Mella Madness

Inspiration has returned, in the form of an elderly couple who decided to pick up a hitchiker on a boring, lonely, desolate and windswept road.  Estela and Roberto, real angels, who then proceeded to take me with them on their yearly round-trip of the area north of La Paloma, where I’m now staying.  

What happened this morning, is that I decided to walk 9km to a lake, where there is a bird hide and supposedly a restaurant with local food.  The first 3km were through town, then on the beach for a few kilometers, veering off towards the lake for the last 4 or 5km.  The sun was at my back, and the wind was picking up, but also from behind, so the going was good.   The road parallel to the lake – which was visible in the distance – was straight, endless and boring, and the further I walked, the more I was asking myself:  “What are you doing, the lake is not what you expected it to be!”  Sometimes a car would pass, but there was no-one else in sight.  I eventually gave up and turned back, knowing I had to walk back 9km, against the howling wind and the sun in my face.  After about 2km, I decided that if a car passed, I would hike.  I was just about to sit down under the only tree next to the road, when a car approached, slowed down when they saw me hiking, and stopped!  Estela later said that they had passed me earlier and were wondering where on earth I was walking to.  When they saw me hiking, she turned to Roberto:  ” Shall we pick her up?”  And together they decided yes, in spite of not normally picking up hitchikers. 

Estela was fluent in English, so conversation was possible, me asking many questions about things I was curious about.  They were from Montevideo,  but every year they do a trip in this area.  “Every year we come to the lake, and I ask why we do it, because it is not nice.  But we do it every year!” I wholeheartedly agreed. 

They were going to La Padrera, which is a quaint town with rocks on the beach, and we got out to take pictures (same procedure as last year).   We drove through Arachania, and she regaled the story of their honeymoon there 55 years ago, in Aug, a very quiet and cold time of the year, and how they had nurtured an oil-covered penguin which then adopted them.  When they left, they wrote a notice which they left next to the penguin, explaining that it ate meat and needed to be cared for. 

In La Paloma, we stopped at the docks, of which I wasn’t even aware of, and Roberto pointed out a stall where one could eat fresh fish.  I will go there for lunch tomorrow, even if it means walking another 4km from where I live.  Roberto then kindly dropped me off at my doorstep, and I bade them a fond farewell, especially as Estela and I had shared similar perceptions of various things, amongst other, the pure joy of grandmotherhood. 

Now I have to backtrack, as I have not shared my experience of Barra de Valizas.  My friend from Uruguay, Ale, had told me about the ombu trees in Uruguay, and when I discovered that there is an ombu forest close to Barra de Valizas, I booked a place to stay (through Agoda this time, a steal at US$14, well knowing it could be risky) and took the bus there from Colonia.  Although it is off the main route, it is possible to go by bus. 

The trip took longer than anticipated, and I arrived well after sunset.  It had rained that day, and I determinedly dragged Suerta along a wet dirt road in the dark, arriving at Luckyvalizas disheveled and uncertain.  I traipsed through a garden path toward a light, and found 4 people gathered around a table on a stoep, drinking mate of course.  A warm hug from the hostess, Maria, put my mind at ease, and I was shown to a bed in a large room with 4 beds, and a loft with 3 more beds.  It is also a camping site, so everything is outdoors – the toilet to one side, showers and basin to another, all very rustic but quaint in a way.  There were campers, but I was the only guest in the room – or so I thought, until I heard someone sneak up to the loft in the early hours of the morning.  It turned out to be Maria, who sleeps there too. 

Maria was very helpful the next morning in getting me set up for the visit to the ombu forest.  It required a short bus trip to the bridge at Puento Valizas, and waiting for Carlos, whom I had to pay $1000 (Uruguay pesos = R500), which was R1500 cheaper than what an advertised tour would have cost.  Me being me, I walked across the bridge and back, looking for Carlos.  A man was waiting next to the road, and thinking it was Carlos, I approached him. He knew Carlos, and pointed me back accross the bridge, where another lady said Carlos was in the forest and would be back in one hour.   It turned out that Carlos organises boat trips to the forest, which is privately owned and can only be reached by boat, and eventually we were about 15 people on the boat, steered by Alberto and a guide who could speak English. 

The ‘Monte de Ombúes’ (Ombu Forest) is the largest in the world, and stretches for 20km near the Laguna de Castillos. There is much to know about the ombu.  It is not a tree, as it does not have wood, but has fibrous material.  It is a herbaceous plant that can grow up to 14m.  It stores water in its large base, and is therefore resistant to fires.  It cannot be dated as it doesn’t have growth rings and they have different growth rates (we saw two 25yr old trees, one half the size of the other, one growing with just one branch, the other with 5 or 6 branches).   They provide a natural habitat for small animals because of the holes in their bases, as well as for bees.  The interactive role of the bees is obvious in that they then pollinate the trees.  There are two different approaches to propagation and preservation of the trees in that area.  On one side of the river, where the forest is on private ground, the owner allows cattle to graze, which eliminates competition from other indigenous trees and plants, especially the undergrowth.  Here the ombus are flourishing, and new plants are protected with a circle of dried branches that the owner places around each young ombu to protect it from the cattle.  On the other side of the river is a public park, where natural forest is allowed to grow unencumbered as no grazing is permitted.  The undergrowth is thick and dense, and the ombus are dying because they cannot compete with the other natural plants and trees.  

I caught a bus back to Barra de Valizas and bought some vegetables, mince and canned tomatoes to make spaghetti bolognaise.  I still had spaghetti in Suerta. 

Can you believe it, after all that effort one of the dogs managed to drag the dish with meat off the counter!  Fortunately I had eaten by then, but I was going to offer the rest of the food to Maria and the owner, Luciana.  We all stood around very dismayed and apologetic, but Carlos, a friend who was visiting Luciana, just calmly called the dogs to come and finish what they had started.

Luciana’s son caught crabs in the Valizas river, and he let me taste some – better than crayfish!

Cabo de Polonia is a resort south of Barra de Valizas,  which can only be reached by foot or with a 4×4 vehicle.  It is 9km from Barra de Valizas,  so I set out along the beach the following morning.  Along the way there is a rocky outcrop with a fabulous view of the area, and the resort itself is picturesque and people are very casual.  Two small islands off the coast have the 2nd largest breeding colony of seals and sea lions, and some were lying on the rocks near the lighthouse. 

The next day was a beach- and laundry-day, and the following day I caught the bus to La Paloma, another relaxed holiday resort, although the people in Barra de Valizas regard it as a ‘city’.  I had told Luciana about Workaway and suggested that she should use volunteers to paint the buildings and sort out her garden, that she really had a gem.  I appreciated her WApp after I had left:   “Let’s keep in touch from time to time.  Have a safe journey of the soul these next few months, Meryl.” 

The hostel I am staying at in La Paloma, is great.  I am alone in a communal room as there are very few guests at the moment.  The 3-month school holiday is over, school started yesterday, 2nd of March.

There are egg-shaped gelatinous things on the beach, some attached to the seaweed.  When they are dry, they look like thin ping-pong balls.  Some are still whole and are filled with a salty watery substance, and when I Googled them, I was appalled to see that I might have killed a few, or even thousands of snails when I broke it.  Thanks to my cousin Lynton (whose friend could supply the information) I now know that they are the eggs of pachycymbiola brasiliana, a species of sea snail.  Estela told me they are found everywhere and the snails are big, but I would not find any shells here on the beach. 

The difference between our beaches and these, are that there are no cricket- or beach ball games, and children don’t have beach toys. Everybody sits on chairs under umbrellas, or they lie on towels, just basking in the sun or drinking mate.  Much to my surprise, I found evidence that children do play on the beach, and quite creatively too.    

There are two companies that have ferries going from Buenos Aires to Colonia del Sacramento, crossing the Rio de la Plata in just over two and a half hours.  The one is the Buquebus, and the other the Colonia Express.  I chose the latter as Mati had said it is slightly cheaper.  An uneventful crossing, with my first glimpse of Uruguay through the window of the walkway. 

Colonia del Sacramento has an interesting history.  The Portuguese established a post there in 1680 under the rule of Manual Lobo, who described the place as fertile with plenty of fresh water.  I understood the latter more clearly when I went for a swim in the (brown) sea, and discovered that it was fresh, not salty.  According to Wikipedia, Spain took possession of the town four times between 1680 and 1777, with it being returned to Portugal each time after a treaty or battle.  From 1817 to 1822 it belonged to the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil and the Algarves, and after that to Brazil.  In 1828 it finally became part of Uruguay when the latter became independent.  The old city, Barrio Histórico, has kept its character, with narrow cobbled streets that fit the irregular terrain plan, old houses and many little shops and restaurants.  I spent hours roaming around, discovering new places, taking  pictures and watching incredible sunsets, as the coastline faces West. 

On my second day in Colonia, I walked the 5km along the beachfront to the Plaza de Toros, where there is a fully restored bullring.  It was built in 1910, and was only used for 2 years before bullfighting was banned in Uruguay.   It was restored and reopened in 2021 as a cultural and sports complex. 

The walk there was fun and interesting.  I was puzzled by the many new and modern blocks of flats and developments along the way, until I read that huge amounts of money is being spent on developing Colonia to the north and west, to attract especially Argentinians, as their economy is struggling. 

I was determined not to walk back as I was hot and tired, but wasn’t sure where to catch a bus back to my lodgings.   I asked at a cafe and was told the bus stop was just across the road.   I waited for 40 minutes, and would have waited longer if necessary.  The thing about the buses is that, not only are the explanations in Spanish (given by friendly and helpful people), they are often vague.  So one waits. And wonders, especially if three buses pass without stopping.  And then one waits some more. 

On the last evening I decided to treat myself to a pizza and beer, and as I was walking past all the many restaurants to choose from, I saw a crowd gathering in the street ahead.  Thinking it might be a march of sorts, I walked closer, only to discover it was a parade of old cars. 

It was so easy to go back to Buenos Aires,  the route to ‘my’ apartment familiar to both me and Suerte, and a warm welcome by Mati, my Airbnb host.  Just a quick stop en route at the shop where I’d bought Suerte, to return the ring that I had found on the farm.  There was a different lady, and at first I had trouble explaining my mission, sweat pouring down my face, until she started using Google Translate and casually handed me a paper towel to wipe my face.  She sent the owner of the ring a WApp and photo, and I left it there.  Sad story for me is that I was hoping to find my little make-up bag there, but I must have lost it on the bus on the way to Azul.  Sad because (bear with me, these little things become important) of the sentimental value:  the bag I had bought in Vietnam in 2014, a nail clipper I had bought in London for £5 in 2006, a nail file I have been using for 30 years, a little mirror a friend gave me for my previous trip in 2019, and an eyebrow pencil-brush without which I look a little spooky.  Me being the eternal optimist, I gracefully accepted the loss and assumed it was time for change…

I spent 4 hours of the first morning back in BA applying for my online visa for Columbia, a marathon task which I started off enthusiastically,  but had to grind my teeth to complete.   I even managed to pay, reading and Google Translating instructions, so now I’m anxiously awaiting the approval.  All the while I was hearing loud explosions from outside, and Mati explained that there was a protest against new labour laws that the president was trying to pass. The explosions were rockets that were being fired off.  The previous week a similar protest had evidently ended with clashes between the police and protesters, and a few people had been injured.  I decided to take to the streets and see for myself. 

The noise was overwhelming, with loud propaganda speeches, singing and cheering, but the atmosphere was peaceful, with police all hanging around, busy on their cellphones. Vendors were selling food, mate and beer was being drunk everywhere and men were urinating against the buildings in side streets.  Where could the women relieve themselves?  Relaxed chaos.  Most shops were closed though, with their metal shutters down.

I spent the last day in La Boca, a very touristy part of BA.  I walked there, through San Telmo, accidentally discovering the San Telmo market, a very old undercover marketplace.

  

On the way to La Boca, one passes the soccer stadium of the professional sports club, Club Atlético Boca Juniors, which was founded in 1905, and which team has won 60 professional titles, according to Wikipedia.  I overheard people talking about a serious match that was going to be played the following day, and the signs were everywhere as people were buying stuff and were all wearing the CABJ shirts. 

As I approached the tourist area, street art was becoming more plentiful and buildings more colourful.

The experience of La Boca was kind of sad though, compared to 7 years ago when I was last there.  Then it was packed with tourists, roadside tables full, tango dancers on the pavements and fun sculptures everywhere.  The impression I got now was that economically it was struggling with only a few small groups of tourists accompanied by a guide, empty tables, one couple doing the tango and very few sidewalk vendors.  I chatted to a fireman, who told me they were volunteers, not receiving financial support from the government, and they were asking for donations.  He warned me against moving away from the ‘tourists area’, as it was not safe. 

I managed to find one place where everyone was buying the traditional choripan (chorizo on a bun, with chimichurri sauce and salsa) on an open school playing court.  There were a few tables under umbrellas, but they were full.   I was standing to one side, trying to catch a bit of shade, battling to cope with sauce dripping everywhere, when a kind man brought me a paper plate.  After a while he reappeared with a table, and a few minutes later two chairs, and even an umbrella, carrying the heavy cement stand in one hand.    I gracefully accepted it all, only to realise he hadn’t done it for me, but was just setting up extra seating! 

Finally it was time to say farewell again toe Buenos Aires and Argentina, Uruguay was waiting. 

There is something about living on a farm.  It is not just about being there, it is about inhibiting the space, of becoming one with the buildings, the trees, the birds, the people, the pets, the garden, the animals, the night sky – every day and night, aware and mindful of all that surrounds you.  And that is what La Aurora, Enca’s farm, meant to me.  I was sad to leave two days ago, I think a little bit of me stayed behind – La Aurora takes what it wants, but gives so much in return.

On the first day of work, I helped Enca clear out some grass and unwanted plants in the vegetable garden, while Louanne and Vincent (the French volunteers) started cleaning and scraping the wrought iron burglar bars that had to be repainted for the first time in 50 years.  Enca went to town to buy paint and brushes, and returned in a state of shock after discovering the full extent of the job she was undertaking.  First of all, the rust converter (red) had to be painted on when it was below 22° (two coats) and left to dry for 3 hours between layers.  Then the black enamel had to be done in two coats as well, allowing a day for drying between coats.  After a serious discussion and lots of mate, we agreed that we would all work on the burglar bars, start at 6 am and finish at 10 am, before it got too warm, and do only one coat of red.   Too bad about the vegetable garden, that would have to wait.  (Enca did some work there in the afternoons, and planted three fruit trees that she was hoping would survive.)

We managed to finish 10 of the 25 windows in the 8 days that we worked, and Enca reckoned the French couple would one day have to send their children and grandchildren to help, as she would still be at it, scraping and painting burglar bars…! One tremendous advantage of working on such a big project, was that we shared mate every morning.  That first sip on the first day was like coming home – Argentina at it’s best!

Finishing work at 10 am meant that the rest of the day was spent lazing around – for us anyway, not Enca, she hardly ever stopped working.  I would go for a swim, lie on the lawn, read, knit, cook, eat, sleep, go for a walk, and share life experiences in long chats, repeating it all in any order.   I did make rusks, which Enca decided is a perfect match for mate.

Cooking was the main activity late afternoon, and we all took turns in preparing a meal.  We had the Spanish tortilla I mentioned in the previous blog,  galettes (a typical dish from Brittany,  France), vegetarian lasagne, crepes, polenta with vegetables, homemade pasta with sauce, and a chicken stew cooked on a “disco” (ploughshare/ploegskaar) on an open fire, aptly called “pollo al disco” (chicken cooked on a disc).  Enca explained that the gauchos all carried one on their horses, and they would use horse manure to make a fire and cook a stew on it, using anything they could find in the vicinity.   It was quite dark when we eventually sat down to eat at the table outside, and we were amused by a visiting friend who kept on using his cellphone light to see what he was eating.  He only spent one night there, not long enough to adjust to farm life. 

And so the days passed.  A friend of Enca’s, Sabrina, came to visit, and she happily donned her old farm clothes that she kept there as she was a regular visitor, and helped with the painting.  We had many in-depth conversations, rediscovering the power of  women as we shared our stories, listening, commenting and supporting each other with unconditional caring.  A gift that was given to me by Enca, was the following:  “Remember, it is yóúr experience.”  (Which I gladly share with all of you that are supporting me in this venture.)

The birdlife was exceptional, and I managed to photograph a few, but my cellphone doesn’t do justice to them. Ones that I got to see include the Monk Parakeet, Chalk-browed Mockingbird (that makes the sound of a reversing truck), Chimango Caracara (sounds like a dog whining, most upsetting at first), Southern Crested Caracara, Burrowing Owl (a small little owl), Greater Rhea (looks like an emu), Whistling Heron, and of course my favourite, the Great Kiskadee (nicknamed the ‘bicho feoo’ because of the sound it makes, like a Piet-my-Vrou, which sounds to me like ‘beat your fear’).  

One evening we attended a get-together that was arranged by Andrea, a friend of Enca’s, who had opened up a shop specializing in local produce and other goods.  As usual, everyone greeted everyone else with the traditional hug and kiss on the right cheek, and I was immediately made to feel welcome.  There was a band and a singer, evidently the local hairdresser, who sang a lot of familiar English songs too, with people joining in.  It was fun to see families with children – I miss my grandchildren.  

The sunsets were glorious, as we’re the stars at night.   One feels so insignificant when looking up, realizing that one is seeing the same stars that are visible in South Africa, which goes to show how enormous the universe is and how small we are. 

My host at my new Workaway job gave me an apt description when I told her the sad story of Sarie’s collapse.  “Disgracia con suerte”, meaning “misfortune with luck”.  It is a long story.

I was pulling Sarie along in the street for the first time since I had started travelling.  I couldn’t decide whether I should take the bus or subway to the bus terminal from where I was leaving for Azul – uncertainty is a bad thing.  Halfway to the bus station, which is in the middle of Avenue 9 de Julio, the 14-lane street in Buenos Aires that is the widest in the world, I changed my mind and decided I would rather take the subway.  As I stepped onto one of the middle lanes to backtrack, Sarie decided to collapse – one of the wheels came off.  I picked it up, turned Sarie onto the good wheels and quickly pulled her to the pavement across a few lanes.  When I got to the subway entrance, it was closed for maintenance, and I realised I would not be able to drag poor crippled Sarie back accross 9 de Julio, or anywhere, for that matter.  I looked around desperately, not knowing what to do, fully realising I had only one hour before catching the bus to Azul.  Miracles do happen:  there was a luggage shop right next to me!  I bought a new suitcase, and had the good fortune that it was slightly bigger than Sarie, which had of course been much too crammed.  I transferred the contents of Sarie right there in the middle of the shop, with the friendly owner helping me to put the safari cover back on, which still fit.  Her ring must have slipped off then, because when I took the cover off on the farm, a ring fell onto the floor.  I will return it to her when I go back to BA.  Sarie was promptly disposed of in a nearby dumpster.  Poor Sarie, but welcome Suerte.

Now I am on a farm, 20km from Azul, for my first Workaway job.  I couldn’t have found a better place.  It is called La Aurora, which means ‘The Dawn’, a very apt description.  The farm was established by the owner’s grandparents, who were not farmers by profession, but the grandfather, being Irish, decided one had to develop land when one inherited it.  The current owner, Enca, is a journalist who, like her grandfather, decided that if one inherits something, one tends to it.  She spent many years restoring the old colonial homestead, and now she runs a guesthouse, farms with cattle, has about 20 sheep, 5 chickens and a beautiful garden. 

My work here is going to be to help clear out the vegetable patch and prepare it for planting winter veggies, such as asparagus,  broccoli and other things.  Enca has a knack for growing trees from seeds, and has cultivated many magnolia and other trees, which she uses to exchange produce or plants with friends.  Neighbours are friendly, and this morning Enca received a whole cheese  from a man who helps her on the farm.  He has dairy cows, and his wife makes the cheese.  Evidently the smaller farmers have taken to cheese-making to supplement their income.  The beauty about this gift, is that Enca had tried to buy cheese on Saturday when she fetched us from the bus station, but the cheese shop she normally buys from, was closed. 

Enca has many bees, and on the first morning promptly took out the largest container of honey I have ever seen.  And of course, a Latin saying to go with it: “una apis, nulla apis” which means “one bee, no bee”, or as Enca described it, “one bee cannot do anything on it’s own, it means nothing”. 

Yesterday was Sunday, and Enca explained that she had to attend a Cathholic mass at a monastry, La Trappa, about 1 hour’s drive from here, as she had to say thank you for rain that she had prayed for a while back.  I felt shivers run down my spine, as I too wanted to say thank you for the rain that had fallen in the Garden Route, which had been suffering a terrible drought. 

The land in this area is very flat, and I was excited to see some hills as we approached the monastry, which is closer to the east coast.

On the way back, we stopped to photograph some iron figures that had been built from old trains, depicting the clashes between the Spanish and indigenous people.  The artist had lived in Azul for a few years, and there are some figures there too which I will photograph when I go to town. 

Last night was a perfect night for eating on the lawn, a little away from the light, as there are quite a few bugs around.  And frogs.

There are two other volunteers, from France, and the girl, Louanne, likes to cook.   Last night Enca said that we were having the last Argentinian meal, as we would be eating French food from now on.  Louanne made a Spanish tortilla (!) this afternoon, and was very successful in turning it without breaking it.  There was much talk about it having to be “baveux”, which means the eggs still have to be soft.  It was perfectly “baveux”!

Two days of walking – my new Salomon Ortholites were being tested and found to be extremely comfortable.  Thank you to a dear friend who suggested them – she and her husband successfully walked the Portuguese Camino last year, wearing Salomons.  And I bought them in Mossel Bay at a doubly reduced price. 

Today, as I was walking from the bus terminal to the Reserva Ecológica Constanera Sur along  roads devoid of pedestrians, I was thinking how fortunate I was to experience the city on foot.  It is a completely different from riding in a bus or subway.  A person feels isolated, yet connected, vulnerable, yet safe.  Something I rarely experience in South Africa, because I have a car, and who is going to walk from the harbour in Cape Town to the Waterfront, if you can drive. 

The Reserva Ecológica is a nature reserve on the Rio de la Plata, the river mouth formed by the Pirana and Uruguay rivers.  There are different geographic descriptions for it, such as estuary, bay, or indentation, but as a river, it is considered the widest in the world, with a width of 220km.  The water is brown and smells like mud, not sea, so I regard it as a river.  I had not seen it on my previous trip, and was quite surprised by the muddy ‘sea’. 

When I started the walk, I was surprised by the noise, which I initially thought were birds, but of course they were ‘chicharras’ (cicadas).  I battled to see one, until I passed a couple who were pointing, and I saw it in the tree. 

I came across a few ceibo trees (cockspur coral tree) which still had flowers, the national flower of Argentina.  I suppose the English name originates from the shape of the buds, which look like cockspurs. 

Yesterday was a sad and a happy day.  I set out (by bus this time) to visit Rosedal in Palermo, a beautiful rose garden that was not in bloom when I was here in August 2019.  It had been raining earlier in the morning, and of course it was closed.  I was disappointed, but decided to walk back to a popular museum.   It was quite far, and being hot and bothered, I was sorely tempted to rather step into a Japanese garden along the way.   I begrudgingly payed R200 (double the price for foreigners), but enjoyed the coolness, mystical music and greenery. 

Then came the sad part of the day.  I was meeting Romina, an Argentinian friend who had introduced me to the Afrikaners in Comodoro Rivadavia and Sarmiento on my previous trip, at the Plaza Italiano later.  To get there, I decided to walk through the Ecopark, not realizing that it was a zoo.  I was dumbstruck – it is a huge park, and they have built ridiculous buildings and structures, trying to create a jungle effect.   As if the animals would know.  There was an aura of sadness, the animals appeared to be eerily silent, docile  and defeated.  Maybe it was me, projecting my unhappiness, but I felt quite sick.  The only joy I experienced was photographing butterflies – at least they were free. 

After that, I was doubly happy to see Romina again, and she suggested we walk through the botanical gardens, which was just what I needed.  Green, massive trees, tranquil and serene.   There was a whole section of South African plants and trees, and it felt strange to be in Buenos Aires,  yet walk among South African flora.  I saw a hummingbird for the first time in my life, but was unable to photograph it as it moved rapidly and disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

We ended off the day with coffee and alfajores at Havanna, a well-known coffee shop in Buenos Aires.  Alfajores are  traditional biscuits in Argentina and other South American countries, have been for years, and are really yummy.  One can buy them for much cheaper in a supermarket,  but Havanna makes their own brand in different flavours, even salty ones.  “Sweet for life, and salt for the sea” was written behind me on the wall.  They cost about R75 each, and add R80 for a cup of coffee to that – I was relieved when Romina kindly offered to foot the bill.  She intends visiting South Africa next year, which should give me the opportunity of repaying her.

I made it, in one piece, with a smaller suitcase.  I think I will call her Sarie, she has this crazy cover that my daughter gave me for Christmas, which hints at being on safari in the jungle – rather apt, as my mind is a bit of a jungle at the moment.

I moved through Cape Town Airport in a daze, not fully taking in the experience of departure.  I was preoccupied with the first blog, the spelling mistake I had made in the title, and getting the updated blog posted to the WApp groups.  I was also trying to edit my current WordPress profile, which was outdated.  To be able to do that,  I had to pay for Gravatar, which has been added to WordPress.  All very frustating and boring, but necessary. 

I hesitated on the steps when boarding, looked at the Stellenbosch and Somerset West mountains for ‘oulaas’, took a photo of the SAA tail wing and wondered if things would be the same when I returned.  Take-off was smooth and I was blessed with an empty seat next to me. 

Sao Paulo was a bit confusing as there were very few noticeboards displaying departure times and boarding gates, but two very friendly officials showed me the way.  I was again reminded of the friendliness of people here, all relaxed and at ease.  We were delayed for more than an hour, and the queue at passport control in Buenos Aires was a mile long, which took another hour, resulting in my host, Mati, having to come and unlock the apartment door after midnight.  Such is the warm concern of people here that the taxi driver waited until Mati arrived, not wanting to leave me standing in the street alone at that hour. 

I had my first cup of tea in the communal kitchen yesterday morning.  I found a lemon flavoured herb tea on the shelf,  which is for the guests’ use.  My room has no windows, so I sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out what the weather was like. 

Rain was forecast for later in the day, but I wasn’t concerned as the skies didn’t look too threatening.    My phone seriously needed charging, so I had to buy an adapter for my South African plug, and food, of course.  But my first stop was going to be Cafe Martinez on the Plata de Congressa, where I met a stranger (Francisco in my book) last time.  That is a story you will have to read about in Mellamadness: A Solo Journey, the book I’m publishing about my previous South American experience.

I sat at the same table where we met, ordered a cup of coffee and spent 30 minutes reminiscing, fondly remembering my previous experience 6 years ago.  I meandered the rest of the day, revisiting familiar landmarks and discovering new ones.   The Congress building on Plaza del Congresa has been cleaned up (it was being renovated 6 years ago) and the Casa Rosada on Plaza de Mayo, from where Evita made her emotional speeches, is still pink.

I bought an empanada, and the guy serving me was singing beautiful opera music, so I took an impromptu photo, much to his surprise.

I walked to the Reserva Ecológica Constanera Sur, a well-known nature reserve overlooking the Rio de la Plata, but found the gates locked.  I enquired at a nearby kiosk, and was informed that it only opens when the sun is shining!  Hopefully by Friday the weather will have cleared up and I can attempt it again.  On the way back I saw this amazing bridge, called Puente de la Mujer (meaning women’s bridge), designed by a Spanish architect and designer, Santiago Calatrava.  The walking surface was constructed with plastic wood made from 100 000 plastic bottles filled with single use plastic.  

I wanted to sit at a table next to the water and have a small beer, but was told I could either have a big one or two smalls ones for the same price (Arg pesos 7 000, which is R78) m, so I gave it a miss and bought beer in the supermarket on the way back, a little cheaper (R25). 

Two more days in Buenos Aires, and then I’m off to Azul, 300km south of here, for my first Workaway job on a farm.  I hope I don’t have to milk cows or feed pigs…

This day has been re-affirming. In Los Antiguos I read a book, There is a Spiritual Solution to Every Problem, and I’ve been practicing the attainment of higher frequencies of energy through a connectedness to my spirituality, which channels all the energies to work toward positive outcomes. This is not as complicated as it sounds. It’s more than the power of positive thinking. It means focussing on breathing, relaxing the tension in one’s face and shoulders, trusting in and connecting to a Higher Force that is pure love, and letting go of the natural urge to be in control. What happens after that is pure magic: everything falls into place, and things unfold the way they are supposed to.The past week or two has been frustrating as nothing that I was trying to plan would materialize. I was going to be in Ushuaia for 3 weeks, and tried getting a Workaway job there, but gave up after several emails. I contemplated changing my flight to Buenos Aires to an earlier date and then go to Uruguay and work there for 2 weeks, but I was unable to get onto the website to do the change and I had no replies from emails I had sent to Uruguay. All along I knew there would be a reason for this, but at the same time I knew I had to make decisions. On Friday the 13th March, it started to change:

• I managed to buy a new ticket for US$150 less than what a change of dates would have cost
• I made an Airbnb booking in Buenos Aires for 2 days only
• I decided to go to Uruguay anyway, work or no work
• Halfway to the place where I was going to dispatch Louise seperately to Buenos Aires (thinking only 10kg of hand luggage was allowed on the plane) I decided not to carry on walking and turned back. I was just fed-up with worrying about everything and gave up on all my concerns

And then this morning:

• It wasn’t raining when I left for the airport (rain had been forecast)
• I had decided to take the bus into the city centre to save on the cost of the taxi to the airport, and as Louise and I crossed the street to the bus stop, it arrived, right on cue
• The route of that specific bus just happened to go right to the other side of town, very close to the airport, so the taxi cost next to nothing
• Louise was allowed as luggage, absolutely no problem
• I had been assigned a middle seat, and the window seat just happened to be unoccupied (the plane was full)

And on landing at Buenos Aires:

• WApp’s that I had received made me realise that Uruguay was not going to allow me entrance as result of the coronavirus
• And urgings from friends and other incidents made me decide there and then to change my flight back to South Africa
• I went to the LATAM counter (no que!) and managed to get a flight on the 16th, allowing for the 2 days accommodation I had booked, just perfect.

All of the above is what is re-affirming. There is an English hymn that we used to sing in the Methodist Church when I was a child: Trust and obey, for there’s no other way… This song has become my mantra.

Okay, now that I have shared some of the turbulence I’ve been through, let me tell you about Ushuaia, also known as El Fin del Mundo (The End of the World), as it is the southernmost city on the continent. Here’s a map to orientate you (the yellow is Argentina, the rest is Chile):As usual on arrival, I decided to walk to the place I had booked, not realizing that it was 2,4km, with a hefty uphill to boot. The swivel of Louis’ wheels is not working that well anymore, so the poor thing periodically gets kicked just to keep her on track. I arrived hot and sweaty, ate a leftover sandwich and went to bed.The Argentinian part of Tierra del Fuego, the large island south of the Strait of Magellan, was populated by mostly non-Argentinians during the second half of the 19th century. In 1869 a British missionary, Stirling, lived among the native Yámana and was later joined by other missionaries, teachers and farmers. These natives suffered many deaths as result of diseases and eventually the missionaries withdrew.The Argentinian government decided to establish this area as a penal colony in an attempt to gain sovereignty and to populate the area. In 1896 the first inmates were accepted in the newly built prison in Ushuaia. They were some of the most serious criminals and second-time offenders of the country, and were used to chop down thousands of trees in the area. They built a railway-line from the forest to the settlement, and most of the timber houses of the town were built by them as well. The prison was closed down in 1947 because of reports of abuse and poor conditions. The train is now run as a tourist attraction to transport visitors to the National Park. A mural on the post office wall:Today, Ushuaia has much to offer in the way of trekking, catamaran trips along the Beagle Channel to see lighthouses, sea lions, birds and penguins, visits to museums and estancias (farms), skiing and walks along the waterfront. The long main street has many restaurants and shops, some of them tax-free.All the excursions are quite expensive (most are over a R1000), so I limited myself to two of the cheaper ones. The first was to the National Park where I spent the day walking some trails. The bus stops at different points in the park, and I got off at the pier, where the smallest and southernmost post office is.From there I followed a trail through more enchanted forests and along picturesque coves, until I reached a point where one can cross to a small island, where the end of Route No 3 is, which starts in Alaska.There is a beaver dam built in one of the rivers on the island, most intriguing. Unfortunately they are a pest, as they were orginally brought in to breed for their pelts, which was not lucrative, so they became wild. They cause a lot of damage to the forests and are being trapped and castrated or sterilised to curtail their numbers.On my way back through town, I ran into a protest march for International Women’s Day. Ooh boy, I wouldn’t want to cross swords with some of those ladies! They were dancing and having fun though, and feminism is huge in Argentina. Necessarily so, as abuse towards women is rife.My second outing was to Laguna Esmeralda, an emerald coloured lake northeast of Ushuaia, surrounded by the Sierra Alvear and with water from a hanging glazier feeding into the lake. To get there, one has to hike 4km through muddy forest paths and peat bogs. Suggested walking time is 2hrs, and it takes 2 long hours to slog through it all. The parts of the path in the forest that were dry were a pleasure, but the rest was a matter of hopscotch from solid piece, to roots, to plant mounds, to stones and little detours that take you to firmer ground. One slip, and you land ankle deep in the mud. I slid on some flat pieces of logs that had been packed to serve as pathway, and had quite a nasty fall. Luckily my phone didn’t hit the water, but I was a bit shaken up and my arm and leg bruised.I came prepared for the peat bogs though, as I had read a blog beforehand, warning of the treacherous stretch before the final part taking you up to the lake. I took off my shoes and rolled up my pants, and just walked through the peat, trying to keep to more solid spots, because one can sink in knee-deep. I had slip-slops for the stony bits in between, and washed my feet in the emerald river water afterwards – I had even brought a towel. Everybody commented on the suitability of the plan, but nobody followed suit. Some people very meticulously picked their way through, others just gave up and got their shoes thoroughly covered in mud and peat. It was a challenge, and the view from above of the lake and mountains was spectacular. There were hordes of people doing the hike, but on my way back I had a few minutes of walking alone through the forest. I stopped and listened to the silence, breathing in the rich, moist air and appreciating the stillness of the soft green leaves, filling my soul.The day before the 13th I followed a road up a mountain to what I thought would be a view, but all I found were cabins in the forest and dogs. I also found a tree under which I could sit and gather my wits, do the thing I described at the beginning of this blog. When I got up from there, things had changed, I just knew itOn the 14th I left for Buenos Aires, and had one day to take my leave. My accommodation was in a lovely old homely apartment, with a super helpful hostess who insisted on cooking for me and driving me to the shop. I walked 25 blocks to Plaza de Mayo, a nostalgic and emotional trip, reliving my introduction to Argentina more than 7 months ago. Time had passed in the blink of an eye.1

16th March:

As I walk towards the linking tunnel before entering the plane, it hits me: I’m leaving – my travels have come to a swift end. Coronavirus has dictated that I leave sooner than later, 3 weeks prematurely. Emotions well up, and I blink away the tears. I will be back, I think, or probably not. This has been the adventure of a lifetime, but there are other worlds to explore. And my family and friends are warmly awaiting my arrival. Taking a deep breath, I smile and step onto the walkway.

Thank you all for following my blog. Talking to you in my mind as I formulated experiences helped to make everything more meaningful. I truly appreciate each read, feedback or comment, a heartfelt thank you!

Se cuidante!

It was only a 3hr bus ride from Puerto Natales to Punto Arenas, where I had a leisurely stay of 8 days. I had planned my trip there to coincide with the arrival of my cousin Alan, who lives in Canada. He was to be the naturalist on an Australian boat going to the Antarctic. As an added bonus, I was to meet two South Africans (Hendrik and Ingrid), who where on a cruise down the Chilean coast and also going to the Antarctic. Sheer joy, and much sadness when they had all come and gone. With Hendrik and Ingrid I could only have coffee, a long chat and a walk to a viewpoint of the city and Strait of Magellan, as they only had a few hours ashore.Alan stayed for a couple of days, and we managed to do a hike in the Reserva Nacional Magallanes, a fascinating forest a few kilometers out of the city. It is eerie in some places, fairy like in others. There was evidence of thick old trees that had been harvested years ago, their stumps often covered with bright green moss. I love the musty smell of decaying wood and leaves in a forest and the sponginess of the ground. I visualize the new growth springing forth from the graveyard of the old, and I’m reminded of the inevitable cycle of life and death. The trees in this area are mostly lenga, ñirre and coigüe (beech). There are edible berries all over – it was a first for me to be told “eat the berries”! I had calafate, murtilla and chaura.

There were a variety of exquisite plants and flowers, some very small. The flower in the next picture is a quarter of the size of my pinkie nail. The red beauty in the following one is no fun when it is dry. It clings to your trousers or socks, and when you touch it to remove it, it disintegrates and each of those seeds have to be removed individually.

Alan is an ornithologist, so needless to say we saw many birds, including a Black-chested Buzzard-Eagle and a Rufous-legged owl. I was treated to a few dinners and many good conversations – very happy to visit with my cousin and sad to see him go!

I treated myself to a full day tour to Tierra del Fuego to see the King penquins at Pingüino Park and other interesting sites, crossing the narrowest part of the Strait of Magellan by ferry. Our first stop was at Estancio San Gregorio, a sheep farm dating back to 1876, owned by José Menendez. He had 170 000 sheep! Needless to say, he was the richest man in Patagonia at his time, and the complex was more like a village, with about 300 people living there. He also owned a fleet of 100 ships, two of which are stranded in the Bay of San Gregorio, where the farm is. The Clipper, a four masted sailing ship built in 1869, and the Amadeo, the first steam powered ship to sail in the area, built in 1884.The penguins are a small colony of about 120 who established themselves there 12 years ago, originally just with a few pairs. An interesting fact that I was unaware of, is that after raising the first chick, the female decides if the male was a good enough father or not, and based on that, she will either call for him the following year, or she will mate with another male. Unfortunately it was raining, and they were a bit far for good pictures.We returned to Punto Arenas via Porvenir, from where a two-and-a-half hour ferry trip took us back accross the Strait of Magellan. At Porvenir we visited the Hain viewpoint, a site where the Hain intiation ceremonies of the Selk’nam are commemorated. During the initiation the young men would paint their bodies according to the spirit they wanted to represent. There were three spirits:

• Matan – the dancer, known for his vertical jumps
• Ulen – spirit from the north of the island, known to be fast and agile (body red and dark with white horizontsl lines)
• Kotaix – the main spirit from heaven (white body, red stripes and mask covering the head and neck)

The Selk’nam were the ancient terrestrial hunters from the continent who had inhabited this part of Tierra del Fuego for 11000 thousand years. When the settlers started arriving in 1881 there were about 4000 of them, all systematically murdered by the farmers who were given a reward of one sterling pound for each male that was shot, one-and-a-half for each female, and a half for each child.

A famous Chilean sculptor, Richard Yasic Israel, was comissioned to make sculptures representing the Selk’nam in 2004. These are made of reinforced concrete and exhibited on a square in Porvenir.

This concluded a wonderful time in Patagonian Chile. I was quite amused when I was met with a blank stare by someone when I mentioned that I had been in Patagonia in Argentina. For the Chileans, Patagonia is in Chile. As was pointed out to me: the whole of the southern part of South-America should have belonged to Chile, as they had won it during one of the wars, but the eastern part was given to Argentina after negotiations. Eastern or Western, Patagonia is uniquely beautiful and inspiring and the tranquil lifestyle suits me perfectly. All that has ever been written or said about it is true – I will return (I did eat a lot of calafate berries, so it is inevitable).