The Sound of Silence

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Where does one go to rinse off the slime that constantly oozes from the sky? Where do you go to sit in the dirt, smell the thick sweet smell of grass and let the sun suck the poisons out of your rotting body? Where do you go to be reminded, after all the delusions, we are or nature?

The "sound of silence"....in San Pedro. Cowboys hats, angelic voices and twanging hearts. Rock-a-billies, bikers, hippies, abuelos, kids and the lost souls that stand like ghost amongst everyone.

San Pedro´s fourth annual country music festival, which I stumbled on two weeks ago, was nothing like silence. From 1pm-8pm we listened to all sorts of country. Covers and original music. English and Spanish. Bolo ties, sequines, and stained shirts. Ice cream, choripan, beer, and facturas. Growling motorbikes, squeeling kids, screetching mothers "¡veni aca!".

All of these sounds and sensations and yet a blanket of silence so thick you can make french toast with it. The silence of serenity and of knowing that for a moment I had fit into the puzzle. For the first time since moving here I didn´t feel I needed to apologize for being a tourist. Instead I just sang along to the songs at the top of my lungs with everyone else.

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Comments

[auntie San]

Next one???
Ok.. it's been awhile, anxious to read another chapter in your life in Buenos Aires!!!