I don't think I can possibly describe how amazing it is to be back on the road. All I can do is beam my brightest smile and hope that its radiance reaches you. Perhaps the subtle vibrations on the Earth’s surface inspired by my frantic leaping in joy, will cause you to pause in reflective wonder at the universe’s magic. Maybe even my best wishes will be carried to you by a ripple chain reaction of good deeds originating from me and hopefully not ending with you. Anyway, I hope I got the point across. I’m in a good mood.
You may be surprised to find out that I have left Zapala. After about a month of building friendships and sharing moments, I have said great-bye and all-the-best to countless of amazing people. People who opened their hearts and homes to me. I am forever grateful.
But I can’t say that it was hard to say goodbye, I am very much overjoyed to be back on the road. Because of the ash-situation in Zapala, I hitchhed a ride with firecracker Marianoli. It’s not that I’m paranoid of inhaling ashes, it’s just that I’d prefer not to. So I rode the 53 km to Las Lajas in luxury. Hearing about the history of the land whizzing past my window and sharing my stories.
In Las Lajas, I had a contact. A friend of a friend. Which is more or less the way I roll these days. Carlitos lives at the crossroads in a little ski equipment rental cabin. The cabin was electricity-less and wood-stove heated. The way I like it. The cabin was tidy and had a jaw-dropping view of the snow topped Andes.
After three nights and two days making myself at home in the small everyone-knows-everyone-else town, going on short bike rides and long walks, and eating hand made morcilla-filling with my fingers… I was ready to leave. I packed up Tioca for the first time in over a month, said goodbye, and left.
The day was cool, cloudy and perfect. The road was exactly what the witchdoctor ordered. My body needed the exercise, my mind needed the open landscape, and my heart needed a reason to beat. The wind was everywhere, inconsistent, irrational and confused. The rolling hills hypnotized me as I smiled in content consent.
That night found me seated by a humble fire on the dirt floor of a humbler shelter, up a sandy dirt road, off of Route 40. It was cold. Much like the first impressions around here. Country folks always keep you at a distance at first. They need to figure you out. They offer you mate, torta frita, and a place by the fire. Slowly you warm up to them with your questions, your answers, and your smile. Then they warm up to you, like the heat of the fire sneaking up to your skin. Or like the sweet mate they hand you, warming your belly.
The elderly couple and their son let me sleep on their kitchen floor. A highly prized place to sleep. At least I had four walls and a roof. The cold air slithered in through the gaping holes, but at least I wasn’t outside. It gets cold, very cold, these days. The house was modest. No heating, no running water, no electricity, and one kerosene lamp. I had a fractioned carcass and a calendar honoring a religious saint as wall decorations. I was so grateful for this humble family to offer me everything. It’s amazing how those who have few material possessions, offer you everything they have.
The next morning, there was movement before the sun was even up. I blinked the sleepies out of my eyes and joined the mate round heading clockwise around the small crackling fire. The goats were bahbah-ing and head butting. The chickens were squawking. And, yes, the rooster cockle-doodle-dooed early early early in the morning. As I packed my bike, Consuelo handed me a bag of torta fritas for the journey. I thanked them with some chocolates, but they felt so insignificantly small compared to the hospitality I had received. They offered for me to stay another night. I thanked them for everything, but the trip must go on!
That day was a long day. Well... not really, but it felt like it. I knew I had to get to Chorriaca because, well, winter’s breath is painfully cold. I didn't necessarily like that obligation. The sky was cloudy. The flat arid landscape bored me. My body was tired. My legs didn’t want to go any farther. I saw the town from afar… but no matter how much I pedaled, it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. I tried singing to pass the time. Then ate a few torta fritas. Then talked a bit to myself. I rested plenty. And, of course, I lost myself in my thoughts.
I arrived via bumpy dirt road to the heart of the small town. Not only was it a Sunday, but also Fathers’ Day. I wasn’t expecting anything to be open. When I saw an open door, I jumped off the bike. I walked up and asked politely for hot water. I fielded the typical curious questions, my origin, my destination, my age, and wasn’t I scared to travel by myself? And, in turn, I asked them mine: did they know of any roof to sleep under? They glanced at each other nervously. No one wanting to be the first to jump to help this strange stranger from a strange place. Can you blame them?
Someone mentioned that the salón had a mattress, so I walked to the house, explained my story, and was given permission to spend the night. Success!
Fabiola, the radio woman, invited me over to the radio studio for mates. I am not one to turn down an opportunity to share mates and meet new people. I served mates while Guillermina talked on air.
I was wary at first by her religiousness; I didn‘t really want to have the god-talk with her. I have learned to try to dodge questions about my faith because I find it too difficult to explain. In any language. I believe what I believe. And I hope it is reflected in how I live. I don’t like to have to explain myself and I really don‘t like when people are condescending, pitying, or preachy.
Luckily that topic wasn’t touched. Her story, however, was inspiring. I listened intently, absorbing this woman’s strength through her words. I won’t related the whole thing here, but the moral of the story is:
1. Be a good person
2. Forgive and accept others
3. Never give up; there is always a solution even if you have to struggle for it.
That night I slept curled up near the smoky warmth of a wood-burning stove. Dreaming of far away lands and savoring the memories of far away friends.
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