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Biciclown: Look for an explanation, I do not need it

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Experiénces

Not a day in New Zealand that I do not receive any invitation. Especially on Saturdays when I frequent the local markets. Farmers and ranchers in the area come with their products (premium quality) to offer to customers. From cheeses, salamis, bread, chocolates, vegetables and even documentaries. That's what I sell. But also my story. Approaching people with respect, I offer my story. Some do not have much interest or even twist the head to decline my invitation to stop. But others like Max come direct to my little place. Max wants to practice their Spanish oxidized (assuming it has been clean anytime from heavily accented New Zealander).

It does not take long to buy a DVD and invite me to his house.. That night sleep at their home after spending the afternoon in the forest with his friends enjoying a typical barbecue Zealand. With lamb that is abundant in these lands. There are more head of sheep than inhabitants. Most of them (New Zealanders) live in the North Island, specially in Auckland. On this island, especially in the north, is where most of the Maori. Catherine and Max and let me go just if I promise them to come back. On this island the progress slows not just for the hills but for invitations .

It's amazing the sociability of the people. I do not know how to say it in spanish. In English it says they are easy going. They Invite you to their home without much drama or ceremonies. They sit me at their table and before ask me I have a beer in my hand. The next day I come back to the path leaving a couple waving their arms at the door of their house. There's been more than a few hours, just half a day, but the ties that have been woven between lamb, beer, kiwis and laughter seem durable.

Then there's the fortune. Of course a fortune called what another would call bad luck. Some would give a religious explanation (God protect you) others simply take it as it comes. I just left the village where I stopped to rest when I found that Karma had a broken radio. Patience and shuffle my dear friend Sancho, Don Quixote would say. In twenty minutes it was repaired but a man gave me his workshop´s compressor to inflate the wheel told me that yesterday he heard on local radio interview about a cyclist who was 71 years traveling around the world ... my friend Hutch. A few minutes later I was entering the house where Hutch had stopped. And a few hours later I was walking in a beautiful river kayak with the owner's daughter, Nadia. And shortly after being interviewed on the radio. A broken radio takes you to the home of a large family. Now another dinner and friends waiting just around the corner. Jorge, the Argentine who followed me on the internet and now lives in Ruakaka, will be the next victim of Biciclown.


Peace and Well being