Numero 19 - Where did it all go wrong

                                        He sat all day in the sun, yet still couldn't catch a tan.

'Only a few block & you'll be at your hostel.' 30 blocks later & with his shoulders aching, he still hadn't found what he was looking for. To make things worse, the streets were slowly becoming infested with people all leaving work early to start there Friday & there weekend. Rosario, was coming alive. It had all started 24hrs earlier. Stuck hitching in the rain in Jujuy he headed over to the gas station. With plans for Salta & then Cordoba in mind, it all changed when he met 2 Dutch girls who were driving all the way south. After agreeing to buy them lunch, they set off south. He finally reached his digs, sore & sweaty, he slumped into a heap on his bed. You could feel that there was money around Rosario. Seeing beaten up old cars, like the ones in Peru, had become such a regular occurrance, that seeing sparkly new German numbers stood out. That was his barometer for judging the economic strength of a place, how many new cars do you see on the streets. It was like a mini - Buenos Aires. Like Buenos Aires, Rosario dog owners had a similar knack of leaving there pets landmines to dot the sidewalks. Rosario was really pretty though. The humidity had increased but there always seemed to be a cool breeze sweeping by. He decided to head out on the Saturday nite. It proved a usual Saturday like any other with one exception. At a local restraurant he got talking to a local couple. The guy, Juan, worked for the railway & was heading to B.A the following night. He had been on some time off & tomorrow night would be his first night back at work. After re-telling his tale to Juan about the last year, Juan decided to sneak him on board & to hitch to B.A. It was only 8-9hrs down the road so it would be perfect. He'd hitched rides on pretty much all forms of transport at this point, so hitching on a train was only appropriate. He had to get there 30min before the train left. Being a Sunday it would be a bit easier to get him into the rear of the train. There was nervous tension running through his veins. When he got there it seemed it would be all easy going. And it was, until he saw the compartment he would sleep in for the night. The rear room was a container with no windows & minimal ventilation. 'Christ on a bicycle, this is gonna be a long night.' He climbed in & tried to find some sort of comfort. As the door slid close, so the light disappeared. There was a streak of light filtering through between the door & the cart. That was it. The next 8-9hrs saw him being thrown around like a rag doll. At first he tried to fight it, then went with it. 'What's the point.' The next 8 hrs would be the most bone rattling 8hrs of his life. He tried to sleep & took 3 sleeping tablets. It was completely dark, so it might not have been the correct tablets he took. He tossed & turned, bounced & rolled all night. He eventually fell asleep. Finally. He went into a deep sleep until suddenly the door got pulled open. During the course of the night he had decided to strip down to the bear minimum due to the crazy heat. Oh dear. The guard who opened the door was not Juan. Now imagine if you will the scene. The guard let rip with a volley of anger he had not witnessed. All the time he was asking for, 'Donde Juan.' The guard would have nothing of that. He battled to get his kit back on due to the state he was in. The compartment had also given him a coat of soot. So there he was half naked, sweaty, dirty & untidy. Thankfully Juan arrived to save him from his situation. He walked through the station an utter mess. He decided to 'freshen up.' For a moment he looked around for the mirror, because the only other person in the toilet was some half dressed skanky, stinky, smelly bum. He had found the mirror already, & he was the only one there. 'I think I need a shower pronto.'

Buenos Aires had the sophistication & style of Madrid or Paris, yet the sexy dirty grit & passion of South America. Very much like him (tongue firmly stuck in cheek) if he thought about it. After the much needed shower, he settled in for the day knowing that tomorrow would be a big day in his trip. He had planned to get to southern Argie in 2-3weeks  if all went to plan. He knew tomorrow had to go his way for that to happen. He would cross that bridge when he got there, so wouldn't drive himself crazy thinking about it. He woke up knowing that the entire year that he had travelled depended upon today. Surely it can't go wrong now. Not after all he'd been through. The news came through. It made him physically ill. Is this how it's all going to end. He would try everything to find a solution. He attempted everything during the next few days. On Saturday the 18th February he realised that all alternative options had failed. He would not be able to reach his dream. It was hard to take in. All the up's & down's of the last year, 'was it all for nothing?' He met some really amazing girls from Australia & Austria, they helped ease the pain. It would be temporary. He had tried everything. He woke up the next day & tried again. He would leave these shores the following day. Those days & nights were as painful as anything he'd ever experienced. He sat running through all the things that led to that day. 'What could I have done differently?' It was painful to watch. He tried to reconcile himself to the fact that it had been a great run. 'It wasn't suppose to end this way?' He was numb. Numb to the world & all who walked it. He was for once, defeated. For once broken. He found himself sat on the airport waiting to leave. He was never one for emotion, but tears don't discriminate. Shattered he boarded.

Until that day.....

Numero 18 - Fantasies & fears

As Peru slowly faded from his rear view mirror, a new dust started settling on his old size nines. Arica was reminiscent to places he once new back home. A portal town, with shipping container painting the ocean front landscape, it all had the air of a dusty old  desert peublo. He stayed at a hostel a nine-iron away from the sea shore. They all spoke French, but with his flair for languages, he got on swimmingly well with the staff & fellow clientele. He couldn't & wouldn't stay more than a few nights. Something more overwhelming was calling in the distance. He woke up early in the morning with that same old feeling, a feeling he thought he had lost, 7 months in one place could do that. The road from Arica to Iquique would give him that feeling again. He'd missed that feeling. Water, camera, wet neck scarf, backpack & open road, is all he needed. It's all anybody really needs. Under the constraint of the sun, the tar seemed to be bubbling off the road. He loved it. He longed to get lost in the desert. By truly being lost, only then can you truly find yourself. His ride would inadvertently offer him that. Carla, his ride, had told him she was going all the way to Iquique. 2hrs in & she turned off the road. That was the end of the line. He hopped out the air conditioned little Japanese 2 seater into absolute nothingness. He had dreamed of this for years, & now when it finally arrived, he was to sure what to really expect. He stood in the deafening silence listening to the silence. It spoke volumes. He hadn't ever experience this, not even close. Imagine the quietest place you've ever been too, times it by 100 & then maybe you'll be close to what was playing out in front of him. It would be 90min before civilization came driving by. He reached Iquique round 5pm. Physically & mentally drained, he found sympathy from a cold shower at the hostel. It took a while for the events of the day to settle in. Iquique offered his first taste of salt water between his raggedly curly locks since Mancora now 8months in the past. It was great. He met some really geniune travellers as well. You meet a lot of people when travelling, & although they all talk, many rarely say anything worth remembering.

                                                       Only then can you find yourself

He was finding his ryhthm again. It was a good groove to be in. He really was having a fantastic time in Iquique. The road was calling his number, it would be rude not to answer. Anyway, 3 days in Iquique was perfect. It's always good to quit while in the lead. San Pedro was not that far down the road. He reached the town in the early part of the day. The mercury was heading well north at that point already. He would get to cycle in 'The Valley of The Moon' the next day. There's just something so simple about cycling. You can go where ever & when ever you you want. The town itself was like no other. Dusty old streets, flanked by mud houses & shops charging extortionist prices to all who ventured near. Everything from water to fruit was well over-priced. Weird since the town itself had nothing to offer. He woke up the next day all set for his ride into the valley. He had expected the heat to be like the day before, it surprisingly wasn't. It was worse. Not as hot as the sun, but not far off. The first few kilometers seamed easy, but as soon as the smooth stuff got replaced with the off-road, well, the scenery in more ways than one changed as well. He quickly discovered how a really good day can become a really shitty one. He loved every bit. He'd never choosen the theory of leaving a bit in the tank for the way back & once again followed that route. 'God do I regret that choice,' he murmurred under dryed out tongue. 'Onward & upward.' He loved the challenge. He even had time to spark up a few Marlboro's. He loved the pain racing through his desert stained shirt, he loved every bit of sweat being excorcised from his body by the Atacama sun. These are the days you remember when you back home & everything goes tits up. You'll long for these days. This is what it was all about.

                                            
                                                                            Lunar Landing

He returned that evening with a smile as wide as his arse was sore. It was really sore. The night was filled with laughter & tales with French, Dutch, Spanish & English accents. This was a really good day.
He was up early the next day with only one thing on his mind. Argentina. He stamped out of Chile in San Pedro, it was weird, cause there's still another 200klm to go before you actually hit Argentinian soil. He reached the road heading east pretty early, 5 hours later he was still sat there. He had been through it all before. So he returned that afternoon to his hostel. It resembled 'Fawlty Tours.' Fabian the owner was as Basil Fawlty as you can get. He even had his own Manuel. The disappointment of the day was soon forgotten as he visited long into the night under desert trees. Many people get stuck in San Pedro, he was obsessed with not becoming one. So off he trooped to Argentina once again. It would be another long day, but with a difference. A flat bed truck difference. They were heading from Peru to Buenos Aires. Perfecto. Marco & Lucas would get him all the way to northern Argie. They stayed in Susques. A tiny hamlet of a place surrounded by mountains on all sides. The road south from Susques was treacherous for trucks & they thus stayed the night. There was no place in the flatbed, so he crashed at the local dis-used bus depot. Rat infested bus depot. It didn't matter to him, he slept like a baby on codeine. He woke up to discover his ride had left, no worry though. He met a few other truckers in town & managed to arrange another ride. He had a few hours to kill so went to have a look around town. It was straight out of the old west. He was half expecting bandits to come running throw 6 shooters blazing aways with a dust cloud trailling behind. He could even hear the theme from 'The good, bad & ugly' ringing in his ears. All that was missing was a dual over the honour of the blacksmiths daughter. The church bells even chymed away at noon. Jujuy would be reached just before nightfall. 'Wet, wet ,wet,' would be an appropriate band name for Jujuy. It had been a while since he'd seen sheets of rain like was on display. Hitchhiking was always un-predictable, & so it would prove again. He started out looking for a ride to Cordoba, but by the next morning he would be in Rosario. He rolled into Rosario with on a sunny Friday afternoon more confident than ever of achieving his goal. Life though, like hitchhiking is un-predictable. Looking back, would have known though, that 2 weeks later, his dreams, his life, would be in tatters.

                                                                     Long beds

Until that day ......

Numero 17- Sometimes the bridesmaid does get married

So that day had finally arrived. He was reminded that it wasn't 6 months as he thought but closer to 8. 'WOW !!!' So much had changed in that time. His 'Espanolo' as he called it, more commonly known as Spanish, had not improved, but he had learned so much more. Things always happen for a reason, & maybe Arequipa was a much needed reason. The time was ticking away rapidly now, he always wanted it, yet when it finally started happening he wished he could press pause or atleast press the slow play button. It was only natural. He had become accustomed to it all. Popping down the shops for his fags, cheap food, coffee at his favourite french cafe, late night movies after the chaos had moved on & watching the stars in his private observatory with only the creaking old hammock for company. He had met & made geniune connections. Not the 'Baby Teeth' connections one usually make when on journeys. He called them 'Baby Teeth,' because you miss them when they gone, but they soon forgotten when replaced by new ones. He even felt that strange feeling of love for certain people. He had always been a cynic when it came to all those emotional stuff. When it's real, it's pointless putting up your gloves. The real stuff crashes straight through your attempts at bopping & weaving. Not even his best attempts at impersonating 'Pretty boy Floyd' was enough. When that's not enough, you know then it's real. As always there would be some drama, it would be out of character if there wasn't some. His life changing 8 months meant leaving would give him one unwanted farewell gift. A $200 worth unwanted gift. Always drama. Such is life. Or more appropriately, such is 'HIS' life. The clock went on ticking. As it ticked away, something truly beautiful, & not just on a skin deep level, something french (E.P), blew into his cage. He never wanted it, but you all know, you have no choice in these matters. As much as it was blowing him of his course, he had to be a steady hand at the wheel. Not long now. He had, as he always wanted, a quiet & simple last night. One last night would not define his stay. That definition had been added to his dictionary a long time ago. Last rounds had been called, lights had been turned on & his taxi had been called. The usual generic hugs were dished out, but for the first time, heartfelt ones were locked into. The ones where you can actually feel the other participants heartbeat. For once he was at a lost for words. 8 months is a lifetime in travelling time. He'd seen this movie to often to think that this show would be remembered after all the popcorn had been cleaned out the cinema seats. But for once he hoped that after the credits had rolled, the main protagonists of this peace would be remembered. Ultimately, the end is never the end, it's just the beginning.
Until that day......