An introduction

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(the following text is a “Google-translation” of the original text in Portuguese. It is exactly as it was spilled by the translator, with absolutely no changes. If you want to take the challenge and do a proper translation, I'd be very, very happy.)

"So, you are much more than going away from something Towards something." Despite my poor English, was more or less what she said. And I was right. Nearly three months traveling ninety days of pedal for England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, and she was right ...

Who is she? In fact, even today do not know. And who cares? Generally this is so. You get a new hostel, people talk, you approach, take part in the discussion, question, disagree, applauds, and hours later, she realizes that not even know their names. If anything, his accent, identifies the country where they come from.

In her case, the accent was typically American. The name, as I said, I do not know. We took the same ferry to come from the island of Skye for the Lewis & Harris. In the Tourist Information Centre in Taibert I asked the receptionist where it was given a "hostel" or hostel. She then pointed me to this "American" saying that the landlord was coming to fetch her.

"You want me to take your luggage?" This was the landlord offering to carry my equipment in your car. "Riding without weight is much easier." And why not? With light rain, wind against and 5 miles of rough terrain ahead, who would refuse an offer like that?

Me and "American" we had talked a lot on the night of our arrival. The bad weather did not allow us to go very far and the way everyone was gathering around the fireplace and chat. Endless conversations, without beginning or end, the kind that leaves the kitchen to the podium, give to the museum, theater, cinema, concert, to end at the cemetery, church, or office. This time, "everyone" included yet another American - traveling back to work, and a French nurse by profession, on vacation, staying for free in exchange for taking care of the place. But it's more I talk with her. His story - or part thereof, is at least singular:

For 25 years he lived in the mountains of Washington state, a house built for herself, no electricity, no gas, no running water, only in the company of his son. The nearest town was 35 miles away. Thus, visits only once a week for shopping. In winters, with roads blocked, came to spend four months completely isolated from civilization.

She is a writer of essays and studies. He hates technology. Do not have a phone, fax, computer, nothing. To communicate with your editor, only by letters. Happened to come to Scotland the previous year, to take care of another hostel, situated in the northern island of Skye. "Loneliness was stealing all my social skills." Intends to continue with this annual migratory movement, dividing between the two points, eight months there, four months here.

It was one of our conversations about travel, when I spoke of my, she came up with this: "So you're much more, walking away from something going against something." That was on June 16, a Wednesday, 83 days after my arrival in London. I was in a hostel Drinishader, a village with no more than half a dozen houses, five miles south of Taibert on the island of Harris, Northwest Scotland.

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