March 5, 2011. Alberto Granado Jiménez dies. He was 88.
The reasons why I want to dedicate him an article are many.
He was born in Cordoba, Argetina, ( I was in Cordoba in June 2009). From Buenos Aires 8april – June 2009) started the expedition in the book and movieThe Motorcycle Diaries, which I saw for the first time in Melbourne, before leaving for a long journey to discover the Australian Outback.
Those 16,000 km are described in the book ONE YEAR IN EIGHT HOURS.
Another time, another continent, other wheels. Same spirit, same big desire to know the world.
Che Guevara and Granado renamed their motorcycle La Poderosa.
Me and my traveling buddy drove il Pallottola (the bullet)
I think the reasons that pushed us to name the vehicle were somehow similar. Both la Pderosa and Il Pallottola were not vehicles on which you would bet. In fact, both of them brole down and every breakdown during a trip is the trigger for upcoming events, good or bad. It is the unexpected of every journey, the incalculable but yet imaginable factor. You know it could happen but not where or when or how. And in any case, you go.
Granado, like me, was the one that noted the events, the stages, the distances.
He wrote: ”First we wanted to know the world, after we wanted to change it. ”
This is not what moves the travelers? This desire to know the world that pushes further and further and beyond?
There is one Che. Maybe he was able to change the world, or a piece of the world. But this is not the point. The world is changing even while traveling, because knowing, learning, sharing, you change the way of being and living, to bring it closer to a way that goes beyond the territory. Traveling is to understand that the boundaries of States are only a political factor that over time has become cultural. The topography and hydrographic boundaries are not so often the same as the political ones.
Granado had moved to Cuba in 1961. And he died in Havana.
Cuba, the last leg of my journey of 681 days.
Who was in Cuba will probably see the character differently. Perhaps his death.
He was jovial, friendly. Watching his interviews and photos I feel like dancing. It was as if he had time to get tattooed on the skin the Caribbean sun, the music of Cuba. It is true, is one of the most isolated islands in the world, but there is a spirit in there, which is still the one with the genuine taste of simplicity.
I do not know what it would feel to be the friend of Che. Not that being a friend of my friends is less important, but knowing him to have started with a dream that has touched the whole world, maybe it tastes like an asnwer. One. To the many questions of why we travel, why even today we seek the adventure?
In motorcycle, vespa, by feet, van, bycicle. Maybe it is travelling that dreams begins. Those we believed that we could extinguish arriving … where?
When, eventually, a traveler dies. steps, miles, his footsteps remain. Remains what it has changed just because here / there we were