White Spots On Tip Of Tongue

Goodbye 2010, Welcome 2011

Where the author, in the absence of camps, or pachangas chococheladas any type, reflects or attacks the past year.

I have not many complaints against you 2010. Overall, there has been a disappointing year or terribly wrong.

not you grow up. Do not think I'm going to spend your hand or make your patería just because you're leaving, because you will soon be just history.

That will not save you. Do not say you were good. You will not be granted amnesty or pardon for any of your guilt, the less you magnify or overly halagaré so good that you brought.

So get ready to read me in your agony, in your last hours before your final bombards announced and will welcome the 2011 which, as you will be greeted with endless hope and good wishes.

But do not worry. I told you: you have not been a fatal year and do not deserve to be fired in anger. Yes, and I tell you openly and bitterly, at some point I did believe you would be memorable.

tricked me and let myself be fooled by the brightness of an illusion that end opaque. You were devious and even a little cruel to convince me that that possibility, desires, hopes, necessarily would materialize anyway.

the end everything went wrong.

burning bread in the oven door. The treacherous stab in the back.

Even so do not hold grudges. The blows hurt but we must teach and assimilate them to continue fighting. And I have shown, 2010. I made it known that I'm strong, stubborn and obstinate.

has not been the first year that I wanted to knock down, away from my dreams traveling or making me change the direction of my footsteps as a journalist and traveler.

They did not succeed, just as it got you, and not get it 2011. And I'll warn you now, since before I arrived, even before that try to fool playing with marked cards.

I'm getting ahead. Even the tops do not rise or if they eat twelve grapes. The 31 does not end. There remains a handful of hours in a year that was not terribly bad.

I have to be fair. You had good stuff. The trips I made, I wrote chronicles, thousands photos that I could do. Also the confidence of publishers who continued to stand by my work.

went and came back from many places. Walked several paths without mishap, Unfortunately no. Just a camera malfunction, a few hours or a terrible hailstorm hincón knees.

missed me who love me and understand that my life is a constant goodbye. I was encouraged to continue to ride my readers, those who like my work. They make me feel important.

In 2010 I offered, shared and learned from old friends, colleagues I met in newsrooms and in the voyages, the fellow travelers and, of course, the fellow who welcomed me in their villages smiles and gestures of surprise.

Perhaps

for that and for that alone, I have many complaints against you. Sure you could be better, 2010. But not everything is your fault. I take my mistakes and my mistakes. Amend in the year I hope soon to begin.

And although I'm not psychic or a medium, I dare to make a prediction: the 2011-whatever happens, I will continue traveling, writing and taking photos.

I hope you will too.

Happy New Year to all ...

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This traditional image of Manuelito Children, Exploring Peru greets his readers and fellow travelers on this holiday of the year, wishing all "to those who believe, who do not believe a lot and those who would believe, an unforgettable Christmas and New Year with revelry included.

In one of his last journeys, 2010, Exploring visited the workshop of Antonio Olave in the San Blas district, the stronghold of Cusco artisans and sculptors. Cordial and friendly, the teacher born 82 years ago in the village of Pisac, traveling lens allowed us to portray his famous Manuelito, the Andean and syncretic representation of baby Jesus.

Guaguita Chaposos as the Andean highlands, the babies of Olave is one of the most endearing symbols of Christmas in Peru, such that, despite everything, still retains some of its old ways, especially in the towns and communities far less exposed to the fury of globalization.

And we like the traditions here, take this entry to ask your child Manuelito you regale them, and we also , many trips, meetings and adventures, many happy returns and returns home, to share life experiences with those that await us with a smile and a hug of welcome.

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Come Christmas Rolly Sport

Where the author for lack of travel, half turns nostalgic and rescues from oblivion the history of unsuccessful Sport Rolly, a mini-soccer team that carried his poor quality of district courts and police stations.

There once was a team called Sport Rolly. It was not a formal club, with headquarters Scraping cement or popcorn. Never had a large bar and a generous sponsor of wallet. Nor had famous footballers in their ranks. Their biggest star was a certain Echegaray, who once stepped on his ball on top teams.

But his fame was fleeting. Just a couple of home match in a tournament organized by pro-fund some of the police stations of the northern cone of Lima.

In that tournament, the blue square on the color of his shirt, was eliminated in the second round. That would be a constant in her short little fruitful history, without purpose and titles.

Of the other players can not say much. Most players were rustic and rough they had in the most indiscriminate puntazo technical resource and their prominent bellies his most notable physical feature. But we must be fair, there were exceptions and there were some who try out playing, Armando Paredes, stroking the ball.

These flashes of good football were never enough for the Sport Rolly-team created by initiative of a private vigilante group, known popularly as watchmen and renamed as "lidermans" for some clever entrepreneurs in the field of safety- win a championship or lift a glass, the kind that almost always end up rusting away unnoticed in a dusty cabinet.

The unofficial history, the only existing because nobody in their right mind waste time writing or researching on a computer so inconsequential "relates it all started punctilious when workers of the now defunct Sesisa (Security Service Integral SA), they asked Mr. Rolly Valdivia, the father of this type, to behave with a set of shirts.

Mr. Valdivia, in their times of youth had served in goal, had no choice but to behave with sportswear. In the debut in a limited field of little green, Mr. Valdivia would be more than astonished to see on t-shirts, on the drawing of a man running after the ball, reading the name of Rolly Sport.

Beyond the initial surprise, that first party was a huge disappointment. After a bright start which would mark two goals, the soccer-watchers, perhaps worn by the bad night that his job required, would lose control of the shares in the second half. Unable to attack, disastrous in the mark, end up getting three goals that would seal their defeat.

The results did not improve over time. An occasional victory, many defeats until Sesisa workers lose interest in sport, then, would be replaced by relatives, friends, acquaintances and even strangers who acted for reinforcements. Thus, the Sport, participate in various championships in soccer, including parochial tournament raffle and carnival.

All this happened in the 80 century and last millennium. When this traveler was still a schoolboy and a player of rare qualities in a time of distress and shortage of players, was sent to the arc as a savior or a victim into opening a tournament. The result was disastrous. Several guns and shootings. Fed up with goals against.

Deleted, but this time would be different. And after that encounter, the blue shirts of Sport Rolly never again appear in any court of Lima and Callao.

And there is no longer Sesisa, or vigilantes, players who asked Mr. Valdivia collaboration, not the author of these words, but to another man Valdivia, my father, who bought the shirts for a team to be called Sport Rolly.

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The art of falling

Where the author's hand made folder of unpublished texts, to rescue this chronicle of a hazardous adventure cycling in Huaraz.

to fall

to have to have some dignity. This is not an anti suelazo be, without a hint of grace and lack of elasticity in a trail of mud or on a road with rocks and thorns but be lying like a hut among the bunch grass that grows vigorously in the foothills of the Cordillera Negra or an unpaved road that winds into the urban heart of Huaraz.

Yes, we need to know to fall or at least try, especially when the adventurous enthusiasm overflows and sweeps away the timid reasons of common sense step to silencing the voice of your conscience, with cries discordant aims to remind you that you were always a timid rider and scary, with few merits, with memorable falling into ditches and mud puddles.

not hear it and you're in Punta Callan (4200 m), overlooking the mountains of the Cordillera Blanca and the streets of the capital dwarfed Ancash. And you put on your gloves and helmet and hold the rudder. You're going to leave. Your heart races. Breathe a lung full before starting to travel more than twenty miles of curves, drops and slopes that separate you from your destiny: Huaraz.

rural route, a route full of adrenaline ... and you're pedaling, following or trying to catch up with Carlos "Charly" Alzamora, enthusiastic and experienced guide Rider's Peru, an agency specializing in mountain biking, which offers tourists eager to intense emotions, different alternatives to know the Callejon de Huaylas.

go. Maneuvers. Feel the speed. You forget the cold and altitude. Enjoy the scenery and bucolic views, fields full of crops, grazing a woman, peasant houses with roofs of bunch grass, and, of course, the Cordillera Blanca, very white, as a backdrop. So many frozen peaks, so beautiful, so beautiful, so threatened by climate change.

pedaling, braking, balance. Uff, I almost lose, you almost fall. No matter, still, come on, it's fantastic. It was worth not listening to your conscience and leave you convinced by Benjamin "Benkelo" Morales, who, while waiting for Antonio Paredes-the strong man of Rider's Peru-Benkawasi at reception, I proposed a different plan for the day.

"An outdoor Parrillita compared to the mountains", I was tempted "Benkelo" perhaps guessing your little or no conditions as mountain biker, perhaps knowing that the road was not easy and did his thing. But his attempt was in vain, Antonio and the party came to Punta Callan, battered by the road leading to Casma, linking the mountains to the coast.

was impossible to reverse, as it is now impossible to stop, change course or avoid the stone you're going to crash, with which you're hitting. And fly, sales shot but do not do anything. "You fell right", it encourages "Charly." Return to the path. More declines. More speed and adrenaline, also falls that do not harm you, only you'll never be convinced that a great cyclist.

Bah, but that does not matter. Still on the road, still riding, still living your great adventure.