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There is plenty of excuses about lack of time for reading. But when we finally find time it’s much easier to switch on TV and stare at it even if there isn’t anything interesting. We are killing time, killing our own imagination.
Before we took this journey we armed ourselves with quite thick books. Randomly we chose 2 books from shop’s shelf and packed them in backpacks. Radically we listed guidebook of Southeast Asia first. Then we were looking for all kind of excuses, even the one mentioned before – luck of time. But sooner or later, when the tropical heat hits you, there’s no other way like lying on the bed in chilly room or you find thick shadow and become one with storyteller of the book you have choosen. I was wandering through Italy, India and Indonesia (book Eat, pray, love), meanwhile Luka scientifically escaped exploring the existence of Earth and Universe (book Big bang). What’s for me, isn’t for him, and what’s for him it can be even for me. I like sentimental stories, suffering heroes and self-knowledge. What could it be if it would be… How it will be, when it will happen…
When you’re traveling you meet so many people and I’m sure that each of them is carrying a book. Bought, borrowed, received as a gift, traded. I exchanged my book for Orwell’s Animal Farm so it’s waiting in the line to be read. I choose photocopied book in Cambodian library in good faith that I’ll learn something about Christianity, Islam and Judaism (A history of God). When I saw Luka fighting with every single page I gave up and rather began reading Into the wild that I got from Alan, Alaska guy. In Trinidad (Cuba) there was a perfect chance to trade 3 books for 2. Orwell’s animals were too boring, religions in English disgust me, and I was done with Alaska. Señora de librería took out huge box with English books. Luka got stuck with Vietnamese author who started his cycling journey in USA, and traveled through Japan and Vietnam (Catfish and Mandala). I’m holding in my hands Norwegian wood, novel written by Haruki Murakami. I don’t want to leave this book out of my hand and soon they will close bookshop. This is our last night in this city and exceptional opportunity for trading. Señora take books and hide them on special place. She told us she lives in the house next door so we can just bring books and ring the bell. It was like that. We exchanged books with the guy who opened the door in we are still hoping that they didn’t have any “political” problems because of them.
Murakami is mine. I adore him because he knows how to suck you in, you compassionate with him (or with the main character), you approve his doing, because he’s the victim of his feelings and desire. He’s filling you with passion especially when you’re reading erotic lines. You’ll be masterly seduced by the novel South of border, West of the Sun, I think somewhere at the page 190. I’m melting. For a moment I’m in doubt that’s mans’ writing because he sounds so feminine. I don’t know any guy who would wrote so many letters like Watanabe (main character) did. You’re probably wondering what the hell this has to do with this blog. I will tell you a secret. I’m totally archaic. Where are those days when the letters were written and published publicly? Letters are intimate, sometimes even more intimate like uttering words. They are like mediators which are preventing you from unpleasantness and the one to whom you’re uttering your thoughts, thoughts for which you have to take time so they will get the real meaning. I didn’t write many letters in my life, a few small and short outbursts that couldn’t be said loud. Before I left (with all these books), my dearest friend Alenka stopped by and put red envelope in my hand. She asked me to open it when I’ll be high up in the sky. From time to time I open this red envelope and read her words which are invaluable for me.
I have another book in my lap, which has only 754 pages. I think I’ll have to prolong this trip because of the vampires and werewolf in Breaking dawn. We got this book as a gift from one Slovenian family TILM which we met in Cuba and played a round of mini golf exactly one month after my birthday. My friends, this year you were shortened for special memorial in mini golf but don’t worry there will be plenty of them in the future.
I’m enjoying the last days in countryside sitting in white rocking chair on veranda of our greenish casa particular. I pay attention how I sit because I’m wearing a skirt. Men peep if they’ll see some familiar face on veranda. But as they are peeping I smile to them and greet like old acquaintances. I’m entering in the world of vampires and werewolves while it’s still light to avoid sharp fang biting my neck.
PS: I do hope that swine flu won’t come across our itinerary. In few days we suppose to fly back to Cancun and then toward Miami. We heard that they reduced flights from Cuba to Mexico and vice-versa.
PSSS: By the way I realized that I’ve lost photos from the nicest casa particular in Cuba. Damn.
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