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Published: February 14th 2012
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Pista del Andino
Beautiful view of Ushuaia (once you pass the house), and the best pizza in the world. Slept outside on the hill (behind to the right) several nights, with no sleeping bag, just watching the view till I fell asleep. I had met Thijs before; in Ushuaia several weeks earlier. We had been camping at la pista del andino, the only camping site in Ushuaia and one of the best I have ever been to. They also had a restaurant which made, and this is the honest truth, the best pizza I have ever had the pleasure of eating in my life. I have been to Italy, and their pizzas do not even compare. It was simply amazing.
Anyways, I had been sipping Grant's whiskey, sitting on a stump next to my sleeping bag and tarp set-up, when 2 Chilenos asked me if I wanted to join them. Sharing their wine and the whiskey around the campfire, we talked about music and instruments, as fluently as possible with my 2-week old Spanish, and traded attempts at their guitar and my violin. The night was their last before heading back to Chile, and they were determined to make it a good one, if not memorable. Spotting a tall, lanky belgian in the distance, they called Thijs over, and we all enjoyed the fire and cool night in good company. They had all left the following morning, so when I looked up from my book I had been reading from the comfort of an armchair in another camping hostel a few weeks later, this time in Puerto Natales, Chile, and saw Thijs stride in the door, I was surprised, but more at his good timing than anything else; Adi, Peter, my sister and I had made dinner and were getting ready to head to a blazing fire with the remnants of our wine.
Adi was from Malaysia, the first man from the country I have met. Peter was Irish to the bones. Thijs represented Belgium, and me and my sister Canada. The 5 of us raised a ruckus in the proper multinational style, each adding a certain national flair, and when the fire died, we spilled out to the streets to find abandoned buildings to explore or climb, moon-lit fields to romp in and a freezing sea to dip into. The night eventually had to end however, and I never saw Adi or Peter again. Sometimes, when I think about the benefits of things like facebook or the internet in general, and the ability to keep in contact with people half the world away, I wonder if they are benefits at all. Sure, I could still be able to send Adi an email when I next go to Southeast Asia, or tag Peter in this story involving him, but there is something to be said for letting 'fate', as it were, take over in that business. I have ran into people I thought I would never see again in a street or market, months and countries later, and that was a much better surprise and good feeling than arranging a previously uncontrollable meeting. I was on a ferry in southern Chile with a man named Rick, and we played many games of chess together. He was one of the very few people in the entirety of Latin America who gave me a good game, and I managed to run into him several months later in Mancora, a small beach town in Peru, where we had another last impromptu match. That will always be a much more vivid and pleasant memory than if we had kept in contact and arranged it. Perhaps it is the mystery of those you meet that increases how interesting they seem to be, or maybe it just maintains an air of wonder. Either way, sometimes not knowing your future can be a good thing. In many ways, I prefer it.
A few nights later, me and Thijs were walking around town, sipping delicious Chilean wine (when in Rome) and talking about almost anything. Hours later, past boatyards and climbed ships, tethered horses and muddy streets, we found ourselves sneaking through a chainfence gate to get to the harbour, dimly lit by the flickering electric lamps. We wandered down the massive concrete dock to the end, and climbed the wall to sit watching the waves in silence, Just enjoying the contrast of the salty sea air and the savoury red wine. An hour or so later, a tired looking man armed with a large flashlight was heading our way. Letting us know with no doubt that we weren't allowed there, he escorted us to the fence and let us out, before disappearing back into his small single-windowed hut. Being outside so long at night had made us a tad chilly, and looking at eachother, Thijs suggested going back and asking the guard if he had any coffee. I laughed, but after seeing the Belgian was serious, I shrugged and acquiesced. The weary guard looked at us with surprise before letting us in after knocking loudly, and started boiling water for us. I shared his disbelief, but gladly made a steaming coffee as the man went back to his desk and turned up the radio, unwilling to communicate with the pesky tourists I figured, something I didn't blame him for. Another hour passed, and eventually we managed to get the guard to talk, finding a subject he was passionate about; selling his motorcycle. He showed it off for a good 40 minutes, polishing it with a rag the whole time, until we finally managed to make our excape, piece of paper with his phone number and the price for the bike included.
Walking back past the horses, the muddy streets, the stilted houses and the quiet alleys, we found ourselves back at our tents just in time for a stunningly beautiful sunrise. All in all, it wasn't a bad couple days.
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