LA VUELTA AL MUNDO EN MOTO

Today is an important day for me, for Super Supernova, and for the Soy Tribu project. I love how the toe warmers activate. Yesterday they saved me, and today they'll save me too. Although it's a better day, the sun is out, and the wind chill, according to the internet, is minus five degrees, but on the bike, I assure you it's minus ten. It's already warming up. I'll leave it there and now put on the second layer, that is, another wool sock. And I said it's an important day because today is when I finally enter Alaska for good. A day I've been waiting for for quite some time. I've often imagined today, the day I enter the region that will end my journey through America. And I'm filled with a kind of happy sadness or happy sadness. It makes me very happy to be done, and at the same time, well, like every important cycle in life, it's stirring. So we're off to Alaska. Let's go! And I'm going to tell you something that happened to me. It turns out I drank water, like many mornings I do, from my Camelbak, and I hadn't noticed these: bear spray stains. I'd seen them before and thought, "Well, it must be superficial; I don't think it got through." And I took a sip, and my throat started to itch. Oh, I dropped my camera! My throat started to itch, and it did get through. I drank bear spray. Wow! I don't recommend it. And although I didn't manage to see any bears or any of these mysterious creatures... The day of arriving in Alaska begins, with more layers than an onion, but well wrapped up. I think I'll be less cold today than yesterday. Let's go! Wait! I have to plug in Mosko's jacket. We'll turn it on here and warm up. We'll have to go this way. Let's go! Look where I am, huh? What a lake. I don't know if you can see the waves on the lake. I almost lost the drone while filming because the wind is so strong up there in the sky. I was filming the mountains and had never even reached one percent of battery. The drone in sport mode was going 15 kilometers per hour with the wind. Anyway, last day in the Yukon and on to Alaska, mate. They used to ship Alaskan cod to China. They kept them in tanks on the boat, but by the time they got there, the meat was white and tasteless. So some guy had the idea of ​​putting some catfish in the tanks to keep the cod lively and tasty. I think I just spotted an Indian burial ground. Some people are catfish in life, and they keep you on your toes, make you question, make you think, so you stay fresh. Right here, right next to the highway. What a beautiful place! Catfish are very necessary, because without someone keeping you awake, we would be boring, dull, insipid, and no, I don't think it's a coincidence that the day I crossed into Alaska I came across a large specimen, one of those that, even after death, continues to stimulate your existence. Here lies Douglas Richard Twiss, a man from the Tutchone tribe, one of the so-called First Nations of Canada. The first nations to populate these territories. And I'm going to share with you one of the things Douglas used to say in life, which is written here on his epitaph. Douglas said: "Follow your dreams, be a good person, and don't forget to be grateful and cherish every day of your life." That's what we're working on, Douglas, that's what we're working on. Rest in peace, friend. Living to the fullest is the least I can do for myself. Well, as a Muisca grandmother told me: "Something that time doesn't forgive is what isn't done in time." We're getting closer, we're getting closer. And how do I know this? Why do I know I'm approaching Alaska? Because if there were mountains before, now there are very high and snowy mountains everywhere I look. They're massive; this entire mountain system is known as the Rocky Mountains, and it runs through practically the entire western United States and Canada. And if we stretch that a bit, we could say they're a continuation of the Andes. If you look at the relief map, you'll see that all of America continues like a kind of vertebra. In fact, it's funny because I once interviewed someone in Colombia who told me that an old man told him that the reason there's so much violence in Colombia is because of the Panama Canal. Because grandparents conceive of America as one, and having been cut off, they consider the energy to be there, as if colliding. That's why Colombia is such a lively, passionate land. According to grandparents, it's because, like a seawall, the energy of America's spine isn't passing upward. Who knows? My goodness, the landscapes on planet Earth! Well, you should know that before the last gas station in Canada called Beaver Creek, there are many stretches of gravel, but they're not much. It appears and disappears, just like here. Like people appear and disappear in our lives, clouds in the sky, or reasons to oscillate between war and peace. God! When the sun disappears, the sensation of cold increases exponentially. Arriving in Beaver Creek through the mist. It's doing everything on this trip, eh? Oh, how cold! We've dropped to two degrees. And this is a wet mist. How cold it is! What hot chocolate I'm going to drink! Let's see, I have to find something here. Rooms, gasoline, diesel. Look, it looks like it's going to be there. It's straight out of the movies, huh! This place is closed. Really closed! If there's no gas around here, I'll have problems. Let's see if there's more up ahead. But further ahead, I'd find the same bleak landscape. Well, Beaver Creek, although it's very busy during the high season, is practically a ghost town at this time of year. It's also closed. Well, I hope it's that one over there. Let's go to the third gas station because, my goodness. Let's hope there's some here. "Fast gas," there's going to be some here. Third time's the charm, thank goodness. Let's go! It's so cold! "I bet you must be cold." "Excuse me? " "You must be cold!" "Oh, it's cold, man. You must appreciate being warm in the car. I hope you appreciate it. Because it's important to appreciate the simple, because the simple is the last refuge of the complex." —You should leave soon, before it gets dark, because the animals come out. —Okay, but why can't I pay? —No, it's fine like this. —Is it because I'm doing something hard and difficult? Thank you very much, Betty. —Goodbye! —Goodbye! What a woman! She saw me so cold that she wouldn't let me pay for either the hot chocolate or the soup. She said to me: "Have you lost your mind riding a motorcycle at this time of year?" And I said: "Yes, that's how it is." But look, people treat you to hot chocolate and soup as a reward. We're going to the border. Well, this right here in front of you is the Canadian border; the US border is thirty kilometers away. So, as we've been doing in each of the countries, we leave on one side first and enter the other later. What I don't know is if I have to say anything here. Do I have to say I'm leaving or not? I don't know. We're going in to ask. Shoot. They have a bear inside the official border building. Oh, not two. And another one over here. Ah, four. Five. I don't know if I need to say something to anyone. Excuse me, do you know if going toward the United States I have to stop here or just keep going? There's another checkpoint up ahead. Yes, the American one, but do I have to say anything here? I'm not sure... The man seems very busy. Sir! Yes? Hello! I'm very busy, wait. Sorry, yes. It's just a question. Do I have to do anything here? I'm going to the American side. I stopped here on the motorcycle, but I don't know if... Did anyone stop you? No, no, I mean, do I need to show my passport here going to the American side? If someone asks you to show something, then you're in the right place. If not, then you continue. Can I go on then? Yes, of course. Very well, thank you very much. He said, "Did anyone stop you?" Well, no, but it can't hurt to ask, can it? They say asking is the way to Rome. But Rome wasn't my destiny. My destiny is called Alaska, and I was about to crown it. And at the end of the road, I thought, if the ceremony is life, we are the altar. Well... I think this means what it means. Welcome to Alaska! Welcome to Alaska! Family, we've arrived in Alaska. We're here! Look, look, look! Let's go! After seven years of traveling, I had arrived in Alaska. And everything, absolutely everything, happened perfectly so that at that very moment, what was destined to happen would happen once again. "Enjoying your movie?" "Sorry, what?" "Are you making a movie?" "Are you enjoying making it? " "Oh, but be part of my movie, don't worry. " "Yes!" "It's a moment to share! " "Oh, yes, yes." "Are you from Alaska or Canada? " "No, from Canada, from Beaver Creek." "Oh!" " Yes, and you?" "I'm from Spain. " "Where from?" "Spain. " "Spain?" "But I've been traveling from Chile to here. " "Oh, really? That's an incredible trip!" "Thank you, thank you. " "Oh, yes, you made it to Alaska!" And since I had made it, I wouldn't waste the opportunity that came with the journey. —Okay, then, I'm Agustín, and let me explain what I've been doing these past seven years. During my motorcycle trip, I've been visiting Indigenous communities all over the Americas. —Oh, really? —And I feel and believe that you are Indigenous, right? —Yes, we are. —What's the situation with Indigenous people in Canada and Alaska? In this part of the world. —Most of us are on our healing journey because many of us attended residential schools. The Canadian Indigenous Residential School system was a network of boarding schools run by various Christian churches that forcibly removed Indigenous children from their families in order to assimilate them into the dominant Euro-Canadian culture, or as they said, kill the Indian to save the child. —She's my sister, I'm her brother. They sat us across the table from her. I was never to acknowledge her. I was never to speak to her. She didn't exist. Because if I spoke or she acknowledged me... They'd beat us. —A lot of physical, verbal, and emotional abuse happened there. It was like a prison, and you couldn't speak your language. You couldn't talk to your siblings, play, or do anything. What was the purpose? To kill the Indian in us. They wanted to get rid of the inner Indian in Native people. The way we lived on our land... They didn't like that, I guess. I guess they wanted us to be like them. They were trying to turn us into white people, which didn't work anyway because we're still struggling. The boarding schools operated from 1831 to 1997, and the two people I had just met had been victims of it. Our parents and grandparents were all demons. We were trying to figure out what they meant, and they said, "Because you speak a different language," while they're reading in church in Latin. Weren't they demons, too? "You're a little boy!" "You don't even know what they're talking about!" I was tired of crying, screaming, and yelling, begging for mercy. "Learn English!" "What is English?" "What we're speaking, understand how we say it." "You can't speak your language anymore." "Well, that's all I know! It didn't take much, and I learned. And to this day, they say to me, 'How come you don't speak your language?' Because that... That fear, and that punishment, and all that trauma I went through is still in my head. If I speak my language, someone could do something to me. And that's how it is. I keep my mouth shut because of that. Over the course of more than 160 years, some 150,000 children were placed in residential schools. In 2015, the Canadian Truth Commission called it cultural genocide, as these schools caused significant harm to Indigenous children, not only by separating them from their families and taking away their culture, but also through malnutrition, disease, and constant physical and sexual abuse. Yes, we lost a lot of friends in school because many of them committed suicide; they didn't find treatment. They had nowhere else to turn, no one to see. We still have a lot of pain, but we live with it because we can't change it. It happened, and that's it . The number of school-related deaths remains unknown, But judging by the number of mass graves found across the country, it's estimated there were around 30,000, which made even Pope Francis publicly apologize for the barbarity. —It was all a mistake, they made a terrible mistake, and they're finally starting to admit it. They made the Pope apologize to us. All those priests apologized... They weren't even here when the residential schools happened. So it's no good to me. I want the deceased Popes, the deceased priests, everyone who was there, the nuns and all the brothers to come to me face to face and say, "We're sorry for what we did." You know, they turn around, give us a lot of money, but they can't give us our lives back. It will never make up for it. It will never leave my mind. I was sober for years, but then I relapsed because most of my culture was taken away from me. Most of the time, that's my painkiller. Try to imagine it in your head. There's a village full of little wild Indians playing and laughing, and suddenly they're all taken away. And your parents and grandparents sit there. How do they feel? Suddenly, there's just silence. There are no more children. What did our parents and grandparents do? They turned to alcohol to console their feelings. That's what's been going on for generations after generations. It helps us kill the pain. It's like you have a bad headache. What do you take? Aspirin. So what happened to the residential schools? All those rapes and beatings... We turn to alcohol to kill the pain. There's nothing we can do about it. Nothing! Not even a trillion billion dollars can ever buy back what we lost. In America, there's a lot of trauma—the trauma of being conquered— that lasts for generations, and they try to adapt to a system that's been forced upon them. I think my younger sister notices that I only hug her with one arm. I can't do it with both. Yet every once in a while, she always says to me, "I love you, brother." I'm trying to figure out what love is to her. What is she talking about? I would mumble back, "I love you." That's it. They're just words. "I love you," they're just words. For us, that's how we learned it. We didn't learn what love was in school. Over these seven years, I've visited many Indigenous communities, and one of the things that has amazed me most about them has been their concept of wealth, which isn't necessarily economic. Everything is connected to us. Mother Nature doesn't reach out and say, "Oh, you owe me $3,000 for this moose." Mother Nature asks us to respect her and the land. And to leave it as it is. Without destroying it. You can see their wealth in their altars, you can see it in what they weave, in what they paint, in what they sculpt, in what they play, and in what they speak. To let all nations come together, be one, and be united. Without trying to destroy each other, because we were put here for a purpose. We were put here as caretakers of this land. I don't own this land here! I don't own Canada! I don't own Alaska! I was put here to take care of it and leave it as it is for the next generation. That's also what they do, because there's great beauty in defending the territory, in trying to coexist, not just live. Because they're quite aware that there's a codependency, that in some way we're all intertwined, and for us to continue to exist, many others must continue to exist as well. —A lot of other people think, "Oh, we conquered this land! "It's ours!" I want them to come to me, sit at a table, take this rock and put another rock next to it, and once they do exactly the same thing, then they can say, "I own this rock." But they can't. We don't own this land! We don't own anything! —What's the biggest challenge? —Trying to be Native, the Indians that we are. It's the white man's time. —It takes a long time, but I think it's here and now where we might appreciate who we are and be proud that we are Native. To relearn. Go hunting, try to get our moose. So we're trying to get back to our heritage. Douglas's grave is proof of that; all the elements are represented. So, on this occasion, with the permission of Douglas and the Native people of this land, I will say that, for me, the Native communities of America deserve my utmost and absolute respect. I wanted to tell you that I was feeling a little sad because I was leaving Canada without having the opportunity to talk to the elders, to the First Nations. Oh, really? And I was asking and asking... "Please let me meet someone in the middle of the road." And then this happened, as it has been happening for the last seven years. Oh, amen. At the place of the "Welcome to Alaska" sign. Yes. I ran into you at the exact right moment, as if we were having a meeting or something. Yes, that's right. Yes. It was meant to be. Yes. Now that you're drinking whiskey... I made a promise to a friend. Give me a second. I have something here... —"I made a promise." —Then a friend of mine said, "When you get to Alaska, open this beer." —Yeah. —I think the time is right. —Oh, the time is right. —We're officially in Alaska. —Alaska! —Cheers! To you! —Well, you can have a shot of this. —Why not? —Want some beer? —I've never had it. —That seems like a different kind of beer. —Yeah, it's gluten-free. —Oh, gluten-free! —It's beer for sissies, I'm sorry. —This is for your healing process. Cheers to that. —Yeah! —And I hope the American policeman at the border doesn't stop me for... ...having whiskey breath. They should understand that I've been riding 80,000 miles... They should understand that I'm having a shot with my friends here. —Yeah, with the First Nations! —Cheers! To the First Nations! —Cheers! —Yeah! —Oh, yeah! —I don't know if you're that old... You don't look that old. —34. —Oh, still young. —My God, is that all? —That's it, man. But it's not the number of years but how you live them. —Yes, it's how you live your life. And one of the best ways I've found, whether you're a catfish or a cod, is that of forgiveness. —I'm from Spain. And although I'm not responsible for what previous generations did to you... —Oh, yeah. —During those seven years of traveling in America, I've been seeing the consequences of what was done, and although I shouldn't feel responsible for that, what I can do is try to do something to fix those consequences or make things a little better, and for that, I'm deeply sorry for what happened, especially recently here in Canada. —Yes. —I know this is still happening in other places, maybe in a different way, but it still happens. And one of the reasons I'm doing this project is to make people aware of the value we should give you. —It's a lot of struggles, but we have to do it, you know. Life is hard, but you have to be tough too, you know, in your life too. —Yeah. —To make it... We've come a long way, but we're still here. We're here! —WE'RE HERE! THANK YOU! WE MADE IT ! —WE DID IT! —Nice to meet you. —Nice to meet you. I'm going to need you to push a little because I put the bike here for the photo. —Okay... One, two, three. Let's go! There we go. Okay, we got it, we got it. —Well, it was nice meeting you. Bye! Bye, bye! Wow! Well, I think we just confirmed that God and the Great Spirit exist because this has been incredible. I finally got to talk to the First Nations, and off camera, the man burst into tears, telling me how he was raped as a child while being told that God was punishing him. But hey, I can't cry now, as I'm entering the United States. —Hello, hello! If it's true that this was a mission, I consider it accomplished. In honor and memory of all Native peoples.