Lost in the Bush

South America » Argentina » Río Negro
December 8th 2012

Published: December 8th 2012

Hello all!

GOOD GRACIOUS ME- What a crazy couple of days.

Last Saturday was my final day in Buenos Aires. On Friday Federico and I left the farm to head to Santa Teresita (the town in which Federico has his apartment) so that we could shower, have a nice dinner, and spend all of Saturday on the beach before I had to leave. It was a perfect day. On Saturday morning we had breakfast on a beautiful terrace overlooking the ocean and then spent the day lounging in the sun and recounting all our fond memories from this past month. After deciding that we had baked our skin for long enough, we went back to the apartment to sit on the balcony, drink matte, talk about life and future dreams, all the while watching the dusk engulf the sky. At that moment, the clouds were such beautiful assortments of pink and purple hues, all hovering above the aqua blue sea. I was so glad that this was the sight I would leave with, forever imprinted in my mind.

At 1:10 AM, I reluctantly got on the bus to head back to Retiro (hoping there would be no encounters with broken bottles). It was a tearful goodbye at the station. Being the thoughtful person that he is, Federico had remembered that earlier in my trip I mentioned that I didn’t have a Spanish-English dictionary, so he bought one for me to take with me. I was absolutely ecstatic and so thankful so have spent time here with someone so kind and considerate. It was much harder to leave than I had expected- I felt so connected to the farm and formed such beautiful relationships that I could have stayed forever. Twice now, in the span of 1 month, I have left people and places I care about to venture off into worlds unknown to me- but I remind myself that these are only temporary moments of separation. Distance is no match for heartfelt bonds between human beings.

The trip was actually fairly flawless up until getting off the plane in Bariloche. I was able to sleep on the bus, I had no problem directing the taxi to the airport, and I made it through customs without a hitch. On the plane I sat beside a curious couple, who looked about my age. I say curious because while they spoke to each other in English, the girl had a Spanish accent and her boyfriend sounded French. We ended up exchanging small talk, as one often does when sharing space with a stranger for a few hours, and it turns out that neither speaks the other’s first language. Thus, they converse in a shared second language. I thought this was such an interesting concept with many implications regarding their ability to express themselves effectively- an important aspect of any relationship. On top of this unique communicative situation- they live in separate countries! In spite of this they have been together for 6 years. Now that’s commitment.

When we arrived in Bariloche, on account of our newfound, short term friendship, we had agreed to share a taxi to the bus station. I was very thankful for this given that finding my way around is still an anxiety ridden task, not to mention that I am quickly running out of pesos. However! When we went to claim our luggage- guess whose knapsack was missing? Yep, mine. My clothes, my tent, my sleeping bag, thus the very key to my survival, did not appear on the rotating conveyor belt. Are you shocked? I can’t say that I was. But! Here is the twist- the only other person on the entire plane to be missing their bag was Chloe- the very girl I sat beside on the plane. What a crazy, almost impossible coincidence. It’s not that I would ever be happy for another person’s misfortune, but I can’t say that I didn’t feel some relief having another victim of airline carelessness with me. Chloe navigated us through the airport to find the counter where we would beg and plead for the quick arrival of our belongings. When I approached the desk, trying to mentally translate my sob story of having to sleep outside with no tent, I saw my bag!! It was snug in a corner behind the counter- just as atrociously large and awkwardly shaped as I had left it. Chloe, on the other hand, had no such luck. I felt immensely guilty having easily recovered my bag when hers was nowhere to be found. I tried to offer her a sweater or something from my bag, but she politely declined- insistent that her bag would be delivered promptly to her hotel. I hope she was right.

When we got to the bus station, we bought our tickets, gave our hugs goodbye, and wished each other luck on our travels. Something that I have truly enjoyed, and begun to cherish, on this trip are all the people I have met for no more than a few hours and yet have provided me the most help on my journey. Whether it be someone who gives me directions, allows me to use their phone, translates something into English, reassures me that my bus is delayed and not missing, or offers to share a taxi- this type of kindness and generosity is often over looked and taken for granted but should be appreciated the most. These people enter my life and then leave as quickly as they came-but without obligation to do so, they willingly lift such heavy burdens from my shoulders. I think of them as my five minute fairies. Life is made infinitely easier with people such as this- something to think about when encountering fretful strangers in need of help.

An emerging theme for me is to stick out like a sore thumb in public places. It had been mostly hot and sunny in Buenos Aires and considering that Rio Negro is a province located more to the south I had assumed that the weather would remain summery. This unfortunately was not the case. There I was, waiting outside the station for my bus on a cold, wet, and rainy day, shivering in shorts and a thin shirt. Sure I could have retrieved a sweater from my bag- but if you knew what it took to pack everything in there, you wouldn’t be inclined to start pulling things out either. The funniest part was the disapproving looks I got from elderly women walking by. I could just imagine what they must have muttered themselves about the state of today’s youth-preferring to freeze than to wear appropriate clothing. I probably would have thought the same thing. Feeling a tad self conscious, I spent a good 20 minutes trying to mentally prepare and perfect a response in Spanish to explain my situation, in case anyone were to ask. They didn’t.

The two hour bus ride to El Bolson was astounding. For a minute, I felt as though I was back home in Canada. There were gorgeous pine trees EVERYWHERE and walls of rock lining the road- it looked peculiarly similar to the roads I have travelled when driving North in Ontario. But the natural beauty of this place didn’t stop at the trees or the giant rocks- there are MOUNTAINS here, everywhere you look. Soaring, majestic, mountains capped in snow. I was in love. Driving down the road with these giant beings on either side felt like the bus was being sheltered and protected by an impenetrable fortress. I could just feel the raw and inhibited power of this environment- unconquered and untamed. Feeling small and inconsequential in their presence, I was able to envisage a time in the earth’s history before humans- when everything must have looked this pristine and untouched. I was surrounded by true beauty.

When I arrived to El Bolson I quickly squeezed myself, and my knapsack, into the tiny bus station bathroom to find some pants for my goosebump covered legs. I then went outside to call Paula and Mauro- the owners of my new home for this month. So, I called, they answered, spoke perfect English, came to pick me up, we arrived to the farm within 15 minutes, and then lived happily ever after.

I WISH.

While that is the ideal situation I had hoped for, it is not the one that actually occurred. What really happened was that when I called them, I heard a loud beep on the other end just before an automated voice told me that the number I was trying to call didn’t exist. In all honesty, I didn’t even panic. At this point in my trip there seems to be nothing that surprises me and the only reaction I had for my most recent predicament was laughter. Of course it doesn’t exist! I said to myself before letting out a huge sigh and heading back into the station to find some help. Again, it is times like this where I rely on those I don’t know the most. I went to the counter and asked the guy who was working if he spoke English (of course, I could try to converse in Spanish, but I have learned that my brain cannot seem to understand a word when subconsciously worried about other things- casual conversations are about all I can manage at this point- the nature of this conversation was anything but casual). No, he said, but he pointed to the girl standing beside me and indicated that she did. YOU DO?! THANK GOODNESS. I am still not sure exactly what the problem was, but when she called with her phone she had managed to get through. Paula, on the other end, tried to give me directions to repeat to a taxi driver, but being that the connection was full of static and that I was unfamiliar with the area, I really had no idea what she was saying. I asked the girl who lent me her phone if she might listen and translate for me- of course she was more than willing. It ended up that Paula would call the taxi service and had one sent to the station to pick me up.

So you would think from there, things would be fairly straightforward. I would get in the taxi, tell him where I was going, pay him, and presto! WWOOFing in no time. Not so. The farm did not seem to have an address- we only had its name, “Chochra Sagitoria”, to go on. I kid you not, I was in that taxi for an hour and a half before we finally found the farm. If you have ever driven around a campground looking for your site, you will have a faint idea of what this experience was like. Faint because although the woodsy terrain is similar, there were were no numbers on the gates to direct us, no map to guide the way- nothing. Every few minutes the driver would stop and radio in to ask if he was headed in the right direction, but the voice on the other end seemed to provide no help. We drove down curve after curve and used instinct when deciding which way to go at a fork in the road. Occasionally he would jump out of the car and stand at a gate trying to make dogs on the other side bark for their owner’s attention. I stayed in the car the whole time, but watching the driver ask if anyone knew where the farm was followed by a shake of the persons head and an apologetic expression was quite distressing. It was getting dark out, and pretty soon there would be no hope in finding our way. I began counting pesos and wondering if I would have enough to pay the fare and afford a hotel for the night. BUT, as has miraculously happened every time something goes wrong for me, we finally found it. We came to a narrow driveway and saw a woman walking towards us, waving her arm to beckon me out of the car. As is my habit when I feel a deep relief- I learned forward and gave the driver a big hug. Lucky, lucky me I thought.

And so I am here. Miles and miles away from my previous homestead, nestled in the middle of a beautiful native forest. Already I have done so much, and learned so much- but I will leave this lengthy blog here for now.

I have very limited internet access here- no wifi and a single computer that I can use a few times a week. My posts will be limited to the times I can make my way into town- but stay tuned! The adventure isn’t over just yet.

Lots of love,

Brooke.

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