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The first time I set foot in that blessed land that is Peru, I expected to feel some magnetic vibrations, but it was much more than that. I had begun to take an interest in that rich country a little by chance and since then, its thought has become more and more recurrent, like an insistent message that fate kept sending me, in the spam of my conscience. Until one day, I bought that ticket to Peru for real and I started collecting pieces of stories about who, in one way or another had crossed that country. I then began drawing the traces of that itinerary, adding to each story a destination and then another and another and another. A thought began to paw through my mind: I wanted that journey to be mine and mine alone, I wanted to allow myself the luxury of not chasing the frenzy of tourist stops, to use that month that I would have dedicated to Peru to discover the most dusty corners of it, sure that among the dust I would have encountered heirlooms of inestimable value. My search finally took shape and took on ever more vivid colors, colors that I had not yet seen, seas, lakes, eyes, slopes, salty breezes. My path was illuminated with all that it would be. Ticket in hand and passport luckily expiring the next year, I was ready. Now the day of departure is so close that I can feel the adrenaline turn my body and in my bag the studied agenda of a journey I felt would change me forever. The first time I set foot in that blessed land that is Peru I expected to feel some magnetic vibrations. But it was much more than that. It tasted of dreaming, of unfulfilled expectations and of what could not be, because I will probably not see Perù, I will never follow that line drawn in pencil and I will never explore the unexplored, because my flight was cancelled just few weeks before my departure, due to a new evil that now terrorizes the world. The trip I had made to that land of mysteries happened, a thousand times, but only in my head.