In closing

The definition would suggest that it was a failure. Which then means that the entire year was in essence a failure. He felt that way. It was natural. But with all he'd been through, all he'd seen, smelled, tasted, heard, all he'd lived through, surely it could not be a failure. A week had passed & he was finally coming to terms, it still hurt having to turn around, it was just in his DNA. He hated giving up, he hated turning back, he hated life. He didnt expect anybody to understand, it was something he had to work through himself. In a way, he was still on his journey. In a way we never finish our journey. He was miserable & all could see. It was weird when he still had people asking him, 'why did you do it?' His answer was always, 'if you ask, you'll never get it.' That was the worst part of being off the road. Unless you on it, you'll never know that feeling. He would miss that the most. That would be the hardest thing to get use to again. Not being on the road. Those days stranded in the middle of no where, was priceless. All the nameless faces & facesless names. The bad reggaeton & psuedo hippies. He'd miss it all, but would see it soon again. Sad bastard music wasn't helping, neither his headspace. 'Shake it off.' It was the only way. Everything happens for a reason. Antarctica wasn't going anywhere. Although it was hard, he had come to terms with his situation. 'Accept, ignore, move on.' You'll never change what's been & gone, but you can control what will be. The last 365 days had given him everything & more. He would come back stronger for it all. He knew he would. Everything he'd been through was not a waste. The year had  not been a failure. He would moonwalk on Antarctica's snowy shores, he would swim in her frosty embrace. Today was not yet that day.

Until that day.....

Numero 19 - Where did it all go wrong

                                        He sat all day in the sun, yet still couldn't catch a tan.

'Only a few block & you'll be at your hostel.' 30 blocks later & with his shoulders aching, he still hadn't found what he was looking for. To make things worse, the streets were slowly becoming infested with people all leaving work early to start there Friday & there weekend. Rosario, was coming alive. It had all started 24hrs earlier. Stuck hitching in the rain in Jujuy he headed over to the gas station. With plans for Salta & then Cordoba in mind, it all changed when he met 2 Dutch girls who were driving all the way south. After agreeing to buy them lunch, they set off south. He finally reached his digs, sore & sweaty, he slumped into a heap on his bed. You could feel that there was money around Rosario. Seeing beaten up old cars, like the ones in Peru, had become such a regular occurrance, that seeing sparkly new German numbers stood out. That was his barometer for judging the economic strength of a place, how many new cars do you see on the streets. It was like a mini - Buenos Aires. Like Buenos Aires, Rosario dog owners had a similar knack of leaving there pets landmines to dot the sidewalks. Rosario was really pretty though. The humidity had increased but there always seemed to be a cool breeze sweeping by. He decided to head out on the Saturday nite. It proved a usual Saturday like any other with one exception. At a local restraurant he got talking to a local couple. The guy, Juan, worked for the railway & was heading to B.A the following night. He had been on some time off & tomorrow night would be his first night back at work. After re-telling his tale to Juan about the last year, Juan decided to sneak him on board & to hitch to B.A. It was only 8-9hrs down the road so it would be perfect. He'd hitched rides on pretty much all forms of transport at this point, so hitching on a train was only appropriate. He had to get there 30min before the train left. Being a Sunday it would be a bit easier to get him into the rear of the train. There was nervous tension running through his veins. When he got there it seemed it would be all easy going. And it was, until he saw the compartment he would sleep in for the night. The rear room was a container with no windows & minimal ventilation. 'Christ on a bicycle, this is gonna be a long night.' He climbed in & tried to find some sort of comfort. As the door slid close, so the light disappeared. There was a streak of light filtering through between the door & the cart. That was it. The next 8-9hrs saw him being thrown around like a rag doll. At first he tried to fight it, then went with it. 'What's the point.' The next 8 hrs would be the most bone rattling 8hrs of his life. He tried to sleep & took 3 sleeping tablets. It was completely dark, so it might not have been the correct tablets he took. He tossed & turned, bounced & rolled all night. He eventually fell asleep. Finally. He went into a deep sleep until suddenly the door got pulled open. During the course of the night he had decided to strip down to the bear minimum due to the crazy heat. Oh dear. The guard who opened the door was not Juan. Now imagine if you will the scene. The guard let rip with a volley of anger he had not witnessed. All the time he was asking for, 'Donde Juan.' The guard would have nothing of that. He battled to get his kit back on due to the state he was in. The compartment had also given him a coat of soot. So there he was half naked, sweaty, dirty & untidy. Thankfully Juan arrived to save him from his situation. He walked through the station an utter mess. He decided to 'freshen up.' For a moment he looked around for the mirror, because the only other person in the toilet was some half dressed skanky, stinky, smelly bum. He had found the mirror already, & he was the only one there. 'I think I need a shower pronto.'

Buenos Aires had the sophistication & style of Madrid or Paris, yet the sexy dirty grit & passion of South America. Very much like him (tongue firmly stuck in cheek) if he thought about it. After the much needed shower, he settled in for the day knowing that tomorrow would be a big day in his trip. He had planned to get to southern Argie in 2-3weeks  if all went to plan. He knew tomorrow had to go his way for that to happen. He would cross that bridge when he got there, so wouldn't drive himself crazy thinking about it. He woke up knowing that the entire year that he had travelled depended upon today. Surely it can't go wrong now. Not after all he'd been through. The news came through. It made him physically ill. Is this how it's all going to end. He would try everything to find a solution. He attempted everything during the next few days. On Saturday the 18th February he realised that all alternative options had failed. He would not be able to reach his dream. It was hard to take in. All the up's & down's of the last year, 'was it all for nothing?' He met some really amazing girls from Australia & Austria, they helped ease the pain. It would be temporary. He had tried everything. He woke up the next day & tried again. He would leave these shores the following day. Those days & nights were as painful as anything he'd ever experienced. He sat running through all the things that led to that day. 'What could I have done differently?' It was painful to watch. He tried to reconcile himself to the fact that it had been a great run. 'It wasn't suppose to end this way?' He was numb. Numb to the world & all who walked it. He was for once, defeated. For once broken. He found himself sat on the airport waiting to leave. He was never one for emotion, but tears don't discriminate. Shattered he boarded.

Until that day.....

Numero 18 - Fantasies & fears

As Peru slowly faded from his rear view mirror, a new dust started settling on his old size nines. Arica was reminiscent to places he once new back home. A portal town, with shipping container painting the ocean front landscape, it all had the air of a dusty old  desert peublo. He stayed at a hostel a nine-iron away from the sea shore. They all spoke French, but with his flair for languages, he got on swimmingly well with the staff & fellow clientele. He couldn't & wouldn't stay more than a few nights. Something more overwhelming was calling in the distance. He woke up early in the morning with that same old feeling, a feeling he thought he had lost, 7 months in one place could do that. The road from Arica to Iquique would give him that feeling again. He'd missed that feeling. Water, camera, wet neck scarf, backpack & open road, is all he needed. It's all anybody really needs. Under the constraint of the sun, the tar seemed to be bubbling off the road. He loved it. He longed to get lost in the desert. By truly being lost, only then can you truly find yourself. His ride would inadvertently offer him that. Carla, his ride, had told him she was going all the way to Iquique. 2hrs in & she turned off the road. That was the end of the line. He hopped out the air conditioned little Japanese 2 seater into absolute nothingness. He had dreamed of this for years, & now when it finally arrived, he was to sure what to really expect. He stood in the deafening silence listening to the silence. It spoke volumes. He hadn't ever experience this, not even close. Imagine the quietest place you've ever been too, times it by 100 & then maybe you'll be close to what was playing out in front of him. It would be 90min before civilization came driving by. He reached Iquique round 5pm. Physically & mentally drained, he found sympathy from a cold shower at the hostel. It took a while for the events of the day to settle in. Iquique offered his first taste of salt water between his raggedly curly locks since Mancora now 8months in the past. It was great. He met some really geniune travellers as well. You meet a lot of people when travelling, & although they all talk, many rarely say anything worth remembering.

                                                       Only then can you find yourself

He was finding his ryhthm again. It was a good groove to be in. He really was having a fantastic time in Iquique. The road was calling his number, it would be rude not to answer. Anyway, 3 days in Iquique was perfect. It's always good to quit while in the lead. San Pedro was not that far down the road. He reached the town in the early part of the day. The mercury was heading well north at that point already. He would get to cycle in 'The Valley of The Moon' the next day. There's just something so simple about cycling. You can go where ever & when ever you you want. The town itself was like no other. Dusty old streets, flanked by mud houses & shops charging extortionist prices to all who ventured near. Everything from water to fruit was well over-priced. Weird since the town itself had nothing to offer. He woke up the next day all set for his ride into the valley. He had expected the heat to be like the day before, it surprisingly wasn't. It was worse. Not as hot as the sun, but not far off. The first few kilometers seamed easy, but as soon as the smooth stuff got replaced with the off-road, well, the scenery in more ways than one changed as well. He quickly discovered how a really good day can become a really shitty one. He loved every bit. He'd never choosen the theory of leaving a bit in the tank for the way back & once again followed that route. 'God do I regret that choice,' he murmurred under dryed out tongue. 'Onward & upward.' He loved the challenge. He even had time to spark up a few Marlboro's. He loved the pain racing through his desert stained shirt, he loved every bit of sweat being excorcised from his body by the Atacama sun. These are the days you remember when you back home & everything goes tits up. You'll long for these days. This is what it was all about.

                                            
                                                                            Lunar Landing

He returned that evening with a smile as wide as his arse was sore. It was really sore. The night was filled with laughter & tales with French, Dutch, Spanish & English accents. This was a really good day.
He was up early the next day with only one thing on his mind. Argentina. He stamped out of Chile in San Pedro, it was weird, cause there's still another 200klm to go before you actually hit Argentinian soil. He reached the road heading east pretty early, 5 hours later he was still sat there. He had been through it all before. So he returned that afternoon to his hostel. It resembled 'Fawlty Tours.' Fabian the owner was as Basil Fawlty as you can get. He even had his own Manuel. The disappointment of the day was soon forgotten as he visited long into the night under desert trees. Many people get stuck in San Pedro, he was obsessed with not becoming one. So off he trooped to Argentina once again. It would be another long day, but with a difference. A flat bed truck difference. They were heading from Peru to Buenos Aires. Perfecto. Marco & Lucas would get him all the way to northern Argie. They stayed in Susques. A tiny hamlet of a place surrounded by mountains on all sides. The road south from Susques was treacherous for trucks & they thus stayed the night. There was no place in the flatbed, so he crashed at the local dis-used bus depot. Rat infested bus depot. It didn't matter to him, he slept like a baby on codeine. He woke up to discover his ride had left, no worry though. He met a few other truckers in town & managed to arrange another ride. He had a few hours to kill so went to have a look around town. It was straight out of the old west. He was half expecting bandits to come running throw 6 shooters blazing aways with a dust cloud trailling behind. He could even hear the theme from 'The good, bad & ugly' ringing in his ears. All that was missing was a dual over the honour of the blacksmiths daughter. The church bells even chymed away at noon. Jujuy would be reached just before nightfall. 'Wet, wet ,wet,' would be an appropriate band name for Jujuy. It had been a while since he'd seen sheets of rain like was on display. Hitchhiking was always un-predictable, & so it would prove again. He started out looking for a ride to Cordoba, but by the next morning he would be in Rosario. He rolled into Rosario with on a sunny Friday afternoon more confident than ever of achieving his goal. Life though, like hitchhiking is un-predictable. Looking back, would have known though, that 2 weeks later, his dreams, his life, would be in tatters.

                                                                     Long beds

Until that day ......

Numero 17- Sometimes the bridesmaid does get married

So that day had finally arrived. He was reminded that it wasn't 6 months as he thought but closer to 8. 'WOW !!!' So much had changed in that time. His 'Espanolo' as he called it, more commonly known as Spanish, had not improved, but he had learned so much more. Things always happen for a reason, & maybe Arequipa was a much needed reason. The time was ticking away rapidly now, he always wanted it, yet when it finally started happening he wished he could press pause or atleast press the slow play button. It was only natural. He had become accustomed to it all. Popping down the shops for his fags, cheap food, coffee at his favourite french cafe, late night movies after the chaos had moved on & watching the stars in his private observatory with only the creaking old hammock for company. He had met & made geniune connections. Not the 'Baby Teeth' connections one usually make when on journeys. He called them 'Baby Teeth,' because you miss them when they gone, but they soon forgotten when replaced by new ones. He even felt that strange feeling of love for certain people. He had always been a cynic when it came to all those emotional stuff. When it's real, it's pointless putting up your gloves. The real stuff crashes straight through your attempts at bopping & weaving. Not even his best attempts at impersonating 'Pretty boy Floyd' was enough. When that's not enough, you know then it's real. As always there would be some drama, it would be out of character if there wasn't some. His life changing 8 months meant leaving would give him one unwanted farewell gift. A $200 worth unwanted gift. Always drama. Such is life. Or more appropriately, such is 'HIS' life. The clock went on ticking. As it ticked away, something truly beautiful, & not just on a skin deep level, something french (E.P), blew into his cage. He never wanted it, but you all know, you have no choice in these matters. As much as it was blowing him of his course, he had to be a steady hand at the wheel. Not long now. He had, as he always wanted, a quiet & simple last night. One last night would not define his stay. That definition had been added to his dictionary a long time ago. Last rounds had been called, lights had been turned on & his taxi had been called. The usual generic hugs were dished out, but for the first time, heartfelt ones were locked into. The ones where you can actually feel the other participants heartbeat. For once he was at a lost for words. 8 months is a lifetime in travelling time. He'd seen this movie to often to think that this show would be remembered after all the popcorn had been cleaned out the cinema seats. But for once he hoped that after the credits had rolled, the main protagonists of this peace would be remembered. Ultimately, the end is never the end, it's just the beginning.
Until that day......

Numero 16- So there he was.....

....Missing his flight, getting bumped up to first class, being mistaken for a Mexican footballer, given free food as his similarity to Pancho Villa dictated that he should, going to the circus in a one horse town, walking to Puebla, hitching a ride to the slaughterhouse in Oaxaca, crossing illegally into Guatemala, seeing Jesus was a blackman, climbing a volcano with Marlboro's & high-tops, finding the Empire of the Sun, surfing the days away with black beaches & cow's lining the path to the break, no shoes no shirts, Manu Ella (thanks for the hat), Sam, meeting MS gangsters in Santa Tecla, discovering Willie Walker in Granada, losing himself in San Juan, scooting across Ometepe like Wyatt & Billy, Tama'fucking'rindo, nothing more needs to be said about that, hearing the song 'Wakka Wakka' for the umpteenth time but this time live, the beginning of the nightmare, Puerto Viejo & Rocking J's, getting in the wrong hammock (again), that fucking bridge, getting turned back at that bridge, crossing it again, getting turned back again, going back to San Jose, crossing that bridge, getting turned back again, sleeping on that bridge, crying & laughing in his sleeping bag throughout the night, finally ending the nightmare, Bocas del Toro, sailing in a skiff & catching his own dinner (lobster), cruising around the island on his steel cruiser, jumping feet first of a jetty & messing up his foot, taking in broken birds (3 times), having girls crying on his shoulder (3times), meeting a crusty sea dog John Smith (actual name), Pan City & getting a spoon, attempting to gate crash a diplomatic wedding (denied), getting to Capt. Jack's & the Desdemona, sailing the seven seas (happier his rarely been), the Kuna, San Blas islands, sleeping on deserted islands, swaying away in a hammock with the stars putting on a show & the boat being stroked by the warm Carribean (insert smiley face.....now), Turbo & celebrating 19 (here we sat on our PERCH!) with ladies of the night, long winding roads decorated with mudslides & skyscraping mountains, interviewing Bobby Escobar & night swimming at The Pit Stop, Salsateca's & way too many cats, 3 hostels in 1 night (surely a record) & tiny hole in the wall cafes, La Mariscal & all the other surprises that Quito brought out, animal markets & fisherman pants, Guiyaguil & shitty promenade (I'm sorry, but it's true), really shitty, 1 crazy night in Montanita, nothing new if his honest, Mancora & 3 sole tuk-tuks, stoner volleyball, swimming into jellyfish, beach footie, getting kicked-out due to mistaken identity, Lima, where do we start with this story, with crazy junkie Freddy, 'Special K', street racing, Hamiltons, all night pool, freezing in his ride to Cusco, singing karaoke the night before M.P. enjoying the room with a view, feeling the altitude, standing with the Irish against the doormen, sleeping in parks under the ocean of stars, falling into a trap, depressed, black, wondering where it all went wrong, gasping for air, searching for his second win, heading south, falling in love (C.L), becoming a teacher (who'd have thought),  so there he was losing his soul, losing his pride, grabbing his second wind, facing up, finding a way, getting back up, seeing the reason, finding the sense, making the move, planning the date, hating & loving life, meeting dreams, meeting nightmares, being honest, meeting beautiful souls, meeting beautiful heart, meeting beauty in small spaces (M.M), discovering what he thought was lost, zoning out to Nina Simone, watching fireworks, making fireworks, counting down the dark, seeing in a new dawn.
So there he was making peace.

Until that day......

Numero 15- Imagine

He woke with the sound of canned laughter exiting from the box. Yet another re-run of 'Friends.' The all to familiar feeling of an aching neck was the side-effects of sleeping on an aging couch. His bed had become home to bed bugs. The couch was the alternative. It took a while to remove himself from the couch. The couch, as he, had seen better days. Her intestines were flowing out & her once proud shoulders were collapsing. Her striking complexion was fading with every new dawn. He made his way to the bathroom, passing by the pool table that had become his midnight mistress. Many nights were spent in her embrace. The water came spluttering out the shower head as it had done for the last few weeks. The warmth from the shower head cloaked his body triggering an automatic smile from his face. His hair had for a while now decided to follow a different beat. It would continue to march to a different tune. He was resigned to that. He threw on his old size nines for the umpteenth time. His jeans were tattered & bruised. Only time can do that. He turned left heading up Avenue Lima. The round about was busy as the day before & the day before that. The sun was screaming down at an alarming rate of decibels for this early in the day. He crossed the chaos that encircled the round about, & headed up San Martin. 'The 'Bobbys' were out in all there regalia. 'Nigel walking the beat, keeping the peace.' He kept walking up San Martin passing the street performers who, as had become the norm, offered him drugs. They had done that for the last few weeks without success, it didn't stop them trying. He gave them the usual smile & wave. They were nice enough, no harm no foul. The road's incline tilted slightly up a few degrees. He passed the laundrette he had been using for the last few weeks, the owner gave him a gentle knod. The tree lined streets that marked Sam Martin was replaced by a walking boulecard that was Avenue Sucre. He stopped of at his usual pastry shop to pick up some 'pan dulce.' 'Something for my coffee later.' He lit up another Hamilton & continued on his way. The noise from the nearby schools bounced playfully of the walls. The constant honking from the taxi's chasing there next meal, whispered in the background. Misti looked on from the distance, emperious, her beautiful snow capped peak masking her undenying power. He took a right onto Palacia Viajo, he's new home would be there soon. Home, he had forgotten what that meant. He thought of dropping into 'Cusco coffee shop,' but decided against it. He watched as the crowds entered & left the musuem where the famous 'Ice Princess' resided. Frozen in time, enclosed in a giant fridge, she was popular with tourists. For all the fuss made about her, she always kept her cool. The whisper had become a scream. He crossed another cobbled road & headed towards the Plaza. The birds were out in full force entertaining there audience. They soaked up the attention. Zooming in from the surrounding rooftops, they paraded around. Chest's all puffed out, proper diva's indeed. He passed by the impressive cathedral. That's all he could say regarding the cathedral. They do all look the same after a while. He turned right into yet another walking boulevard. He felt as if he were swimming against the current, the malee of people heading towards him confirmed that. He had been doing that most of his life. He reached 'Starbucks.' 'Frapachino, por pavor.' The frequency of his attendance allowed him to memories the playlist. It was his 'Rain man' moment. He had to finalise his lesson for the afternoon. 'Starbucks,' had become his study. Arequipa, had unknowingly become his home.
Until that day ...

Numero 14- Always look on the bright side of death

'The Abyss,' was a movie he had watched back in the 80's, when going to the drive-in was still all the rage. The plot, as he recalled, surrounded a rescue operation in deep sea to recover a stricken nucleal sub. It ended up with the lead character played by Ed Harris, going down to depths never before explored. Going to a level most would not return from. The back & beyond of human limits, the point of no return, The Abyss.
On his return to Lima, he was to fall into his own personal Abyss. He remembered being back in Mexico all those months ago. He remembered sitting on abandoned desert roads with the deafening sound of silence as his only companion. He remembered the brothers Gallagher immortalize themselves into his mind while he walked in the mid-day blaze. He remembered the black beaches of El Zonte. He remembered 'The Bridge' in Costa Rica, the sit down with Bobby Escobar. Those memories where now being shelved into the back, replaced by the engulfing darkness of his Abyss. He always knew this day would eventually arrive. The day the smiles stopped. He was so close, but yet so far from his ultimate dream. The means of achieving that dream had filtered away. From the darkness he could not see the light that was his dream. Everyone at some point in there life arrive at this destination. When all attempts, all solutions, all alternatives are met with responses that where not wanted. 'How did I get here? How could it have all gone so pear-shaped so quickly?' At that point even the strongest of the strong find it hard to put there one foot in front the other. His feet felt like they had cement shoes on. He thought he was made of tougher stuff. We all think that. When the situation arrives to test that resolve, only then do we see what we really made of. It was another gloomy day in Lima that greeted him as he woke. All the days seemed the same now. The gloom reflected his thoughts to the tee. He took the short walk to his private sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean all scruffy & cold. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future. he could care less. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails  from pets given breathing space from there keepers, he could care less. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love released venom from his eyes that he sent in there direction. He sat & watched. He loved his new family he worked & stayed with though. But these moments of solitude which he cherished so much, had become polluted, polluted by dread & despair.  The late afternoon joggers came cantering by, that was the signal to return to the madness. It was also his signal to return to the man everyone knew. He would put the mask on everyone wanted to see. He would become the voice everyone wanted to hear. 'The show must go one.' The fun times ticked over, & the fun times were epic times. Foot races at 3am where classic, but watching fellow runners going down in a heap after pulling hamstrings, now that just was pure comedic GOLD. Seeing on coming traffic turn around swiftly at the sight of the blue ribbon event coming charging there way, was one for the ages. Late night laughter, getting a room full of men doing there rendition of Uma Thurman & John Travolta's famous dance scene out of Pulp Fiction & even getting time to do an interview *, was all part & parcel of his time in Lima. He met really good people during his stay. It's not often that one can say you meet people you would genuinely want to stay in contact with for years to come. Yea, people say that, but how often do we actually get in touch with these 'amazing' people we meet on our journey's. The once constant messages inevitably fade into a haze of 'Pokes' & ' hope you having an amazing birthday.' But there are those rare, very rare occasions you meet people who add substance to your life & you add to there's similar stimulants. Those are the people who will be there to crack the shits & giggles with when you 60. Good things are rare. The darkness weighed heavy on his once sculpted shoulders. He chatted away one night with one of those people. It was strange, he was usually the one that others confided there dreams & fears to. Was he changing. The man who confidently proclaimed to be an island, was allowing visitors to he's once isolated shores. They spoke well past the witching hour. He went to bed with a weird feeling, that feeling would come calling in the morning as well. He woke up on Wednesday with that strange feeling, but there was something extra that was added. Something that he hadn't expected to see. Something was happening. He went about his normal business. He had his spit & polish followed by the normal terrible breakfast. Something was different though. The breakfast was still shite, but something was different. Outside things got even crazier. The sun had decided to pay him a visit as well. 'What the ....' Something strange was definitely happening. Maybe it was the new voices in the compound that had reaffirmed his faith, the old voices of loved one's * from back home telling him, to not just do it for himself but for them as well, maybe it was the bird making bumble bee from Swansea, maybe it was the boys from 'Monty Python' telling him to 'Always look on the bright side of death,' or maybe it was that voice in side him that came alive, telling him to 'Live without regrets.' To 'Not die wondering.' Nobody said it would be easy, 'You will never be here again. Live the MYTH.' 'YOU will NEVER be here again. Those words echoed throughout that sun drenched day in Lima. 'The sweet is never as sweet without the bitter.' The plot indeed had thickened. It would take him to Arequipa. The road would take yet another unexpected twist. Lima had done it's job in more ways than he could possibly have imagined. He would always remember Lima. He went once more, one last time to his sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean, all majestic & beautiful. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future, it was music to his ears. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails from pets that were given breathing space from there keepers, he rolled around in the grass with some of them. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love drifted through his sanctuary, he smiled. 'You will make this work. Hell or high water, you will make this work.' 'WE will never be here again. Live the MYTH.'

Until that day ......