For many years you dream of something that never has. An illusion that has always silent. Something that you know others do not understand, believe absurd and crazy. A solo journey on foot crossing a region. Maybe he lived free Litter childhood, or perhaps the Maestrazgo who loved and hated his grandfather. Yes, walking alone and carrying a notebook in which to count steps. I knew before. What he discovered in the silence and solitude. Yes, always have the illusion and always postponed. By cowardice, incompatibility, or hache be. Yes, always wanting and never do so. And one day discover that someone has done. Even in another region, in other landscapes. Someone has been brave. Has found nine day vacation for fulfill his dream. Alone has traveled the roads in summer, has brought a notebook and has scored in his footsteps. I already knew before, what he found in the silence and solitude. What the road and told him the trip. Because travel speak. We convey a teaching .
Every journey alone is manifold. It's exterior and interior. The outer journey is the teaching of the world. What we see. What the world shows us. And "In the land of the Cucuter" Wrinkle Javier teaches the Monegros. The Final Frontier. Irrigated and rainfed villages. Banks in the square. Children and grandparents. Bars looks to an outsider, heat, thirst, sudden storm. Sigena Monastery and Michael Servetus. Callizo, niches, captains and north wind, power, irrigation channels and pools. Earth and sun. Heads, antlers and torrollones. Espedregar fields. Bee-eater, Cucuta, beetles, storks, and farrowing barns. Deserted villages and towns of colonization. Marcén and Cantalobos. The home of the Viscount An Solanot Torres. El Monte Oscuro and salinity of the Dead.
Every trip is expected and unexpected. Planned and what is discovered. What we wanted to see, had marked on the map, as Perdiguera and origin, La Cartuja de los Monegros, the Ethnological Museum of Lanaja, The Cockroach and legend, the Sierra de Alcubierre and trenches of the war, Orwell and one book that should have been titled Homage to Aragon , Poleñino and an Australian nurse. And it is also everything that comes down the road. Unexpected encounters. Andalusian accent. Indoors. Bayeu paints. The walls are skipped. The art abandoned and condemned. Speaking junipers.
And the meaning of this trip is also a personal memory: When in doubt about what happiness is, you can remember when he walked into a land unique, for nine days, with his thoughts on his back . Is the inner journey. Walking wrapped in silence and know yourself. Because walk will see things differently and have more time to think . Are obsessions. Living doubled. The questions and answers. Solo voyage in response to a deep need. Perhaps in the way we find the solution. And if we find it will get back out to look.
"In the land of the Cucuter" Javier Crease. Mira Editores. Zaragoza, 2010.
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