It was cold in back of the police car. The seats were made of hard metal. I experienced an unescapable wave of claustrophobia provoked by the oppressive metal grates over the windows. And the handle-less doors didn’t help.
I became uneasy as I was carried further and further away from my Tioca, the first time in two months we had been separated. And I thought to myself disappointingly, Alisa, you really need to learn to keep your mouth shut.
The day had started innocently in the little store in San Carlos with my AMIGUIIIIIIIITOS.
I got a late start that day, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that beyond Tunuyán was Zapata, and there I would rely on the kindness and generosity of strangers and spend the night before moving on to Luján.
It was a sunny day on Route 40. And all was going according to plan when I arrived to the police checkpoint in Zapata. After a little persuading, the police officers promised me a place to sleep as soon as the bosses were gone. To pass the time, I drank mates and chatted with the gas station attendants across the highway. I listened to their stories and their dreams. I gave them a smile and an ear and some words of inspiration. They even let me shower. It had been a while since I had showered. I was very appreciative.
Around 7pm, the sun had gone down and I made my rounds around the little town. Clapping my hands to get attention and then asking for a place, any place, to throw my sleeping bag. No luck. I returned to the police officers. They gave me mate and a place by the fire. It had gotten really cold.
I hung out with Celeste, Diego, Daniel, Daniel, and Carlos. We exchanged stories. That’s when the debate started.
Now, I’m pretty laid back these days. My attitude leans towards the go-with-the-flow variety. I accept that everyone has his/her own path in life, myself included. I don’t live a conventional life, but I am very confident that I am living my life honestly, passionately, and with all the peace in my soul.
I don’t tell others how to live. And I don’t want others to tell me how to live. I have very little tolerance for people who chose to judge, criticize, insult my life and my life’s choices. And there is nothing I despise more than when people take out their own insecurities on others. I don’t care if they are a truck driver, a super market attendant, a PhD recipient, or a police officer. I get pretty fired up.
And that’s how I ended up gathering my things, loading them in the trunk, and sliding into the back of a police car. Fuming, but knowing that it was my decision to have argued with a police officer.
I ended up in Celeste’s apartment in downtown Tunuyán.
Celeste is a police officer who is also a backpacker. Don’t know why that combination strikes me as weird. But it does. She’s also the only female police officer in the area who is certified to drive the super badass police BMW motorcycles. And she opened up her apartment to a complete stranger. In my notebook, she's a pretty cool girl.
The next day I took control of her kitchen. Can you believe that she had never eaten broccoli?? Neither had her friend. I made them fans.
Then we loaded up everything into the car and drove all the way to Mendoza. I could have biked, but for various reasons I decided not to. I landed in Luz and Pablo’s apartment.
And here I am, still in Mendoza, almost a week later. I’m finding it very difficult to leave. I honestly don’t like Mendoza. I don’t really like the aggression. I don’t like the city itself. But there are a few pockets of very good people. The artesanos in the plaza, who teach me and share smiles. The couch surfers with their asados, dama juanas, and dancing until 6am.
Luz and Pablo, who took me bike riding through the park, let me wash my clothes, and allowed me crash with them in their apartment.
But I find myself deep in thought.
I find these days that life is making a whole lot of sense. I have figured out a lot of things. I’m centered. I’m at ease. I’m happy. Amazing that it takes a crazy wandering trip on bicycle to help me get things straight.
Perhaps there are people who don’t need this kind of trip to find answers to life’s questions. Perhaps they are born with this understanding. Perhaps they find it in their kitchen cabinet hiding behind the sugar. Perhaps they don’t even have to look for it. But I’m not sure I envy them.
Sometimes you have to go out and look for your truth. Sometimes you fall. But in order to pick yourself up, you HAVE to fall. And sometimes you end up having an amazing adventure.
When I set off from Bariloche, I had some pesky nagging questions in my head. I wasn’t fully at peace. I knew that I had to dust off my traveling shoes and say goodbye to my home and my friends to find those answers and that peace. I knew it would be difficult, but I knew that it was necessary. And it was. It truly was. I have found what I was looking for.
My objective was never a physical, geographical destination. I always threw out “Jujuy” for those people who needed that kind of concrete answer. I didn’t set out to cover the most ground, to do it the fastest, or to prove anything. I set out because I knew it had to be done. That it was my path. And that, tough as it is, it would all make sense to me at some undetermined place and time.
And here I am, two months into my journey, with a smile and radiating pure peace. I have achieved my goal.
So what does that mean? Is the trip over? Really? I mean, if I have achieved my objective for this trip, then it means it's over, right? Otherwise I'd just be traveling without my heart and soul. If this is all true, if this trip is over... What now?
All good questions. I have some thinking/reflecting/pondering to do.
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