16.08.2015 Vigo, Spain

Spain. Small camping not far from Vigo, Galicia’s main port. Two days have passed since I left the Bardou. Another European country on my way.

In my head raging storm and it echoed the dreams. Every day I dream so realistic that many times per night I wake up, often in a vain attempt to understand the reality of what I am. The price paid for impressions … This exhausts my already shakiness consciousness. I often think about what I have left, and like Ted Simon, I doubt that I could bear such pain again. Sometimes I find a confirmation of my sanity only that I can interact with the public without harm for them and for myself. A very vague concept. But who among us is healthy? Normal people do not travel in such way anyway.

That storm consists of two opposites, tearing each other, trying to take my mind entirely. On the one hand is the complete uncertainty of the future, lack of finance, lack of any chord. Just hopes which reality carefully wipes, managing to introduce the best worst. My slogans now is “better than nothing” and «I just go». The best excuse for despair, is not it? On the other hand, and I’m just starting to realize it – the beauty. Comprehensive, stunning, flooding the brain cells, beauty. It is everywhere. In the mountains, on the road, in the ocean. Even now, in the silhouettes of palm trees illuminated by yellow lights highway in fog and drizzle. In humans. Though people here lose badly to what some call “eastern mentality.” Locked in their own world, they are not interested in anything else. It’s disgusting. Only in the oldest ones survived desire for the unusual, for what is not from their own little world. And this is multiplied their greatness in comparison with the ever-bustling young people with shifty eyes. But it’s not about them. About Beauty. Nothing can give such feelings as traveling. You can visit the thousands of museums and listen to hundreds of hours of classical music, but none of this even a mile is not close to what I see and feel every day. And the new, seen by me, leaving me in the particles of the present. Ocean – I’ve never seen the ocean. I was close more than once, but something did not allow me to feel it. That rush, sudden plans, you name it. Perhaps this event were saving itself for a special occasion, like my journey. I think that’s why travel are the best way of perception aesthetics – anywhere and in any way is no longer possible to see and feel what you learned in the journey. Every morning, in addition to severe head from dreams, fills me with excitement from the realization that I will soon again look behind the corner. And the excitement does not remain unanswered – even the provincial road is able to bestow hail delightful views. This is not a work of art or documentary film. This is my movie. Every minute I gasp in admiration.

… The day before yesterday was Bilbao. Large port, said to me William. Large port, echoed Internet. Damnit, that’s not a port. It’s a city. The port itself in a couple of tens of kilometers, in the town of Portugalete. In which I found some local holiday (in the latter camp barman said that it seems the 15th of August each town on it’s own holiday). Private port, where I was still admitted in spite of the holidays, and the secretary of the International Sailors Club, which does not speak any other than Spanish. International, yes. Bad luck.

Next was Sanantander just to stand overnight and ask. Yes, a small port. But the bartender at the camp was a replica of the main character from the film Across the Universe, grumbling that nobody wants to work. Nice fellow.

And now, Vigo. Small camping not far away, bad weather … Near the ocean it is cold, even in Spain. Me again surrounded by doubts about the port, this negative part of the consciousness regains strength. It is best to help myself with the music. It joins the general flow of observable beauty and helps tame the dark side of consciousness. We will see …


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