Of Rio de Janeiro, seen through the eyes of the Naughty

It was night when we arrived and I was tired.

Not so much as my drivers would have expected though.

Sure the jurney had been long, but they had given me so few possibilities to express my true power and speed as we ventured further and further south. 

Finally on this last part north I showed my worth and I believe I vanquished any fear my owners had that my age was an indication of weakness and frailty.

It was somewhat awkward to enter the final destination of this monumental journey at night.

The deserted streets swung by as I rolled on towards the refreshing ocean breeze of the seafront and a much deserved rest.

We stopped briefly one, then again, this time by some man who spoke of me and then we were off once again between the wide and small roads of this awesome capital, up and down hills until I was finally given shelter and some of my load was relieved. 

The next day we awoke early to go visit this beautiful city.

The sun was shining and the roads were packed with slim, yet round and beautiful looking Kombis, which smiled and winked as I sped by. I guess not many like me make it this far...

We drove to the most beautiful spots of the city, we overlooked the Ciudad Meravigliosa, climbed up to the Cristo Redentor, roamed the peaceful Lagoa and cuised down the cool palm-shaded length of Ipanema. 

I could see why this was the final stop of the jurney, the Omega. You should always leave the best for last and visiting anything after Rio de Janeiro would steal it of its beauty and make it pale by comparison. So in the setting sun, I head back to the parking space to rest for the night.

As I sat there, quieter and lighter than I had in almost a year the reality of what was happening dawned on me.

I had won, I had made it. Against all ods, against the belief of many and few, I had cross two continents, two tropics, the equator, 17 countries, and tens of thousands of miles to get here.

I thought back at all those miles, all those days, those nights when my travel companions would take refuge in me, when I carried them accross mountains, vulcanoes, deserts, salt planes and rivers to golden shores where they could be embraced by the suttle mists of slumber within my caring walls.

I thought of the surf boards which for so long would irritatingly pull on my roof when speeding along, of the stickers which I would display with pride, as a testimonial of my enduring jurney and of the love for experience and adventure that I shared with those who travelled with me.

I thought of the music, all those notes, all those words, all those songs which accompanied us from the first mile to the last corner and which I would sing along to with the growling of my roucous voice.

If the music we listen to is the soundtrack to our lives, then what a life this has been, with a score fit to match the adventures we had.

And finally I thought of the people who joined me in this adventure, of how man and machine can join into a perfect symbiotic harmony, of how creatures so different can feel so close and one of the same.

As I fell asleep I wondered why people believe that we do not have souls, yet treat us like friends and companions. For if a soul is something everlasting, immortal and eternal, then is it anything more than the unforgettable memory of our existance?