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Draga Marius,

Inutil sa spun ca plecarea mea din Oasis a fost mai mult uitandu-ma inapoi decat inainte. De data asta n-am mai avut nici vizite oficiale, nici ploaie, nici blocaje in trafic. Tre’ sa plec, asta e. Calatorului ii sade bine pe Doyle, atunci cand il cheama Mihai. Am baut din nou o cafea luuunga de tot si tot din nou cu greu ies pe poarta curtii asteia cu “a fost odata”, dupa imbratisarile de rigoare. Simon mi-a spus ceva foarte frumos la ureche, si la cat de mult mi-a placut, va trebui sa-l si ascult. Mi-a spus “Please be safe…”. Singura chestie care n-a fost la locul ei a fost o mica ratacire dupa o manevra prin care am crezut ca pot fenta traficul. Am esuat, si rezultatul a fost un ocol de vreo douazeci de kilometri. Ies mandru din capitala destinatiei mele si opresc sa fac poza de la intrare pe care n-am reusit s-o fac cand am venit, din cauza unor politisti care zoreau pe toata lumea. Acum e liniste. Ma dau jos si, pana sa scot aparatul, in spate mai trage un camion. Ptiu, ce bafta pe mine cu fotografia asta document. Asta-i tot ce-am reusit sa storc:

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Pana sa ma asez la drum mai am o mica dar foarte importanta chestie de facut, si anume sa tintuiesc indicatorul meu cu Petrila primit de la Ion pe un stalp, ceva. Si nu gasesc absolut nimic. E pustiu, niciun lemn, un beton, un panou, mai la strada. Mai merg vreo cativa kilometri, noroc ca spre nord, si astfel nu fentez calatorul ratacit care cauta Petrila. Gasesc o aglomeratie de Ovoo-uri si socot ca locul asta e numai bun. Nu prea imi merge mintea sa gasesc un sistem de prindere care sa si tina, pana imi aduc aminte ca am o intreaga armata de soricei d-aia de plastic intr-una din genti. E un moment isotric, asa ca trag mai multe pooze. Iata, de-acum stiu incotro trebuie sa apuc.

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N-o sa trec granita azi. Mi-am propus sa merg numai vreo doua sute de kilometri. Mongolia asta ma trage inapoi cu o forta de n-am pomenit. As mai sta vreo doua luni aici. O sa opresc la Darkhan (Ha, ce nume intunecat. Gata, stiu – F650GS Darkhan – asta e pseudonimul literaro-mongol al lui Doyle al meu), urmand ca maine sa trec granita inapoi la rusi si rusoaice. Iara sunt batut de ganduri d-alea triste, iara ma uit numai in spate prin singura oglina functionala pe care o mai am, aia din stanga. Observ ca Mongolia pe care o stiam, pe masura ce inaintez spre directia vama, incepe si ea sa dispara treptat, in urma. Parca nici iurte nu mai sunt asa de multe, iar Marcel ma bate pe umar timid, spunandu-mi ca numarul care ne indica altitudinea s-a micsorat brusc la trei cifre. Ma trezeste din melancolie un politist care deviaza circulatia pentru ca o masina s-a suit peste o motoreta, intr-un orasel. N-am vazut victime, dar nici prea bine nu mi-a prins.

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Darkhan. Mda, cool. Arata bine orasul, in sensul ca e cam nou asa, cu blocuri. Trag o tura de recunoastere si apoi intreb un copil de loc de dormit. Imi arata ceva peste camp si ma lamureste si cum sa ajung acolo. Am o camera cu un singur pat, in sfarsit, cu apa calda si ieftin. Ies la o plimbare pe strazi. Nu-mi prieste deloc. Sunt ingandurat si ca urmare cam fara chef de nimic. Trebuie sa fac cumva sa trec peste starea asta. Sunt rupt in doua. E dorul de casa, care n-am cum sa-ti zic cat de apasator e, si de partea cealalta e dorul de locul asta minunat din care nici n-am plecat inca. Merg cam fara tinta, drept pentru care decid sa ma intorc la hotel. Ma imprietenesc cu cele doua miniberi din minibar, bag un dus si trag plapuma peste ochi. Hai, macar juma’ de vis frumos, d-ala cu stepe, cai… stii tu.

Dimineata am cascat ochiu’ la opt, ca am pus telefonul sa sune. Azi vreau sa fiu harnic. Stiu ca granita la rusi in partea asta se trece cu asteptari si nervi de fonta, asa ca as vrea sa ajung acolo din timp. Mic dejun din oua, unt si dulceata cu trei felii de paine plus ceai si gata, sunt apt de scandal. Dar mai intai il iau pe Doyle din garajul aflat in spatele hotelului, unde l-am inghestuit printre niste cutii si o bicicleta cu o seara inainte. Yes, we’re rollin’.

Sunt cuprins din nou de starea aia de-mi vine sa trec in Rusia in marsarier. Ma uit in toate partile, numai la drum nu, doar asa, sa mai inregistrez pe retina cate o secunda tardiva din minunea asta de loc. Mai am vreo o suta de kilometri pana in vama, prin urmare opresc din cinci in cinci. Cativa zeci de metri de ocol off-road pe langa drumul la care se lucreaza imi aduc aminte ca decizia mea de a trece la mama Rusie e inteleapta. Ajung in ultima localitate inainte de vama si opresc, ca sa scap cumva de banii care mi-au mai ramas. Bag benzina, iau niste biscuiti facuti in Ucraina pe eticheta carora scrie si in romaneste si ma infig intr-un restaurant, desi nu mi-e foame. Incerc disperat, pentru ca nu mai am ghidul Lonely Planet care mai avea cate un meniu in el, sa comand o vaca. Nu avem. Berbec este? Este. Clar, asta si o salata. Ce salata nu stiu, alege tu. Asa bine ne-am inteles incat n-a venit decat salata si nota de plata, fara nicio cornuta. E bine si asa. Plec, baga-mi-as. Ies pe usa si ma uit la masa pe care o las goala. Pana si de asta mi-e dor, si ce naiba, ca nici n-am apucat sa ne cunoastem.

Mongolia dispare incet-incet de sub ochii si rotile mele. Imi dau seama ca sunt in alt loc dinainte sa trec granita. Nu mai am chef de nimic. Tai coada de masini si ma bag in fata, sa scap odata. Gasesc un ghiseu si dinauntru mi se face semn sa merg si mai in fata. Mai tai o coada, se deschide o poarta si sunt in prima jumatate a vamii. Dau sa scot cricul si vad ca Mongolia isi cere ultimul sacrificiu. Bucatica de metal pe care o agati cu calcaiul ca sa scoti cricul cade pe beton cu un clinchet foarte frumos. Cricul meu e acum un bat, care e o distractie pe cinste sa-l scoti cu calcaiul. Iau actele si intru inauntru. Nu e bine. Lipseste o hartie pe care trebuia s-o iau de undeva din spate. Intorc si ma lamuresc. Am hartia, si acum sunt plimbat de la un ghiseu la altul, dar cu zambete, e bine. Cand sa plec, hopaaaa., stop, stai la controlat mai baiatule. O dama incruntata vine la mine si zice sa deschid tot. Aaaahhh, de asta nu prea aveam chef. Deschid o gentuta de unde straluceste ca un soare sticla de coniac de la Paul, pentru seri fara stele. Normal ca e suspecta, da’ n-o dau. Ma intreaba ce e, dar mi-e nu stiu cum sa zic ca e “present” ca nu care cumva sa fiu inteles gresit. Hai, gata. Merci. Mai am o poarta inchisa, care se deschide dupa ce sunt invitat in alt birou sa completez niste acte. Trebuie sa multumesc cuiva si nenea asta e ultimul om din tara asta pe care-l vad, asa ca, poate impotriva regulamentului, cand sa-mi deschida ma dau jos si-i strang mana, spunandu-i ca tara asta de unde ma da el afara e foarte frumoasa.

Vama rusa. Trei ore. Ce dor mi-era. Am in fata cinci masini, dar e de ajuns sa ma tina atat. Ajung in frunte, dau actele, si o doamna e mai mult decat circumspecta. Baga pasaportul la ultraviolete, viza la fel, se uita cu lupa, iara ultraviolete, ma pune sa ma uit la ea, nu asa, cu barbia mai jos, mda, bine. La urmatorul ghiseu, unde trebuie sa declar daca transport vreo smecherie gasesc o don’soara care vorbeste engleza si ma ajuta enorm. Scap si de cautatul in bagaje prin care au trecut toate masinile din fata mea si sunt gata. Ajut prin stilul impins niste baieti cu o duba, care nu mai au baterie sa paraseasca vama. Da, spasiba Mongolia ca sa zic asa. Stai sa trag si un pipi pe teritoriu nou.

Drumul e frumos, dar paleste in comparatie cu ce las in urma. Trag tare, depasesc o suta la ora constant. La Ulan Ude ma opresc azi. Am niste coordonate GPS de la un hotel care cica ar fi ok, de la Lisa. Prima pauza o fac dupa o suta de kilometri, la un Café d-ala de pe vremuri, mai mult de dragul de-a bea o cafea adevarata. Descalec si dau fix peste Rusia pe care-am lasat-o in urma cu aproape trei saptamani, neschimbata. Ma intampina Volodea, muci, care-si si sarbatoreste ziua azi. Imi zice: “Today is my happy day!”. Ni se alatura si iubita lui – Ina, care nici ea nu-mi pare mai pe linia de plutire decat el. E ziua omului, bem ceva? Vad din nou gestul cu degetul pocnit peste gat. Volodea, la multi ani fericiti, dar sunt cu calul si ma omoara politia, nu-i frumos. Mai apare un domn, care insista si el ca ar trebui sa beau ceva. Are ochii mijiti, dar tot se distinge buna dispozitie in ei. Ne dialogam asa cum n-am mai facut-o de mult, Ina ma ia in brate, ma pupa, Doamne, ce dor le-a fost rusilor de mine. La multi aaaaaani, Volodea!!! Da’ plec, ca iara ma prinde noaptea orbecaind pe poteci.

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In mers distrug cateva suflete de tantari siberieni cu vizorul. Sincer nu-mi pare rau, oricat de baieti buni ar fi, pentru ca la urmatoarea oprire n-am putut sa scot casca din cap din cauza flamanzilor astora. Apune soarele, si incearca sa imite spectacolul mongolez. Apreciez intentia si opresc si eu sa impresionez captorul.

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Ulan Ude. Gasesc hotelul si-mi iau camaruta, din nou surpriza, cu un singur pat. Cand ies afara sa-mi iau bagajele il vad pe Doyle in costum de nunta. Niste copii l-au decorat cu baloane si cand m-au vazut ca ies au zbughit-o. Stati maaaa, ca nu va mananc. Se intorc si sunt foarte simpatici. Toti la costum, ca e chiar o nunta la restaurantul de langa, se suie pe Doyle, trag casca pe cap, si rad ca dementii, dar decid ca distractia s-a incheiat cand incep toti cu un insistent “money-money” catre mine. Ia uscheala, ba derbedeilor!

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Imi ia zece minute sa ma prind cum ajung in camera. Asta pentru ca am fost indus in eroare de receptionera. Mi-a aratat pe un bilet care mi-e camera, si desi scria 1210 mi-a spus ca “ten”. Si ia camera zece de unde nu-i. Nici urma de scari, ca zece banuiesc ca e undeva aproape. Iau liftul, urc la patru, ca la unu, doi si trei nu vrea, probabil din cauza ca se gandeste ca poti urca si tu pe scarile astea de nu le gasesc. Nu e nimic aici, si e bezna. Din nou la parter, dupa care cuplez ca e de fapt 1210, deci etajul doispe’. Ala e, m-am lamurit. Mai am vreme de o bere in oras la un barulet pe nume Safari. Cer berea si aleg din meniu un sandwich pe care mi-l inchipui cat toate zilele, o capetenie a feliilor de paine asezonate cu chestii, dar vine si ma sperie. E undeva pierdut prin farfurie, ceva mic de tot, o mostra. Bine, las ca iau un fel de placinta de la super-market si-o mananc in camera. Ajung la hotel. Trag cortina peste ziua de azi.

Mongolia, de maine esti ieri…

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M-am trezit la noua, desi as mai fi bagat pana la doispe’, daca era dupa mine. Primul lucru arunc un ochi pe geam. Doispe’ etaje mai jos Doylica inca doarme nestingherit. Asta e veste buna. Ma costumez si ies in cautarea unei cafele. Dupa ce in holul hotelului urmez niste indicatoare cu “restaurant” si “bar” si nimeresc intr-un loc in care se tinea o ceremonie budista, ajung tot la Safari unde mi se serveste un expreso d-ala cat un varf de lingurita, de mai bine bagam degetele in priza, ca acelasi rezultat il obtineam. Comand si o cola, dar din din nou vine doar nota de plata, stinghera. Ma intorc la hotel, bagaje si toate cele. Sunt pe drum. Ma indrept spre lacul Baikal. Merg doua sute de kilometri fara sa simt nimic. Acuma na, vin din locuri cu cireasa pe tort, asa ca civilizatia asta ma lasa cam rece, desi mi-a fost dor de ea.

Opresc doar la o Café cu tir-istii, vechi mei prieteni, unde din nou e show cand vreau sa comand ceva de mancare. Bun, deci gaina aia desenata nu o au decat in cantitati industriale, pentru ca mi se arata ditamai puiu’ invartindu-se la rotisor. Atunci vaca, aaaa, asta da, este, cu piure si o salata. Un sofer de tir vine la mine, misca umpic de Doyle si se cruceste cand simte cat de greu e, si dupa ce schimbam cateva vorbe din care fiecare a inteles ce-a vrut imi strange mana prietenos si-si vede de drum.

Pe harta ar trebui deja sa am lacul in dreapta, dar in realitate nimic. Merg, paduri peste paduri, munti peste munti, niste nori in fata care doar par neprietenosi, dar cand ajung sub ei vad ca nu sunt rau intentionati deloc. Iar drumul e pustiu. Nu ca in Mongolia, dar tot pustiu. Dintr-o data, dupa ce urc o rampa destul de lunga, in dreapta… aaaa… asta nu e lacul Baikal, e ditamai marea. E imens, pana la orizont, si frumos foc. Mi-e clar acum. Am de mers pe langa el vreo doua sute de kilometri, si n-as vrea sa-l las in urma fara sa impartim o noapte. Cort, in sfarsit. Numai ca nu stiu cum naiba de e tot timpul in dreapta mea intinderea asta de apa, dar nu se poate ajunge nicicum la ea. Toti astia doua sute de kilometri caut un loc sa fac dreapta, sa gasesc malul si nimic. Dupa ce trec de orasul cu nume dragut, adica Utulik, vad niste indicatoare cu distractie and stuff spre dreapta. Urmez un drumeag ingust si ajung la un complex de casute si alte smecherii, cu un teren de fotbal unde cred ca niste indivizi sunt in cantonament, ca prea dau in minge cu lehamite si prea au echipament pe ei. Imi deschide poarta un domn care, ca orice domn de aici, e si el muscat de sticla. Intreb daca se poate dormi acolo. Daaaaa, siiiiigur. Imi spune sa-l urmez si ajungem la o usa incuiata pe care e scris un numar de telefon. Ma intreaba daca nu pot eu sa sun la numarul ala. Ce sa-ti povestesc, dau si fax daca e musai. Ma gandesc ca semnele imi spun ca nu asta e locul. Daca n-a iesit din prima, daca n-a fost cu covor rosu si flori si fanfara, inseamna ca nu aici tre’ sa dorm, plus ca nici urma de lac. Ii spun omului ca plec si ii scutur putin universul. Incearca sa-mi zica sa ma duc nu stiu unde, tot in acelasi loc, ca acolo unde ma trimite el nu mai e usa incuiata. Lasa, te pup, ai grija de fotbalistii astia si spune-le ca Hagi nu sunt eu.

Din nou pe drum, inca cativa kilometri. Merg incet, pentru ca locul unde ma despart de lac se apropie, asa ca sunt atent la fiecare poteca spre drepta. O gasesc. Asta e, in doua sute de metri sunt pe malul lacului. Gasesc un loc cu vedere spre apa si pun cortul. Mai incolo mai sunt doua masini care ard gratare, deci nu sunt singur. Nu poate sa fie asa in fiecare seara, cand eu vreau sa dorm? Nu poate sa fie tot drumul meu pe malul unui lac, pana acasa?

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Comments

Comment from Adrian
Time September 12, 2009 at 5:31 pm

Drum bun spre casa!!!!!!

Comment from Rave
Time September 12, 2009 at 7:10 pm

Mihai, Mongolia tot acolo ramane, tu sa fii sanatos si asta sa fie doar prima ta calatorie acolo. Dupa cum ai zis, daca vrei ca adevarat, se poate. Cheer up si, intr-adevar, be safe!

Comment from ketty
Time September 12, 2009 at 7:43 pm

cel mai mare curaj …este ca ai vrut si ai ajuns…..intoarcerea….va fi doar amintire….sa te vedem sanatos la Petrila…..sa ne colinzi pe toti de CRACIUN….

Comment from Anonim
Time September 12, 2009 at 8:18 pm

Somn usor.

Comment from mama
Time September 12, 2009 at 9:04 pm

Somn usor pui

Comment from oliver
Time September 12, 2009 at 9:28 pm

drum bun , felicitari

Comment from Spirit Honda
Time September 12, 2009 at 9:57 pm

“Monglia, de maine esti ieri” – frumos spus, dar la fel de frumos poate fi spus ca in viitor va fi prezent. Cu siguranta te va mai chema, daca nu pe tine, cel putin pe noi astia de te-am urmat sufleteste si online.

Comment from meshi
Time September 13, 2009 at 4:04 pm

Thx de urare hombres. Lexic in Mexic sunt gainile astea desenate si vacile din salata. Of. Doamne ajuta!

Comment from ahonen
Time September 13, 2009 at 7:30 pm

Ti-am citit povestea pe nerasuflate. Zi de zi. De cand ai inceput-o mie mi s-a nascut un fiu si intre timp am reusit sa ajung la grund la MZ-ul pe care-l reconditionez si pe care l-am cumparat in iulie cu 3 milioane. Este extraordinar ce faci. Mai mult decat extraordinar. Tot ce-ti doresc acum este multa sanatate. Iar lu’ Doyle… asfalt uscat

Comment from andrei
Time September 13, 2009 at 7:46 pm

Pigeica, de-acu’ da-i a treia pana-n Que Pasa!

Comment from MSH
Time September 14, 2009 at 9:13 am

acum, ca ai trecut de jumatatea drumului, sa ai parte de aventuri cel putin la fel de interesante, peisaje cel putin la fel de frumoase si oameni cel putin la fel de primitori.
Drum bun in continuare
Sa-l mai cinstesti si pe Doyle din cand in cand cu o gura de ulei :)

Comment from Sabina
Time September 14, 2009 at 10:04 am

Cheer up :D !
“Mongolia de ieri” va fi parte din “Bucuria de maine”

Comment from Marius
Time September 14, 2009 at 10:20 am

multumesc

Comment from writeman
Time September 14, 2009 at 2:05 pm

sper ca in 2-3 ani vreun nebun de motociclist mongolez sa vada indicatorul ala spre Petrila si sa ne trezim cu un site romania.mn si cu o poveste mongoleza… asfalt uscat, domnule!

Comment from Dani
Time September 14, 2009 at 4:10 pm

Ca de obicei, jos palaria!

Comment from Makaveli
Time September 14, 2009 at 6:19 pm

bisss bisss

Comment from Melciu
Time September 14, 2009 at 11:38 pm

Mai Mihai, noi stim ca tu doar ai plecat la Sovata si trimiti poze pohotshopate. Eu doar stau si ma intreb cine iti trimite pozele astea frumoase sa le photoshopezi tu?!? Ca de povestitor te stiam deja. ;)

Comment from Petru
Time September 14, 2009 at 11:46 pm

Cum astept sa mai treaca niste zile sa mai citesc ceva frumos si sa ma uit la minunatiile pe care ni le trimiti! Si caut si eu motor enduro acum…

Petru

Comment from Guy_ana
Time September 15, 2009 at 1:30 pm

Mi-a luat doua zile sa termin de citit ce ai scris pina acum. Evident, a meritat. Nici nu-mi inchipuiam ca Mongolia poate fi asa frumoasa! Ma bucur pentru tine ca ai gasit in sfirsit ce ai visat, ca ai lasat in urma teama si ai invins. Nu te abandona insa nostalgiei inainte de a ajunge acasa! Calatoria nu s-a terminat nici pe departe, chiar daca ai schimbat sensul de mers: mai ai in fata un drum lung, care iti va aduce si mai multe lucruri frumoase, surprize si aventuri neinchipuite.

Comment from Radu
Time September 16, 2009 at 9:49 am

Drum bun in continuare ! Am citit posturile pe nerasuflate. TREBUIE SA SCRII O CARTE CAND TE INTORCI !! Cu tot cu poze in ea. O sa fiu primul care o sa o cumpar. Noroc bun.

Comment from ray
Time September 17, 2009 at 2:31 pm

De ieri, de cand colegii de gasca mi-au atras atentia asupra povestii (desi stiam de ea de cand a inceput…dar o uitasem, prins cu grijile cu emigratul), am avut productivitate zero la servici! Am citit tot si abia astept episodul urmator. Moni la fel… Drum bun… urare din UK :)

Comment from WALTER
Time September 18, 2009 at 11:51 am

Acum mi-am dat seama ca si eu am plecat in Siberia pe 9 iulie. Aproape ca tine. Apa din Baikal este declarata cea mai curata din lume. Banuiesc ca ai plecat mai departe… puteai bea apa din lac linistit. Este foarte buna si nu iti creeaza nici un fel de probleme. Din contra, cred ca face foarte bine :) Bafta in continuare!

Comment from mama
Time October 1, 2009 at 6:34 pm

Am recitit scrisoarea ta.

Comment from cristina
Time November 1, 2009 at 7:14 pm

ESTE
in PETRILA acum;nu stiu cand si cum, dar pana atunci, o sa asteptam cuminti, asta inseamna cu multa nerabdare,poza cu privitul in urma, sau inainte, spre Mongolia:adica, asteptam tablita cu MONGOLIA, asa cum ne-a spus tatal tau.

Comment from marius
Time December 1, 2009 at 5:28 pm

Traiesc de vreo 3 ani in Ulan-Ude – la vreo 10 metri de “Safari” (africanul) era un “Marco Polo” (orientalul !) unde ai fi mancat mult mai bine ! Am vazut de multe ori Baikalul – vara, iarna inghetat, toamna, primavara – fara cuvinte !!! Am fost de doua ori in timpul acesta si in Mongolia. Azi am citit pe HotNews despre tine si “excursia” ta. Atentie, prima data ti-am inspectat “Drumul” si de acolo intelesesem ca ai “pierdut-ocolit” Baikalul. Cred ca ar merita “minunea” asta sa o treci in traseul tau !!! Deocamdata doar am inceput sa citesc blogul, am trecut in revista fotografiile, sunt superbe ! Ma bucur ca sunt romani carora li se va deschide prin acest blog o fereastra spre aceste coltzuri superbe de lume !

Comment from marius
Time December 1, 2009 at 5:37 pm

Acum am remarcat ca mesajul de azi mi-era adresat si mie – “Draga Marius” ! Inca o “coincidenta” – azi e 1 decembrie, iar eu sunt din Alba Iulia. Fie ca Doamne-Doamne (invocat de tine intr-un post) sa te insoteasca pe drumuri si in continuare !

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