If there's one thing most travelers can agree on, it's that there's no better plan than hitting the road to explore a new destination. Road tripping, in its simplest version: listening to loud music, being surrounded by good company, and indulging in delicious snacks scattered around the car. On trips like these, we yearn for time to stretch like an old piece of gum and push the destination on our maps kilometres away. Fortunately, there are routes like the Australian Great Ocean Road, where the journey is the destination itself. There's no specific place to reach; instead, you relish the various ones that unfold outside your window like a movie, until you stumble upon one that beckons you to stop for a while. 

My euphoria to know who I had matched with was about to burst out from my body as a birthday's boy balloon so, as soon as I reached the bookstore's corner, I opened it. My date was Ernest Hemingway, with his novel Across the River and Between the Trees (1950). The perfect opportunity to redeem myself after I stood him up a few years ago with A moveable Feast (1964), lost in a move. "You love me, you just don't know it yet," Hemingway once said. Can't wait to find it out, Ernest…

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I would like to warn the effects that the Amalfi Coast can generate on the human body. Carefully think about it before going because, once there, there is no turning back: what you'll see will take over your body and even alter your sleepiest sense. Having said that, I proceed with my narration.

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"That will be the title of the following section: If the guests knew. 

What things are they not aware that happen in the backstage of this hotel? (or dare I say in all of them, considering that this one at the top of the hospitality pyramid is no exception)"

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The same things you probably don't know either but I do, because I was the protagonist and I will reveal them. 

Rome is ROME in the traveler's collective imagination. The glass held high after years of fantasizing with a tasty pizza and a sip of wine on the sidewalk table with the red checkered tablecloth, a Vespa ride around the Colosseum or a walk among the most ancient and famous ruins in the world. 

The ones responsible for ingraining this Roma-ntic picture in our minds are Julius Caesar and Marcus Aurelius on the one hand and the Hollywood industry on the other. Because, who didn't travel from their couch with movies like Eat, Pray, Love or La Dolce Vita or ever teleported themselves in time with The Gladiator? After such hype built-up across the decades, stepping into this city is the traveler's ultimate goal.

There he was, standing right side of the girl with the long blonde braids and a serious and menacing look and of the furious Hulk. On top of the taped-up zebra, devouring it, trampling it like the rest of the poor, insignificant stickers around him. The “SANTO DIEGO”, as his red bold title said, posed with his cloak (also red) and his arms wide open towards the sky. The black halo on his head confirmed the obvious: he wasn't any ordinary man. In Naples, Diego Armando Maradona was a deity. 

I didn't have the slightest idea of where it was. Milagros please, remember, for Christ Sake!. My newly pierced ear is the first sign, it has a life of its own. Boom. Boom. Boom. Our car, the one I share with two other friends from less than a week ago.

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Passió regenerative food is an elevated gastronomic experience: not only for the 1,300 meters above sea level where it sits but also because of the unique merge between Alhaurín's farm owner Agustín Spina and chef Carlos Falcó. This results in an outstanding artisanal and macrobiotic menu with Guarani incidence. A delightful four- course dinner that has the cordobesian hills soaked in sunset light as a background, what else could you ask for?

I once read that cities are like blank spaces which we emotionally fill them according to the experiences we live with them. If that so, Melbourne with my brother filled my soul but even more my body. 

Is this really worth going through? What cost am I willing to pay for 365 more days? The closest I came to writing a journal about the days on the Australian farm.

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A strange dream in a typical Sunday morning became, after a couple of minutes, the worst dream of my year, just as that Sunday. 

"Do you have experience?"  "No", I answered: the ad specifically said it wasn't necessary. Without a word, she gave me a robe and pointed towards Emilia. "Once inside, just copy her". That phrase was my beauty therapist diploma. I was now ready to work.

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Christmas Eve was four days away and we were all breathing the nostalgia in the air. Being away from home on that date was hard, that's why we met for dinner and also why Agostina, the group's never show-up, came. Thank god. If there was someone who could break the end of the year's heavy atmosphere was her and the crazy stories she tells. This is one of those stories. It arose during the dessert after a few glasses of wine and ended up with lots and lots of laughs.

With my seatbelt on and the plane about to take off, I could finally understand why six months before I chose not to do it. Because throwing myself like a potato bag from an airplane at 4000 meters above sea level was going to be the biggest risk I took in my whole life. ​​​​