Welcome to The Wrong Map
Hi, folks. My name is Rodrigo and I am a traveller, but not just any traveller, not your classic InstaTraveller that rush trough 9 cities in 3 days and takes a hundred grinning selfies.
Slow Traveller ? Not even close. Let me just give you a glimpse. Last year I went to Tokyo for a 3 weeks trip before going to Bangkok. But the minute I arrived to Narita Airport I knew that I was going to stay longer. I ended up thrashin my ticket and staying in Tokyo for 9 months.
Back to the past – I always had this kind of curiosity for places and the necessity of pushing the limits of the maps in my brains. I remember walking my neighbourhood with the warm of the Sun in my face during Saturdays mornings just for the pleasure of discovering new houses, new streets and new scenarios that could trigger my imagination.
During the year 2011 I was living in my parent’s house in Argentina. I was going to the university during the week completely stoned and ingesting different types of drugs on the weekends. It was a dreaming period. I used to walk to the park with a couple of friends smoking a joint, lied down the trees and just fancy about some bright fun future somewhere far.
At the end of that crazy year 2011. After being forced to work in my father’s construction company for being too lazy at uni. And dealing with high levels of drug’s paranoia, with the money I had saved, I decided to buy a backpack and go north, cross the frontier, smoke weed under different trees, get up in the Machu Picchu and find my invitation to distant adventures.
After I came back from Machu Picchu I had my mind settle. I was going to travel. I had found in travelling unlimited fun, endless ways and a gigantic world to discover. Arrangements were easy. Dropped an unattended uni, worked for a few months to get some money and got a plane ticket to London and a train ticket to Brighton as final destination.
“We are all travellers”
I guess this is in my genes, my fucking DNA. My father had his period of traveller as well. He worked around Europe for a few years while I was in Argentina. As well, my father’s father was a traveller too. At the age of 22 he boarded a ship in Italy and left his devastated country looking for an economical bright future somewhere far.
Why do I travel ?
I travel to discover how people lives in different parts of the words. For the people and not for the monuments, or museums or food. I like to go to a bar with no queues for being famous, I rather the bar where the locals gather after a long day of work. I like to hear people stories and make them part of my stories as well. But this doesn’t mean I don’t go to any of the landmarks of the city, of course I visited the Eiffel Tower while in Paris but you know what was more interesting to visit ? The bar that Hemingway used to go, and talk with the bartender about drinks, and with the retired firefighter next to me that couldn’t stop talking about his intense past. I enjoy more talking with the livings than visiting the dead cold steel structures.