Saturday, April 23, 2011

On the road.

Traveling is truly and utterly amazing.

Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I am blinded. Sometimes I get trapped in the daily meat grinder of routine. Sometimes I lose myself to worry and stress. Sometimes I forget that life is more than making and spending money. Sometimes I become so comfortable in the comforts of society. Sometimes I forget.

Sometimes I need that push to break the silky web that binds me to the sedentary lifestyle. The silky web is both invisible, resilient and hypnotic. It casts a spell on me, makes my eye lids heavy, and numbs my senses. Its grip is terrifyingly powerful.

But when I do step out of the rhythmic monotonous churnings of society life blinking into the unknown, I embrace it like a long lost friend. When I wipe the sleepy routine from my eyes, I see beautiful opportunities that have always been there, but I have been too ambivalent to care. I love the challenges that life presents me; I love the opportunities for rapid and unpredictable growth; I love the characters I have the pleasure of sharing life’s moments with, each one with a story and a quirky personality; I love the kindness of strangers; I love the bizarre coincidences; I love the metaphors; I love the chance encounters; I love the spontaneous epiphanies.

Sometimes you go blackberry picking and come back with more than stained fingertips, scratched arms, dark fruit and a belly ache. Not many people know this, but the blackberry bush is tremendously magical. It pulls you into its vortex and demands that you play by its rules. It offers many lessons to learn and philosophies to ponder. It tempts and inspires. It teases and guides. It pricks and nourishes.

Sometimes you go to el Bolsón with a plan. Sometimes that plan is turned upside sideways. And sometimes it’s beautiful.

I left Bariloche a day late due to a sore throat and feverish chills. My bike felt foreign due to days of pedaling neglect while I was off climbing mountains. Not a lot of traffic that Wednesday on Route 40, fortunately. I took time to admire the backdrop of my unfolding movie-like life path. I passed the bluest lakes. I smiled at the rolling mountains. I bowed my head to the cloudless sky.


Before I knew it, 70-80 km were behind me and the sun was setting. My legs were complaining. My tummy was hungry. I would need to find a place to set up the tent. A few kilometers before arriving to the town of El Foyel I saw a little farmhouse. I’m not sure what pushed me to slow my bike to a stop and roll up to the gate. When I clapped my palms together to announce my arrival, curious woman with a kind face approached to calm the barking dogs. It was getting dark, I explained, and wondered if they had a place for me to pitch my tent. She led me and my bike to the apple grove and I set up camp next to the greenhouse. After clearing away fallen apples, yellow jackets and little pellets of sheep dung, I soon had my bike unloaded, my tent up, and a pot of hot polenta ready. That night I went to bed warm, with a full belly and with a smile on my lips.


The next morning I awoke to another beautiful sunny day. Before I took off, I shared some mate with Belén and her children: Lucy, 4 and Mario, 2. We chatted about farms, bikes, and country life. I am amazed the simplicity and kindness of strangers.


If life is complicated it’s only because we make it that way.

26 kilometers from el Bolsón, I crossed paths with two French cyclists, seven months into their journey. We shared a brief moment in time and then took off again in our different directions.


I arrived into el Bolsón on an artisan fair day. As I waited for a text message response from my friend, Vicky, I wandered the fair eyeing this or that handmade craft. A beautiful sunny hot day, rare for this time of year. I stopped to chat with Diego, the palm reader world traveler from Venezuela.

Life has mysterious workings and I am humbled by its magic. Sometimes you meet people and it doesn’t seem that the meeting is due only to chance. Diego, Hernan, Ezequiel and Viki let me sleep in a little cabin they had behind their house. We stayed up very late playing cards and chatting of various philosophies and celestial wonders.


The next day started slowly with mate rounds and sensational sunshine. It was late afternoon by the time I packed the bike and took off for Vicky’s house.

Vicky was a coworker at the restaurant where I worked this past winter. All winter long, she and I bonded over our shared sentiments concerning our bosses. She’s been after me all summer to visit her and I finally got around to taking her up on the offer.


To sum up the next few days that I spent with her, Sergio, and four French backpackers, I have one word: Amazing. Amazing amazing amazing.

Vicky and Sergio have a cute little cabin in the woods. In summer they run a campsite and refugio and offer home cooked foods and freshly-picked fruit smoothies. The place is incredible. There is such a peace about it. Whether you spend your time collecting blackberries, splitting firewood, hunting for mushrooms, sitting and thinking, cooking, eating, reading, or listening to the snap, crackle and pop of firewood erupting in flames, you, like many others, will find it very hard to leave.


I also ate a staggering amount of freshly handpicked peaches and apples. First class ticket on the belly ache express! Oooooooooo… but so worth it!

On top of the tranquility paradise of the actual place, Vicky and Sergio along with their four cats and two dogs, are amazingly open sweet friendly funny buena onda people you will ever meet. Period.

On the second night, Horacio, another restaurant coworker, showed up and we had a little winter work reunion over pasta with freshly picked pinetree mushrooms in a cream sauce and a few bottles of Malbec. Oh divine!


It was tough to leave, but it had to be done. If not, I would still be there. Really, it’s that great of a place.

Next stop was to Carol and Horacio’s treble clef tower home. The last time I visited these fiery two was around this time last year for autumn harvest. Their semi-independence from “the system” is admirable and dedication to art is inspiring. They cultivate the majority of their food and everything else is locally grown and produced. They dedicate hours to classical music and painting. They’ve taught me about astrology, numerology and edible plants. And they definitely have some electric stories to tell.

I spent two days with them. We picked red ripe tomatoes and huge curved squashes, ate delicious homemade super food, watched foreign films, and talked life philosophies.


Next stop was Yanina’s. I absolutely adore this girl. She lived with me in my apartment in kilometer 13 for a month. We got along great. Cooking, drinking wine, the occasional hike, and chatting chatting chatting. I was very excited to visit her.


But I got lost on the way to her house. It started raining. I’d been meaning to buy a decent rain jacket, but haven‘t gotten around to it. Imagine, if you will, a soaking wet cyclist hauling an overloaded bicycle on country dirt roads frantically flagging down cars and simultaneously stretching out a hand searching for a cell phone signal. There are some downfalls to biking, I’m discovering.

Yanina lives in a great little cabin on a farm somewhere between el Bolsón and el Hoyo. Farm district, I call it. She works all day at the hospital. You know what that means… I had the whole day to myself to dedicate exclusively to poking my nose around farms. Farms! Cute family farms! I can’t see how life can get any better than this. Really I can’t.

I was born and raised in the heart of New York City. And I think I’d probably still be there if it wasn’t for my parents wanting to give me a well-rounded upbringing. I got a chance that many New York City kids don’t often have. I was introduced to nature at an early age and have since kept the contact information in my address book. As a kid, I was fortunate to wander around barefoot in a grassy backyard, to put my hands to the Earth and accept its energy, to laugh with the wind as it gossiped through the sunburnt autumn leaves, to look Mother Nature in the eye and see divinity. And I carry those experiences with me. And recently I’ve found myself deliberately moving farther and farther from the city into the countryside. Away from cosmopolitan chaos. Into nature.

There is a richness, a simultaneous simplicity and complexity, a peace, an invigorating energy in country life. There is a beauty in working the soil, a satisfaction in producing life‘s necessities, a fundamental relationship to be forged between individual and universe.


I have a lot to learn about farm life, but I harbor a profound respect for farmers.

And on top of it all, locally grown produce is far superior to anything we would get in a conventional supermarket. Whether it be homemade cheese made from fresh farm milk or jams made from handpicked berries or the succulent smell of a recently plucked peach or the flakey crust of right-out-of-the-oven bread. Everything tastes better when it’s fresh, local and homemade.

And since I have an apparent obsession with good food, the farm is my haven.

The day I left el Bolsón was a bitter sweet blackberry and cardamom day. I knew I was leaving one of my favorite places on the planet Earth, one of the only places where I can see myself settling down on a cute farm, garden and farmyard animals and all. But I knew I had to leave. If I didn’t make myself leave, I would never leave. And I have a big trip to get on the road afterall!

Route 40 between Bariloche and el Bolsón runs through beautiful countryside, mountains, lakes, forests, canyons. It is also very hilly. On route to el Bolsón it was downhill. Returning to Bariloche… a lot of uphill. An eternity of uphill.

Day one of the return journey I wanted to get as many kilometers as I could behind me. That was my goal. I also wanted the dreaded Cañadon de la Mosca to be a nightmare of the past. It was around 4pm when I arrived to the Gendarmería control about 65 kilometers from el Bolsón. I stopped for mate and a chat with the guys. It was cold. Long pants and jacket cold. Numb toes and bright rosy cheeks cold.

The Cañadon de la Mosca is like my Everest of that bike trip. I dreaded it like an overstayed visa dreads passport control. It’s not that it’s super steep, but rather it’s a slow constant up… for many kilometers. The sun was tip toeing towards the horizon. I looked the Cañadon in the eyes, “It’s you and me now” My voice didn’t waver. The Cañadon stared right back. “Bring it” It challenged.

It was on.


The Cañadon showed no mercy. But I‘m not so easily discouraged. I knew that I had to get to the top before I would allow myself to stop for the night. And so I did. A few hours, many crackers, and a significant number of encouraging horn honks later, I made it to the top. Whew.

But the fun’s not over yet. Next came the challenge of finding a place to sleep.

I almost missed the turnoff for Lake Guillelmo. I saw the sign, slammed the breaks, turned around, and bounced down the gravel road. “No Camping” signs stared at me unblinking and unbelieving, but I paid no attention. I really didn’t have much choice. I was exhausted from 8 hours of biking and I had to spend the night somewhere. I never actually got to the lake. The Caña de Colihue forests were too thick and too impassable. I found an acceptable grassy area, set up the tent and set about making my polenta with dried mushrooms and wild quinoa.


I must admit I was a little uneasy that night. I was so very alone in an unknown secluded forest. Everything was a little spooky. The ever darkening light. The curious birds that kept peaking over at me. I had no cell phone service. No one knew where I was.

So I did what any mildly freaked out traveler alone in the middle of nowhere would do… I started talking to myself.

“I’m a little scared right now.” I began, Eat Pray Love style.

“But this is what you wanted, Alisa” A voice answered from deep inside me. “You wanted adventure. You wanted to travel alone. You wanted to be able to pitch your tent in the middle of nowhere. You wanted new experiences. Well, here you go. You have it all now. Then why are you not happy? Why are you scared? Why are you lonely? This is what you wanted.”

“I know. I know.” I answered hesitantly. “I know this is what I wanted, but it’s all so new. I’m not used to it yet.”

“Don’t worry.” I comforted myself. “Every new experience outside your comfort zone is difficult at first. It can be scary. It can be uncomfortable. But if you let the experience teach you, you will grow in new ways. And soon the unfathomable will become much more than doable. Enjoy this moment; let it push you. And most importantly be open to how it will change you.”

And that’s how I fell asleep that night. Dreaming of change and adventure. Huddled in my green “The North Face” brand safe haven. Alone. Very much alone. The trucks and four wheeled night travelers hurried by on Route 40 and I closed my eyes and listened to their lullaby.

It was very cold that night. The morning dew was frozen on my tent’s exterior when I ventured out into the emerging daylight and it took quite a while to heat up water for my oatmeal.

By eleven o’clock it was still quite chilly, but I was on the road inching my way to Bariloche. I wanted nothing more than to arrive. And that desire made the day seem eternally long.

But after only 45km (or 3 and a half hours) on the bike, I was arriving in Bariloche. I was passing familiar sights and smells and a ripple of excitement climbed up my body and erupted into a smile.

Matias was waiting for me when I showed up at his front door. It was good to be home.

So now I have yet another successful test trip behind me. You know what that means… I’m only mere steps away from the big big big trip. I still have a few things on my preparations shopping list, many sad goodbyes and gracious thankyous to distribute, and a weather forecast to stalk… but not much else stands between me and the open road. I’m guessing a few more days. Next Tuesday or Wednesday… whichever day has less wind blowing from the west… I’ll be heading toward Villa la Angostura.

And that makes me simultaneously very sad and very hopeful. Sad to be leaving. Hopeful knowing that this is what I am meant to do. This is my path. I know that because it’s what my heart says. I don’t want to postpone my goals. Life is for living. Now.

So I’ll leave you with a thought that could only be conceived in a hippied out town like el Bolsón.

The reason I’m here on Earth is to live this very moment. That is the meaning of life. That is my purpose. To have this very experience. To accept and love it. That’s it. That’s everything.

So live every moment, fully involve yourself in it, squeeze the juice out of it, and love it for exactly what it is.

2 comments:

Ed Gragert said...

Wow. I could feel each pedal effort with your description of the trip to and from El Bolson. I remember well taking that trip with you last year. Coming out of El Bolson, having my foot on the pedal, feeling that the slope of the road would grind us down, enjoying the breeze as it whistled down the mountainous and switch-back road terrain. I recall that sometimes I could barely hear your voice behind me, given the strenuousness of the journey...I recall the feeling when we came over the summit from the El Bolson valley.

Ah, the memories. And I'm sure they would even more etched in my brain if I had been on a bike instead of in a car with you!

Ed

Morgan said...

Great story !!!

Enjoy next step ;)

Morgan