March 18. Kaiser of Cordoba.

I could work in a fancy café once again. I really have to get used to it. The idea is to write a certain amount of pages per kilometer so I can keep track of where on earth I will be when I finish certain chapters, stories, word-rows. A couple of hours went by with me peacefully striking the keys on my little white computer and producing some word-rows that are not relevant here.

We had icecream. We bought dinner in a supermarket. We had sausages, plenty of rice, and carrots. Our hosts liked it. Kaiser, the nine month brown dog that took the cat’s whole head in his mouth as a sign of affection, got some of the leftovers.

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March 18. Kaiser of Cordoba.

I could work in a fancy café once again. I really have to get used to it. The idea is to write a certain amount of pages per kilometer so I can keep track of where on earth I will be when I finish certain chapters, stories, word-rows. A couple of hours went by with me peacefully striking the keys on my little white computer and producing some word-rows that are not relevant here.

We had icecream. We bought dinner in a supermarket. We had sausages, plenty of rice, and carrots. Our hosts liked it. Kaiser, the nine month brown dog that took the cat’s whole head in his mouth as a sign of affection, got some of the leftovers.

March 18. Kaiser of Cordoba. was originally published on Meandering home

March 18. Kaiser of Cordoba.

I could work in a fancy café once again. I really have to get used to it. The idea is to write a certain amount of pages per kilometer so I can keep track of where on earth I will be when I finish certain chapters, stories, word-rows. A couple of hours went by with me peacefully striking the keys on my little white computer and producing some word-rows that are not relevant here.

We had icecream. We bought dinner in a supermarket. We had sausages, plenty of rice, and carrots. Our hosts liked it. Kaiser, the nine month brown dog that took the cat’s whole head in his mouth as a sign of affection, got some of the leftovers.

March 18. Kaiser of Cordoba.

I could work in a fancy café once again. I really have to get used to it. The idea is to write a certain amount of pages per kilometer so I can keep track of where on earth I will be when I finish certain chapters, stories, word-rows. A couple of hours went by with me peacefully striking the keys on my little white computer and producing some word-rows that are not relevant here.

We had icecream. We bought dinner in a supermarket. We had sausages, plenty of rice, and carrots. Our hosts liked it. Kaiser, the nine month brown dog that took the cat’s whole head in his mouth as a sign of affection, got some of the leftovers.

March 17. Cordoba.

We woke up in Cordoba and started walking around under the hot sun. In this city we had the address of some couchsurfers so we called them we were coming and jumped on a crowded bus. After a twenty minute bus ride we arrived at their place, a small one-floor white casa with a garden around it. Meri and Viktor are so kind.
After arranging some things we went back to the center to enjoy the architecture and the atmosphere of Buenos Aires main rival. The only beggars we saw were sitting in front of the neogothic church. The two-million city was kept really clean; ‘t was a delight to sit down on the grass and share a small bottle of Carcasconne, inexpensive Mendozean wine. A small museum Meri showed us had an agreeable collection of modern Argentinian art on display; I remember a girl carrying a blue hare through a wood.

You’re reading the Original here. The raw version, the unabridged account of a trip that has yet to become bolder, to lift off as it were. You can copy this original; it is not protected. No-one will come and make the claim of intellectual ownership. No-one will sue you when you use these lines to suit any occasion. No-one will ask any questions. But believe me: there is no better way to protect the Original.

March 17. Cordoba.

We woke up in Cordoba and started walking around under the hot sun. In this city we had the address of some couchsurfers so we called them we were coming and jumped on a crowded bus. After a twenty minute bus ride we arrived at their place, a small one-floor white casa with a garden around it. Meri and Viktor are so kind.
After arranging some things we went back to the center to enjoy the architecture and the atmosphere of Buenos Aires main rival. The only beggars we saw were sitting in front of the neogothic church. The two-million city was kept really clean; ‘t was a delight to sit down on the grass and share a small bottle of Carcasconne, inexpensive Mendozean wine. A small museum Meri showed us had an agreeable collection of modern Argentinian art on display; I remember a girl carrying a blue hare through a wood.

You’re reading the Original here. The raw version, the unabridged account of a trip that has yet to become bolder, to lift off as it were. You can copy this original; it is not protected. No-one will come and make the claim of intellectual ownership. No-one will sue you when you use these lines to suit any occasion. No-one will ask any questions. But believe me: there is no better way to protect the Original.

March 17. Cordoba. was originally published on Meandering home

March 17. Cordoba.

We woke up in Cordoba and started walking around under the hot sun. In this city we had the address of some couchsurfers so we called them we were coming and jumped on a crowded bus. After a twenty minute bus ride we arrived at their place, a small one-floor white casa with a garden around it. Meri and Viktor are so kind.
After arranging some things we went back to the center to enjoy the architecture and the atmosphere of Buenos Aires main rival. The only beggars we saw were sitting in front of the neogothic church. The two-million city was kept really clean; ‘t was a delight to sit down on the grass and share a small bottle of Carcasconne, inexpensive Mendozean wine. A small museum Meri showed us had an agreeable collection of modern Argentinian art on display; I remember a girl carrying a blue hare through a wood.

You’re reading the Original here. The raw version, the unabridged account of a trip that has yet to become bolder, to lift off as it were. You can copy this original; it is not protected. No-one will come and make the claim of intellectual ownership. No-one will sue you when you use these lines to suit any occasion. No-one will ask any questions. But believe me: there is no better way to protect the Original.