The Genuine Journey Never Ends. Part I It was a heavy downpour at night when he finally reached the destination point and disembarked at the harbour. The city was build mainly of stone and its cold slippery walls and pavements were glimmering in a dim moonlight. The man, shrouded in his duster, went off the pier. Inside the old city, where meandering ways between buildings protect bypassers from the piercing wind from the ocean, the man sneaked into a cellar through a narrow doorway. The room, constituted an eatery, was gloomy, with a few broad wooden tables on an uneven creaky floor. The man sat at one of the tables with a couple of other visitors who have already been sitting there.