages on fire. Right Kalle?

So you can realise the achievements of these two in teaching me the Finish way: I should be one of the few south Europeans who can put the words naked, sauna, sixty year old people, Viking looking guy, bath on the lake, wave at the boats and daylight into a perfectly normal waking up scenario

I just hope it won’t take so long for us to meet up again!

I have already told you about my first hours in this city. The original plan was a simple stop by, but the achievements of the Russian National football team kind of changed our plans.

So, the short sightseeing session turned into two very different, but equally enjoyable and surprising nights.

After the long night (and morning…) out, we took Sunday easy. But of course, the eurocup’s match of the night couldn’t be missed. While watching Spain defeating Italy, we met two young couples (surprise, surprise, as well already married) and started chatting. A couple of beers after and time to be introduced with a so far new side of the Russian generosity: as soon as they knew my plan was to sleep in the Deuch, they insisted me to sleep over. My sincere thank you for a hospitality I can only classify as surprising, to say the least.

Finally, we make it to Russia’s former capital and current second biggest city. The way there, or, better saying, the arrival, was quite a story. We were supposed to be about 40 km away from the city, but suddenly, after a deviation, there we are in a big city. Are we there yet or did we got lost on the way? Along the way, some of our skills grow stronger. One of those skills is the ability to find the centre of the cities we are in. Even though we have no maps with us. When the European shape of the city started to take place, there was no doubt where we could be.

St. Petersburg is an amazing city, one of the most amazing we visited so far. To start, has little, if any, resemblances with all the other cities in the country we know, though it feels 100% Russian. Full of history, a vibrating young and international atmosphere sid, e by side with a strong Russian identity. I highlight two spots, which antagonism only highlights the core of St. Petersburg. The Ermitage and the Dacha. The first, a world class museum, with an impressive, impressive display of all kinds of plastic arts and a collection that can easily look eye to eye with any other museum in the world. Both in quality (name any of the all time artists from renaissance to impressionism) and quantity (if we were to spend 1 minute with each of the pieces we have in display, your family was to see you only in 11 years told us one of the many museum’s caretakers).

 
  

 
   

One last note about the city: our two English buddies, Gary and Peter. We arrived in town and in our hostel almost at the same time. After a chitchat over dinner, Dacha (what else would break the ice and set the tone for a great and rather crazy time spent together. Not the last time you will be hearing from these two!

Almost 10 pm, time to stop writing and enjoy a bit more of Moscow, now already by nightfall. We’ll finish this update tomorrow!

July the 21st, 2008, about 10 pm local time. While the great Luís was certainly celebrating his weeding, we were heading to Mighty Russia, with our spirit as open as it could be. One month and a half of pure walk in park were being left behind. Travel for sissy boys! One shouldn’t even be allowed to use the word travel whenever a passport is not involved in the process!

But back to where we are: Russia! Not like we need to repeat it too often, as everything around insists on constantly remind us we couldn’t be anywhere else. The roads which cease to be ones, an alphabet that goes way beyond our comprehension, a Dutch turned into a national hero the day the country pealed the Orange, the surprising warmth of the people, the adventure it became every single meal. But above all, the feeling that in less than 24 hours our experience is already so full we were given no other choice but to stop and drain it to this post.

Let’s start from the beginning: the border. On the 18^th country of our route, the word finally filled with meaning (new interruption for just another completely drunk and proportionally nice Russian interrupting the writing). Even the green of the Finish forest gets darker each km that passes by towards the border. I am innately a relaxed and calm person. But it was impossible not to feel the butterflies in the stomach. Suddenly, we see ourselves actors of a movie which script is written in a language and a alphabet we don’t know. Thus, there is only one possible solution: to go with the flow. If everyone stops the car and comes out holding their passports, I leave the Deuch, passport in my hand and follow the crowd. 5 minutes later I get my first stamp ever from an EU country. Only then I understand the astonishing look from the border controller. We are still in Finland, so my tarzanic English was quite unnecessary. Indeed we are under stress.

Back in the car, the pressure rising. Now it’s for real, we are entering Russia. A km ahead, a first barrier. All cars go through, but for us the pole goes down. Two young Russian militaries run in our direction with an open smile. Victims of the curiosity control, once again. Finally, my inner Tarzan starts to payback. “Portugalia, da!” “Vladivostok? This car?!” The hapiness this sentence always brings to the one who says it! We are allowed to move on. But, is that it? Are we done!? Of course not. Wishful thinking can be a powerful weapon, but not that much. One km more and the real border control. Unnecessary barrier, as the beauty of the two female custom’s officials would make any car stop. After a typical chubby Russian, with the non-less typical Vodka tend (aka pink cheeks and nose) and the harshlooking lady at the passport control, we were about to get our silent Welcome to Russia.

The passport control was set to be easy: basically verify my visa, fill in the migration card, the usual stamps and we are ready to the next guichet. Now it should start getting hard: the customs. Specially having a little car full of gadgets and 2 boxes of our official merchandising (by the way, some lovely polo’s and t-shirts you can easily become the proud owners of, while making a little contribution to our odyssey’s successJ). We put our best smile on to counter-attack the expected angry face and… HELLO!!! An amazing smile, an astonishing body and that typical Russian accent with a no problem always ready to ease our concerns. Seated right behind, undisturbed by the endless cue outside, another awesome female officer, calmly reading her magazine. For the pleasure of our sight, the customs proceedings took a bit longer. Besides all the forms, we had to buy the insurance for the Little One (hilarious: mistake in document. Written 29 horse power…how many horse power? Only when I showed her the Deuch’s picture on the back of my Polo the document regain credibility) and to list all our valuable goods. In between, every time I was going to the Deuch, a military asked me if he could already check us. Hum, this one is already preparing himself for the bribe, I thought to myself. After about 15 minutes, all the paperwork was done. For the very first time, a little sadness when we were given the all clear, trying our best to come up with an extra bureaucracy which would gives 5 more minutes of that gorgeous smile.

The moment of truth: the car inspection. Surprisingly, that military doesn’t approach us this time. No one we could follow… now what? Back inside the Deuch (little detail we forgot to mention: after some hours of road, to get him started again was quite a sight, with countless attempts and some loud backfires…). We drive till the next pole and wait someone approaches. Ok, the beauty is gone, the sculptural forms as well, but we still get a smile. Given the circumstances, we can consider ourselves quite lucky. The controller is delighted: opens every single door, but mostly to see the Deuch, not too worried with all the things we had inside. Points to one of the boxes while I mentally repeat one last time the speech so many times rehearsed and shoot: T-shirts to… immediately interrupted by a Da, da (yes, yes). One last look of amazement over the Deuch while he walks till the pole and a smiley go, go! Indeed we go, but still incredulous. That easy?! Only when we arrived to the typical first gas station we shouted out loud WE ARE IN RUSSIA!!! WE ARE IN RUSSIA!!! The second stage of our odyssey has started, at last!

The travel has started. The rhythm from now on promises to be simply hallucinating, for the good or the worse. Clearly, we started on a high. Not always will be like this, but those are the rules of the game. And what an incredible game this is. The game of our lives!

P.S. – In this stage, internet access becomes uncertain. Nevertheless, we assume the task of writing every day, even if only a couple of lines. From what we have seen so far, it is going to worth the effort!

 

Since we left Porto, our plan was to have the Deuch checked up before starting our Russian stage. Surprisingly, specially taking into consideration the poor work, to say the very least, of citroen’s mechanics back in Porto (tired engine, backfires even before leaving Portugal, loose parts everywhere, highest fuel consumption ever, among many other things…), the Deuch performed outstandingly so far. As if only growing stronger each km we went by. Nonetheless, over 9.000 km in little more then 1 month and the beginning of what will most likely be our toughest stages were reasons enough to justify some spoiling to the little white one.

So, over the past couple of weeks, we browsed the net looking for anyone with some 2cv knowledge around the Baltic or Western Russia. We came across Sergei, proud owner of the only 2 Citroen DS in Tallinn, which he basically rebuilt himself on his own little garage-shop. Since our first email, he got amazed with the project and, above all, with the prospect of having the chance to explore a still unknown citroen model.

First part of the adventure: Sergei recommended me a mechanic in Tallinn, apparently the only one in town with some experience in old citroens. However, this guy was on holidays outside Tallinn. He would be willing to come to town to check the car… only if the weather would remain cloudy and rainy, Of course, the Friday in question had to be the only sunny, warm, truly summersish day during that whole week.

So, mechanic on the beach, Sergei and I at the garage-shop. On Friday we were able to use the mechanics facilities, to lift the car and have a look from the bottom. The aim was to identify the repair needs, so we could prepare ourselves to deal with them the following day, at Sergei’s own garage. So Saturday, the true adventure.

Yes, night. Quite late night indeed. Screws and conduits in place, interior of the car isolated, dead lamps replaced and all electrical problems fixed, time to dig in a little deeper. We had two main concerns on the car’s mechanics: a funny noise on the breaks and the fact that after being on the road for over a couple of hours, it would take some time and a couple of backfires to get the Deuch started again. We started by checking the breaks, coming to the conclusion all main parts were in a surprisingly good condition. Only the break fluid’s deposit was almost empty, that most likely being the reason for the mentioned noise. But then, the engine cameJ

First call to Mr. Magalhães, my mechanic (not the citroen ones who made that “brilliant” work, but the one who really knows about the Deuch), to ask where the platinados (the two tiny metal dots producing the engine’s spark…) were. It wouldn’t be the last one… We took the ventilation system out, open that part of the engine, run a few tests and apparently everything was in place. But after re-assembling the whole thing again…the engine wouldn’t start… No spark anymore. UPS!!!!

The 3 poor men, incredibly helpful as always, but now quite lost. We apparently haven’t done anything. So, there shouldn’t be an outcome of…nothing. They looked, and looked, tried and tried, even went to get some more gas to the car. But nothing. However, even though I don’t know a thing about cars, the problem’s cause seemed obvious from the start: if the problem was electrical, if we only have worked on an electrical part of the engine and if the car was working before we did it, the source could be only one. It’s basically applying the doctors’ logic when analysing the patients’ symptoms: you start by tackling the most logical possibilities.

Tim to take the lead a and make a new call to Mr. Magalhães, who was due to become the hero of the day. It was impressive: over the phone, while enjoying his meal, he could see the Deuch’s engine more clearly than any of the 4 of us looking at it. De-attach the fan, using a “14”, bang a little on the sides, so it comes off. Open the other two screws with an “11”, gently clean the “platinados” with sandpaper, put it all back and it should work just fine. Anything else, just call me. And indeed I’ve called, 5 minutes later, to let him know the engine was working as new. Indeed, knowledge and experience are priceless.

Of course, as the video shows, no one was much into touching anything else afterwards.

Around 11.30…p.m, I was finally off. Just 3 and a half hours late to the birthday party of my friend Pille. Yes, indeed, Pille’s Party, which sounds, let’s say, quite funny when you say it in Portuguese. Anyway, a great party, with lots of dancing, lots of Estonian music (not always with the most cheerful lyrics, one must say) and, of course, with a little Portuguese touch. You’ll understand it watching the video.

 

One of the things which surprised us the most during the preparation of this project was the perception of how big the World is. For e.g., to have an approximate notion of Russia’s size (the real one you will only have in a few weeks time), with a territory basically as wide as Europe and Asia together. Or China’s, a county which despite having about 20% of the Worlds’ Population has only the 54^th highest population density in the World. But the most remarkable and surprising was to realise that, even though out will to commit 8 months of our lives travelling through 2 continents only, we won’t, nonetheless, enough time to visit 1/5^th of the places we would like to. Ok, we confess we basically would like to visit them all.

The world is, indeed, endless, having a dimension certainly only Russia will allow us to grasp. Yet, arrived in Warsaw just a few hours ago, while walking during rush hour along the city centre of a city we were visiting for the first time, I hear someone shouting “Tiago! Tiago!”. I confess I didn’t even react at first. I was still a strange body among a crowd apparently so well focused in its way of life. A way and a life I didn’t yet at all shared. How could I be the target of all that enthusiasm? But indeed I was! Incredulous, I watched Julian, a dear Spanish friend from La Coruña, companion of many other international adventures and currently HR director of Inditex (better known as the company owing Zara, Pull & Bear, Mango, etc), running among the cueing cars. Smile and harms wide open, while his polish colleague was watching us, astonished eyes. But how in the world these two can know each other?! A brief (re)encounter, as pleasant as unexpected. Suddently, out of the blue, even if for a glance, the endless World becomes a little global village.

This month of road did, in fact, reshape our notion of distance. The preparation might have enlarged our notion of World. But these almost 6.000 km turned “our Europe” a small and cosy place. Proving it, how naturally we had, on our way between Budapest and Warsaw, taken a tiny 150km detour to have a coffee in Kosice, with my always well-humoured and lovely friend Vicky. After all, it was just around the corner.

 
  

The nationality changes, the scenario to, but the result is even more delicious then the original.

Time is to short (till we enter Russia, the roadtrip’s rhythm will remain high) and the option ahead of us is almost always the same: to take the most out of the spots we come across, have loads of stories to tell but little time to do it; or having a lot of time but little to tell. After a quiet Denmark, it is impossible to resist Berlin’s call.

A morning ending at a delicious open air lounge, a dolce fare niente afternoon spent at island of green in the heart of one of Europe’s biggest metropolis. A day we have been “slaves” of a surprising sun which has been delighting all central and north Europeans.

My friend Giovani (who I shall thank for the warm hospitality), despite not being a lightweight, wasn’t even able to eat a quarter of his! Nonetheless, he just woke up with an open smile, saying: I hear my francesinha calling me! What an healthy way to start the morning!

We have to finhish ASAP, before he eats it all!

Hugs and kisses,

TMA & Le Deuch

P.S. – We leave you with the report which passed in TV Brussels on our journey. Not the image quality of our videos, but still quite cool

Let’s try to decode this apparent enigma. A task any football player would find very simple: this trip is to be “played”, lived, “game by game”. Taking each day, each city. It is a constant search, a collection of battles to conquer places and people. A never-ending process, build up of ephemeral moment in which one has to constantly prove to the outer world and, above all, to itself. The Deuch won’t make any other km just because he has already done more then 4.000. The past ones will indeed give him strength and confidence for the many thousands still ahead. But each km of road will still demand from him the same endurance and energy.

Brussels, an endless contradiction in itself, managed once again to be generous and surprising. Each time I revisit this city it gets more obvious how much easier it is now to live it fully, compared with when I used to live there. This probably only makes my inborn drive to take the most from each moment grow even stronger.

Indeed, the days spent there were a reflection of such drive: intense, full, varied, surprising. But above all, not enough. We managed to make it to the radio even before making to the city, which would set the path for our stay. With the party, the media and mainly by spreading the word around, we manage to make the project known in Brussels. Very important, as we are still in need of money to complete our budget. I had finally time to seat down and (at least partially) update my life.

But the people are, as always, the true landmark, what turns a city into a unique place. Marta Valinas, Bart and their friends we met right on the first night; the coolest Tugas in the European Parliament (among Joões and Tiagos, only one Pedro for the recordJ - waiting for your photos and text, guys!); the ELSA House gang, my neighbourhood’s unchanged fauna; the self-titled “funniest, coolest and less Belgium of all Belgium girls” (just to get the picture, when the topic is adventurous travelling, I blush and shut up…).

This time there were even Sun. warming up a typical grey and rainy Sunday morning. What an irony: Sun. the last thing I could ever imagine to miss from Brussels.

After stretching our stay to the limits, time to run to an old habit. Trunk packed, the sleeping bed prepared for a night on the road and departure without knowing exactly where to. Only this time, knowing we were carrying the wrong pillow…

This is the greatest challenge we are to face in this solitary quest. The only true fear we started with and, at the same time, the only guarantee this search will, one day, come to an end. We are still full of energy. The magic of all the World and all the adventures we have ahead of us remains the same, making our eyes shine even stronger. But moments like these make us aware that our inner strength is not eternal. There is the reassuring certainty one day will turn the search into contemplation and we’ll allow our routes to explore deeper grounds. But till then, there are still 7 months and a couple of other travel plans. The challenge is now uncovered: till when will our inner strength last?

Lyon, May 23^rd, 2008

Bonjour tout le monde!

For the longest time ever, Tiago has asked me to write a note on one of his trips. Never was able to do so… until this morning. I don’t know, I have this good feeling… Must be the weather or something…

Whatever, here I am, facing my blank sheet, wondering what to write not to look stupid, or in lack of inspiration.

1, 2, 3,…

OK, spotlight on the keyboard.

Dearest Tiaguito,

Again on the road with the Deuch… Poor car! Once you bought her back in 1999, she couldn’t have guessed her destiny! And what an original and bright future it would be!

You passed by France (once again ;-) in Paris last week. Each time, as you said, it’s almost as we never left each other. Same jokes, same complicity, same flood of words (on your part!)…

It is always a pleasure though.

Each time I see you coming through France, the only part of your face I actually recognize at first are your eyes. Your beard is so huge each time I see you!!!

I wonder how you will look like coming back from Beijing…!

Ah, my dearest Portuguese friend, hopefully do I have only one like you!

What I really want to tell you today is that I admire you very strongly. And I do believe that it is by actions like yours that people like me can realize what my life is about. It makes me put my own life into perspective. Even if I could not involve myself in a project like yours – I am a too comfy person – I am mostly impressed because it takes a lot of courage and abnegation.

For this new challenge trip, I wish you all the best. The most wonderful experience that none of us would be able to deal with. You even chose a period which is very symbolic.

I do and will follow your tracks regularly and I am so proud of you.

To all of Tiago’s friends (around the world, could I say), I hope you share with me the pride whenever you tell people that you have this good Portuguese friend who is into this mad project: Porto-Beijing in 2CV for the Olympics.

From my part, their eyes grow wide and shine with a different light. Above all, I capture their attention and get almost systematically the same answer: for the positive ones: “Oh, I would love to do that!” – For the less positive ones (or maybe older as well): “Oh, I would have loved to do that!”

Yes, me too… But the luck is that I am doing it by proxy ;-) and I share a little of this amazing experience because I am lucky to have Tiago as my friend.

[“And if you want Tiago to be your friend too, here an amazing T-shirt and a unique cap for the modest price of XX euros!!! This is obviously the good time ;-) Don’t worry about your T-shirts, Babe! Next time you’ll come on the Champs-Elysées, even the cops watching the Arc de Triomphe will be wearing these and won’t bother you anymore but will ask you to be on the picture!!]

Lead well your trip, Tiaguito; I beg you: be cautious, and above all, have fun and bring back a huge load of great experience!!

Je t’aime très fort ;-)

Isa

Two weeks distanced home from home! I am writing you in Brussels, in the city and in the House where I have lived back in 2003 and 2004. A place that despite the 4 years that passed by, I can still call mine.

Brussels watches unchanged, as if undisturbed by the outstanding rhythm it “recycles” its population. That is particularly true in my neighborhood: GB is still the supermarket to go shopping, the Breakfast Club is still open till they run out of bred, I keep promising the nightshop guy it’s this time I’ll finally send him the picture we took the day I left back to Portugal and Patrone is still greeting me with loads of Lomoncello each time I visit his pizzeria in the corner. Even the street plaques we kindly “borrowed” on our last night in town are still missing… Memories of an amazing year, probably the best I had so far. Nonetheless, 2008 is always looking at it with threatening eyes!

Enough of looking the (beautiful) past. What have we been to lately? Since out last post, Bayonne, Paris, London and Brussels, lots of km on the road, the chance to meet dear, dear friends, so many moments which deserved to be shared with you. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to put them all in writing and you wouldn’t have the patience to listen/read them all anyway. Another challenge this adventure puts ahead of me: to finally work on my (so far unknown, never seen) synthesis skills.

Starting from now! Brussels, as always, has proven to be a nice surprise. Out of the blue, and thanks to the huge help of my friends Marta Valinas (as well our now common friend Bart) and Thiago, we managed to get an interview in FM Brussels (listen interview), another for the magazine Indigo and tomorrow we’ll have an interview for TV Brussels (http://www.tvbrussel.be/). On top of that, in just a couple of hours we are going to host our first promotional party abroad! It is taking place at La Maison du Peuple (http://www.maison-du-peuple.be/), a cool bar recently opened in Saint Gilles. So, as you see, we have been keeping ourselves quite busy around here!

Despite the tuff agenda, the promise that in the next couple of days I’ll use this nice internet connection to bring you more stories and some new and original content!

So, keep yourselves posted!

Kisses and hugs,

TMA and Le Deuch

French Bask Country, lost somewhere on the core of the Pyrenees, in a village which has cessed all its life signs. I have the truly original privilege of being the sole person in this remote, nevertheless cosy camping park. Half full moon up in the sky, diving in an almost absolute darkness, the sound of the animals and the sweet voice of my Dearest Friend Mariana filling the scenario and warming my soul (sounds of a new project I am sure it will soon be a blast!), an almost complete silence of civilisation.

The perfect epilogue for a truly intimate day. A day in which our goal was to end up by the sea and made us lose ourselves in the mountain. A day which we wanted of direct connection from point A to point B, but messed our plans (or we messed its) and made us wander in a endless S through all kinds of roads and off-roads from A to a point yet to be discover.

A “delicious” day, one that deserves to be described in a way it keeps all its “taste”. But as indeed there is yet no sms that can fill up a voice, nothing can add to this idyllic setting. I as well turn myself off from my laptop, my last anchor to the civilization and share this absolute quietness in a peaceful night of sleep. Thus, the story of this truly Deuch day will go untold, but just for a couple of days. I now cease to be the only voice of tune in this chore of silence.

A light blow of itself (the silence) and this quietness

So, we started our journey on Wednesday, the 7th of May, by the nightfall. Our original plan, to sleep over in Madrid, was already unrealistic, so the goal became to calmly ride till our first (physical) border and then roll “as much Spain” as our energies would allow us. And they were rather kind: they took us as far as Salamanca, with a drive through the historical centre of the beautiful Ciudad Rodrigo. What they (our energies) didn’t predict was our “little betrayal”: having arrived close to 2 am, the night was just warming up in this university town. So, I had no other chance but to leave my dear Deuch resting and join la movida! Between a chupito and una caña, the conversation flowed and I hit the next nightspot already with a bunch of people. This is probably my personal skill which developed the most along my voyages: the ability to meet people when alone. It is curious being a very talkative and open person, this is a skill that doesn’t come natural in me. In opposite, it was something the road has been tailoring over the past years. Indeed, the road has this amazing ability to tailor our personality, bringing up the best of our inner selves.

The goal: to link Porto to Beijing, way and return, drawing two different routes and visiting as many countries as time, budget and customs red tape allow us.

The time frame: close to 8 months, from early May till late December.

The Budget: close to €40.000 is our estimation. So far, we have enough money to get it started. To hunt down the rest is just another part of the adventure. Maybe you can give us a hand?

The Road

“And a common place comes to mind: this is the first day of the rest of our lives” Never this commonplace was so “common” as today. May the 6^th, 2008. 8:00 in the morning. My faithfull Deuch and I are only a couple of hours away from jump into the biggest adventure of our lives. After "Porto-Palermo & Back" back in the summer of 2005 and "Porto Istanbul & Back" in the last one, this alone says a lot. Porto Beijing and back, always by road, only the Deuch and I. 8 months of pure adventure, the longest period ever away from home, which will take us to fascinating faraway destinations such as Siberia, China, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Iran or Turkey. A whole new World to be discovered. A whole world of adventures we invite you to follow step by step, as always comfortably seated on the back seat, during the upcoming 210 days which will take us from Porto to Porto, via Beijing.

Allow me to be brief today. I better save my words and your patience for the 1001 adventures we will for sure be experiencing in the upcoming months.

Don’t leave your seat: the adventure will follow in just a few moment, in a Blog close to you!

  

http://www.tvnet.pt/noticias/video_detalhes.php?id=29932As everything on this “8 months sub (guess “over” would be the word)-life” of ours, it all came unexpectedly. After a night in the Deuch in which I have hardly slept (every time managed to finally fell asleep deeply enough an old man would wake me up asking for 5 Rubbles, about € 0.18, to be parked there…), a truck which almost flips down a rift stuck us on a bridge for over one hour. With the heat intensifying the need of taking a bath, impossible to overlook the nice group of wooden houses along the river bank and the laugh and screams of pure happiness of the children playing in the water. As soon as our way was free, the lounged dive in the cold water became a 5 nights stay at this tiny summer village. A sort of resort “Russia style”, under an idyllic setting and with all those adorable local flops.

This was the first chance to stop and think on all the road left behind. While doing so, one thought becomes even clearer: so much to tell, so little time to do it… Many were the times I’ve found myself lost on the frustration of not being able to shoot pictures and movies with my own eyes. Maybe my soon will already have such privilege, when he launches himself on his own adventures. For the time being, while mental movies are still a distant illusion, you have to satisfy yourselves with my words and my limited skills as photographer.