Dammit

"Being a slave was never a good idea. And being, voluntarily, an idiot doesn´t seem to me to be a valid option. Being just (one more) screw in the perpetuation of stupidity that is dragging us to the bottom, even if a screw that is resisting the screw driver, is not of great merit. The only acceptable slavery is that of our conscience. And it starts being unbearable because the distance between what it´s dictating and everyday life is too big. Dammit." 

Antigone

Antigone was sentenced to be buried alive. She defied them even then, taking her own life.

At home

My nigerian colleague greeted me with "You look very bright this morning". I felt bright too. Every morning I walk 10 minutes down this road to get to work. It feels human. It feels easy. I feel at home. I feel so much in place. At coffee break I was talking about Zimbabwe, at lunch about Kenya and Croatia, in the afternoon about Alexandria and at dinner about Uganda and Hungary. So-so many things we don´t know, so many interesting people, doing their bit in the world.

There were some special moments with all these people I am now getting to know. On the first day, the colleague from Zimbabwe expressed his happiness for having egyptians in the group; he hopes to learn with them... When we asked the chinese colleague about Ai Wei Wei, he asked us if that was a company... And when I expressed my excitement to the egyptian girl because she works at the Alexandria library, she told me that people associate it to the Mubarak couple and refuse to have anything to do with it. The director, who was unable to respond to the changes that took place, refuses to resign. He´ll have to, soon...

I am at home. What an amazing feeling I had forgotten all about.

Easy

It looks easy after all. You board a plane, you travel for some hours and then you land at a place where you suddenly feel that everything is going to be OK. And you don´t need to hear it from anybody´s lips. You just know it for yourself. The weight has been lifted, everything that happened in the space of just a few weeks is history. All you think is “This is an opportunity, you are lucky enough to have an opportunity, take it!”.

Washington was calm and warm this morning. Its large avenues almost empty, but there was already some movement in the neighborhood cafés. A feeling of peace and well-being.

The first thing I wanted to do was to get to the Museum of American Art as soon as I could and stand in front of Cape Cod Morning. Just a few months ago this new encounter hadn´t even crossed my mind. All I had to do was to look left after I got at the information hall. And there she was. Same place, same emotion. As I walked closer, her features got more clear, the expression exactly as I remembered it. There we were again.

I walked a lot. I walked all around central Washington. It feels easy. Things feel easy, again, and I feel I fit. I immediately feel I belong. Rare, precious feeling. I love how people start talking to me as if we knew each other. Small talk, nothing special, in the street, in the queue at the supermarket, at the counter. Things are easy.

I took a stroll in ‘my neighborhood’ in the early evening. Like we used to do in London. Still very warm and calm. Very green too. My neighborhood.

The Satrapy

Too bad that, cut out as you are
for grand and noble acts,
this unfair fate of yours
never offers encouragement,
always denies you success;
that cheap habits get in your way,
pettiness, or indifference.
And how terrible the day you give in
(the day you let go and give in)
and take the road for Susaand go to King Artaxerxes,
who, well-disposed, gives you a place at his court
and offers you satrapies and things like that
—things you don’t want at all,
though, in despair, you accept them just the same.
You long for something else, ache for other things:
praise from the Demos and the Sophists,
that hard-won, that priceless acclaim—
the Agora, the Theatre, the Crowns of Laurel.
You can’t get any of these from Artaxerxes,
you’ll never find any of these in the satrapy,
and without them, what kind of life will you live?
C.P.Cavafy

Días y noches

I am reading it slowly. A couple of pages per day. Because I don´t want it to finish... It´s been the best part of my days.

The rain

I was behind them, moving under the sheltered open-air corridor of the station. A little girl was walking holding hands with her blind mum, just one small step ahead of her.

"It´s raining", the mother said.
"No", said the little girl.
"Daniela, look, it´s raining", the mother insisted. "Don´t you see?".
"No", answered again the little girl.
"Daniela", said again the mother with determination, "listen, it´s raining."

I smiled, suddenly filled with a feeling of happiness. The storm came a couple of seconds later and nobody could doubt anymore that it was actually raining.

The city of the dead

They were 62 beautiful minutes about misery, philosophy, happiness and life (and death) in general.

A lady was explaining that they had had to leave the tomb they were leaving in, for which they were paying 1 and a half pound, and rent another for 70. She was peeling potatoes. Her young daughter was washing the dishes. "Are you happy", they asked her. She gave a big smile. "Yes, thank God", she answered, without hesitating a bit.

Things I miss

I am thinking of the things I miss. Waking up light and eager to start. Belonging. Feeling complete. Enjoying. Things being simple. The expectation of Friday night and the weekend.

Today, now, I miss all of them together. It´s an overdose.

Still there

"El miedo amenaza.
Si usted ama, tendrá sida.
Si fuma, tendrá cancer.
Si respira, tendrá contaminación.
Si bebe, tendrá accidentes.
Si come, tendrá colesterol.
Si habla, tendrá desempleo.
Si camina, tendrá violencia.
Si piensa, tendrá angustia.
Si duda, tendrá locura.
Si siente, tendrá soledad."
 
Eduardo Galeano

And now?

"Hay una hora en la tarde en que la noche está por decir algo; nunca lo dice o tal vez lo dice infinitamente y no lo entendemos, o lo entendemos pero es intraducible como una música...".

Jorge Luis Borges

Argentina, day 16 - Buenos Aires and back

I carry with me the images of angels. Those the indians painted for the church of Uquia and those by Hagelstange.

Argentina, day 15 - Buenos Aires

A day dedicated to museums and parks. And to discovering small bits of Jorge Luis Borges, here and there.

“Así fueron muriendo los días y con los días los años, pero algo parecido a la felicidad ocurrió una mañana. Llovió, con lentidud poderosa”.

Argentina, day 14 - Buenos Aires

In this country, history is everywhere. Politics too. And the way people adored Evita fifty years ago and continue to do so (I saw a man kissing her tomb this morning), some people seem to nurture the same kind of admiration and devotion for Cristina Kircnher. The politicians never fail to use and explore these kind of feelings. It feels too much.

Today I walked from the centre to Recoletta and from there to the Congress and back to the Plaza de Mayo. I saw beautiful neighborhoods, reminding me a lot of Athens. I had to think hard to remember where I was. It is easy to talk to people in the street, especially shop owners. It was such a pleasure talking to a grocer today about the quality of aubergines.

A stop at Café Tortoni for lunch. A tourist trap, really. The café is absolutely beautiful. Everything else a robbery, that´s why the locals don´t go there. I met the locals later, for coffee, at the Café Puerto Rico. Not as glamorous, but it doesn´t make you feel a stupid tourist.

At exactly 3.30 pm, the Madres de Plaza de Mayo started their weekly march. I looked at their faces, trying to imagine, if possible, how it feels. I felt ashamed for taking photos, they are not exactly an attraction and I am not a reporter. But they are history, live history, in front of our eyes. Tomorrow I´ll meet someone whose husband and two brothers were taken away from a family lunch one day and never seen again. She was left with two babies. How many more stories like that in this country... And others... How did they find the way to go on?

At the end of the day, I went to the Buenos Aires Book Fair, just to finish myself off. So many people, so many books I felt like buying. And then dinner in Palermo and nice, warm red wine from Salta. It was a beautiful almost summer day in Buenos Aires.

Argentina, day 13 - Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires for me is a mixture of Athens, Paris and New York. Today I walked all the way from the centre, through San Telmo, to La Boca and back. Lots of colour and a sense of being somewhere I had been before.

When I visited the Teatro Colon a few days ago, they told us that the porteños had wanted to build a theatre to match the european ones. A theatre like those in Paris. Later on, in Santa Fe, someone was talking to me about Buenos Aires ans its cultural life and compared it, once again, to Paris. In the course of another conversation, when I included the Argentines among latin american people, someone, half joking, told me: “We are not Latin Americans, we are Europeans”. It´s a big mixture, that´s what it is.

I had lunch on a café terrace. It was warm and sunny and I desperately needed to rest. There was a nice movement in Plaza Dorrego, in San Telmo, both tourists and porteños.

Two demonstrations later (it seems to be a daily happening here), I got to Confetaria Ideal. It was 5pm and on the first floor there were already many couples dancing the tango. All tables here have one chair, all looking towards the dance floor. People come alone, the majority in their 60s or more. The music starts and they are exchanging glances, looking for a partner. It´s an interesting ritual and the dancing is beautiful. But there is something decadent in it as well.

Whenever you need it, a café Havanna is near you. Paradise. I think I´ve already tasted all possible versions of alfajores.

Argentina, day 12 - Santa Fe and back to Buenos Aires

Today I visited four museums in Santa Fe. Three of them are in the same square, all dealing with the town´s past. The fourth one was the Museum of Fine Arts Rosa Galisteo de Rodriguez. And there I discovered the work of Lucero Hagelstange, an artist from Santa Fe, who seems to admire Gauguin... The exhibition´s title was "Myth: Angels in Paradise". With all the images I carry with me from this trip, his paintings touched me in a very special way.

I am back in Buenos Aires. Last part of the trip. I was a bit nervous, almost everybody kept advising me to be very careful, in the street, in getting into a taxi. Four more days.

Argentina, day 11 - Santa Fe

The rhythm is quiet different these last two days. Taking things easy.  Thinking a lot. The internal countdown has started and it´s having its effects. 

In the morning, I went to visit the Palacio Legislativo. It`s one of the three the country has, but maybe the most important, because the constitution was signed in Santa Fe. The painting "The Constitution leading the people" is quite suggestive. It was painted by Guillermo Roux.

In every city or town I have passed so far there is a San Martin, Belgrado, Lavalle or Mitre street. And also a 25 de Mayo or 9 de Julio street and many more dates. The Argentines are very attached to their history. The names of the military who led the war for independence or presidents or the dates of important battles are marked for ever in their streets. You can learn this country´s history by asking "who was this?" or "What happened then?". It happens in every country, but here it seems to be more extended. And, of course, the argentine flag is absolutely everywhere.

Here people greet each other with one kiss. Also men with men. Laura´s boys never forget to give me two; I come from Portugal. It´s interesting to see how they kept the country inside them. They were happy there, it probably makes all the difference.

Argentina, day 10 - Santa Fe

Winter came suddenly. Very strong wind and rain, very cold. We went for a walk in the morning, but the whole town seemed to be sleeping. In the afternoon we took the car and went around. Santa Fe has a huge river and in the summer they even have beaches, but now they are covered with water.

I am still fascinated with the number of old cars. Falcons are particularly beautiful. Nevertheless, green falcons were the cars used by secret police during the dictatorship ('el proceso' they call it here) to take people away in the middle of the night. Green falcons meant terror. Now they paint them in many different colours.

First political conversation today. I had been looking forward to it. There is so much to talk about in this country.

Too much time to think today...

Argentina, day 9 - Agustin´s wedding

I hadn´t been to a wedding in ages. I avoid them in any way I can. But this wedding was the best reason (and excuse) to finally make this trip to Argentina.

Weddings tend to be too long. And all the same, also. But I was introduced to very nice and cheerful people, pleased to finally meet "la griega", eager to invite me to their place, to show me around, to make me eat until I would say "please, no more". 

But the most special thing about this wedding was the tenderness in the way Agustin looked at his young bride and his smile, that revealed the 12-year-old boy I met years ago.

Argentina, day 8 - From Buenos Aires to Santa Fe

They had told me that Buenos Aires feels like Athens. It does. Lots of traffic, lots of noise, dirty pavements (maybe even dirtier than those in Athens), lots of people. And demonstrations in every corner.

I got out of the hotel without map and without camera, I just felt like wandering. At first, it was as if I had been abruptly, violently taken from the place where I had been yesterday. Two very distant worlds, not only because of the kilometres that separate them. I miss that other one. I would have liked to spend more, much more, time there.

I took advantage of the fact that my wandering around took me to Teatro Colon, and I went in for the guided tour. Argentines keep congratulating me on how well I speak and understand their language... Apparently so well, that I paid one third of the price for the guided tour, being considered a resident. I didn´t correct them, I enjoyed the feeling.

On the way to Jorge Newbury airport, on either side of the 'autopista' there is an extensive slum. It´s incredible the quantity of 'houses'. And the poverty. It´s so close to the road that it looks as if the autopista was a 'crown' they decided to put on the slum. They told me that it´s called Villa 31 and this is where many immigrants live, especially from Paraguay and Bolivia. The situation is totally out of control, so the mayor of Buenos Aires decided to give bright colours to the 'houses'. And there are already organize´d tours...

Another delay at the airport. The second. Three hours this time. Anyway, things have gone smoothly in general, I am not complaining. It´s just that delays are tricky, they give me plenty of time to think.

So, in Santa Fe, in a real argentine home, in the company of very good friends, and the friends of the friends. To celebrate Agustín´s wedding.

Argentina, day 7 - Quebrada de Huacamaca

Dust and poverty. This is what marks the north-west of Argentina. And people always sweeping. What for...? I really felt a tourist, terrible thing. You come, you see the views, people try to sell you things, you don´t mix, you don´t talk, you go away.

Today I went up the Humahuaca gorge, all the way to the small town of Humahuaca. Whenever the van stopped somewhere, vendors would approach the door, selling all sorts of small souvenirs. Small children would be around their mothers, older children would also be selling things. I thought they were all too warmly dressed for the summer temperatures we encountered up on those altitudes.

Another beautiful gorge, Humahuaca, impressive colours and lots of traces of the Incas. Villages that reminded me a lot of others I had seen many years ago in the egyptian desert and the cemetaries high above in the hills, for the spirits to be closer to the gods. Up to a certain point, on our way from Salta, the scenery was quite green. Then it was the desert again. And dust. Important battles took place in this region in the 19th century for Argentina´s independence. The border with Bolivia was 160 Kms away.

It is very nice to see the lively central squares of every place we passed from, small or big. We got to Humahuaca at lunch time, so, besides the people selling things to the tourists, there were lots of people having lunch in the open air, things they had brought from home. I had time to go to the local market, not the one for the tourists. Lots of fruits and vegetables, things for the home, clothes. And poverty. What do those people dream of, I wondered. They probably dream of something. What? What do they want for their kids? What can they hope for their kids...?

On the way back, we stopped in Uquía. The church paintings were produced by Indians in Cuzco, in the 17th century, under the supervision of the Spanish. They told them to paint angels. They painted the Spanish, with their weapons and everything, and they put wings on them. Angels of good and evil.

Interesting group of people today. A young couple from Israel, travelling for five months in the Latin America. And a brother a sister from Columbia, he working in Buenos Aires, she living with their mother in Geneva. Interesting, cheerful people, they were very good company.

Rarely do I start talking to people sitting next to me in the plane. Unless... I have something to say about the book they are reading. On my way to Ushuaia, the man next to me was reading Naomi Klein´s “The shock doctrine”. That led ot fourty fives minutes of conversation (a monologue, really; it seems he was eager to talk). The man sitting next to me today in the flight from Salta to Buenos Aires was reading Saramago´s “The story of the siege of Lisbon”. Two hours of conversation, the whole flight, about everything, really.

Argentina, day 6 - Salta and Quebrada de Cafayate

The buses were full last night at 11 in Salta. They were also full at 7.30 in the morning. The city wakes up early. Little children going to school with their sacks on their backs, people going to work, small grocery stores and cafés opening. Some girls wear uniforms like the ones we see in mexican soaps.

I am still impressed with the enormous quantity of old cars in this country. The majority in a really bad state. But they circulate. And the give the place a very special character. As for the dark windows, apparently it´s a fashion...

The views of Quebrada de Cafayate (a million-years-old gorge) are absolutely impressive. The variety of reds, greys, browns and pinks is unbelievable and they keep changing as the sun moves. It amazes me how diverse the landscapes of this country are. This is so different from where I was yesterday.

Funny group the one at the excursion today. Young people, mainly. Portuguese-Australians, Argentine-Australians, Greek-Canadians, an Italian living in London, a Greek living in Lisbon... It´s not that easy to define oneself these days. Lots of stories on the way, about trips, mainly. The Italian will be taking the bus tomorrow to go to Atacama, in Chile. Thirteen hours crossing the Andes. I was sooooooo tempted to do... what I´ve always wanted to do. Next time...

We stopped for lunch in the town of Cafayate. I sat with the three Argentines-Argentines. This trip is very well organized, but I don´t get to mix and talk with the people who actually live in this country. How can we feel the country otherwise. I then took a stroll alone. Shops were getting ready to close for the siesta, kids were going back to school for the afternoon. Young students in Cafayate wear a white coat, making them all look like small doctors or milkmen. Many of them were sitting under the trees of the main square during their break. Almost all were socializing having a computed in front of them.

The suburbs of Salta are extremely poor. The houses, the roads, the shops, the cars (...), everything is poor. Most streets do not have pavements or asphalt. With the exception of some of the main ones, maybe. You feel the dust in your mouth. But it´s nice to see the kids play in the middle of all that.

We got back to Salta at 6.30. The city was extremely busy at that hour. The main square, Plaza 9 de Julio, absolutely packed with people. With this summer temperature, who wants to be in... The cathedral beautifully lit on one of the square´s sides. Very impressive inside. All this movement felt so good. And the faces around me - so beautiful some of them, others so expressive - reminding me that I am on Inca territory.

The visit to the Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montaña just half an hour before it closed was a very touching experience. Seeing the mummy of the ‘niño’, which was found up on the mountain, is something really special. His little hand looked so soft, I felt like caressing it. I would have been sorry if I had missed it.

I am where I´ve always dreamt of coming. It it real?

Argentina, day 5 - From El Calafate to Salta

The strong wind seems to be constant in El Calafate. It feels as if it could lift you and everything else with you. I took a taxi to Glaciarium, the new museum of patagonian ice. The taxi driver (who I doubt was old enough to have a driving license), had the back of his seat in sleeping, not driving, position, answered his mobile phone, left the wheel to change gear with his other hand, and drove at about 100Kms/hr while it seemed that the car would take off with that wind.

Glaciarium looks like a centre for studying UFOs in the middle of nowhere. It´s impressive, lots of new technology (too much, maybe, too expensive and fancy) and amazing things one can learn about ice and glaciars. I was the only visitor this morning. I felt utterly crazy when trying to walk the 50 metres from the point where the taxi left me to the museum entrance in the middle of the rain and the wind.

El Calafate lives of tourism. In the main street you just see agencies, souvenir and handicraft shops, cafés, restaurants, banks and... the casino. More apartments and hotels are being built, its airport will soon be twice its actual size, more tourists will arrive, more people will make their living of it. Nevertheless, for the time being, numbers seem to be under control. Nowhere, so far, have a felt like being part if a huge crowd, as it happens in other places.

Whenever I am leaving a place, I find myself taking a good look at it, trying to lock it in my memory for ever. Or trying to take in as many images as possible, until next time...

Two and a half hours of delay at the airport resulted in changing planes in less than five minutes in Buenos Aires (they closed the airplane door behind me) and arriving in Salta with no luggage. But just from what I saw on my way to the hotel from the airport, I know I´ve arrived to my destination. Who cares if I have not got a pyjama for tonight. I am too happy to be here. Finally.

Argentina, day 4 - El Calafate, Perito Moreno

I stood in front of it and I cried. It was overwhelming. It comes down from the Andes, silent, majestic, imposing. I stood in front of it, soaked up to the knee, cold, tiny. And I cried. Perito Moreno.

I woke up at six and I couldn´t go back to sleep. I wanted to get out and start the day as soon as possible. I was, after all, going to see Perito Moreno. The sun rises after 8.30 at this time of the year. I had to wait quite a bit before I could draw my curtains open and enjoy the morning view of Lago Argentino. I opened the window, it was cold, a light rain intensifying the smells of the countryside, the sun making everything shine. I felt full, I felt happy.

Perito Moreno is 80 Kms away from Calafate. The landscape changes dramatically in this 80 Kms. The desert turns to steppe, then its place is taken by a forest – at its best with its autumn colours - and then, finally, the glaciar.


We first approached it with a catamaran. Since we got in the forest it didn´t stop raining and just before we got on the boat the rain intensified. Getting on the open-air upper deck to get a better look at the glaciar was a big adventure. The wind got us soaked, the cold was intense, the effort to protect the camera hopeless, but the view was aboslutely amazing. The glaciar had an intense blue colour thanks to (...) the lack of sun. It looked huge, compact, impressive.

We then got back to the bus to go up to the “passarelas” and get to see the glaciar from the front. Nothing can prepare us for what expects us there. No photos, no books, nothing. I was left speechless, breatlhess... It´s huge, it´s a monument, it´s a miracle. I was taking a photo when I heard something like a thunder. I turned around. It was actually a part of the glaciar breaking. The sounds of a ‘live’ glaciar are amazing.


On the way back they offered us calafate liquor. Now we can be sure to come back here. A joyful peruvian man, in an amazing good mood and with a fantastic sense of humour, made our excursion even better. Once we got out of the forest and into the steppe again, the sun finally appeared and with it a beautiful rainbow. The colours got intense again, the wind, extremely strong, made it difficult for the driver to keep the van straight in that never-ending desert road.

I took a stroll in El Calafate before getting back to the hotel. A small Las Vegas, with its own casino (...), in the middle of this desert. Just with better taste. The wind getting stronger and stronger, not cold though. It gave the clouds the most amazing shapes and aspects.

I was back in my room in time to enjoy the afternoon colours of Lago Argentino and the sky from my huge window. The sun had finally started descending. It can be really disorientating for a South European watching the sun in these latitudes.

Argentina, day 3 - From Ushuaia to El Calafate

Ushuaia woke up rainy and cold today. And very-very quiet. Easter Sunday, I reminded myself (you can´t really feel it unless you are able to find a church and share it with other orthodox). I believe what makes places like this bearable on days like this it´s warm friendships and cosy cafés. Ushuaia has a couple of those, Andino and Tante Sara. The friends are very far away, sending sms with their easter wishes.

I visited the Museo del Presidio, in Ushuaia´s old and famous prison. It also houses the Museo Maritimo, Museo Antartico and an art gallery. Poor materials, but a very strong story. That of the prisoners, who ended up here and left to die, forgotten by everyone; murderers (including 16-year-old “petiso orejudo”, who murdered or tortured a number of babies and children in early 20th century Buenos Aires), mixed with thieves, mixed with political prisoners (the intellectual Ricardo Rojas, author of Archipélago, was among them). But also that of the expeditions to the Antarctic, of which the Argentines are obviously very proud. Nevertheless, it was in front of the photos of the Yamanas that I stood the most. The “do not disturb” sign in my hotel room showed the image of a Yamana mother with her baby on her back. Too late... The last survivor is a 88-year-old lady, still living in Ushuaia.

It was pouring down when I boarded the plane to El Calafate. But just before we took off, it opened up and the sun shined for a while. I looked at the town and kept telling myself “Ushuaia, Ushuaia, Ushuaia”... I finally came and I was leaving already. Three months ago that name was just a dream.

Arriving to El Calafate was very far from what I had expected. The landscape is nothing like what I had imagined. It´s a grey-brown desert, with a long never-ending road, the altiplano further away and the mountains even further. What a surprise, I loved it! I got out of the airport in the middle of nowhere. El Calafate is 20 Kms away. Nothing in between.

I got in my hotel room and discovered I had a huge window looking on Lago Argentino. Green and very agitated from the strong wind. I started writing and didn´t turn the lights on until I couldn´t see anything anymore. It was too beautiful to spoil it.

Argentina, day 2 - Tierra del Fuego

A beautiful beginning of the day this morning in Ushuaia. Breakfast at the panoramic room of the hotel Alto Andino. For about five minutes I had it all to myself. Memories of mornings in Lulea and Mallaig came back to me. "End of the world" places in different latitudes.

At the End of the World train station, ticket controllers ask almost everyone where they are from. "From Greece", I said. My answer immobilised them for two seconds. Then a huge smile and they rushed to get me a leaflet in greek. I felt like a rare species. Nice, welcoming people.

I think it is since I left Greece that I hadn´t seen so beautiful, intense autumn colours. It used to be my favourite time of the year there. Yellow, red, brown, green. The trees grow up to a certain altitute. Then the mountains get bare and white with snow. The contrast is amazing. We are surrounded by them.

It is never summer here. In fact, for our standards, it´s always winter. But the sea makes it milder. The Yamanas used to live here naked. Mothers used to wash their newborns in the cold water, to get them used to it. Too much trouble with all the rain and snow to be worried about wearing soaked clothes, say the specialists. So they lit fires, also on their canoes, to keep warm. Thus giving this land its name. The missionaries thought they should get dressed. That´s how they finished them off.

I had a great lunch at the café Aldino Gourmet, the most tasteful minestrone I´ve ever had (or is it that I am too happy to be here...?).

Then an afternoon cruise in the Beagle canal. A small whale made its appearance, quite rare here; then royal cormorans and sea lions put up with us while they were trying to have a siesta on their rocky islands.

Back to Ushuaia, I took a walk in the busy San Martin Street. This is where all the shops and restaurants are. Lots, lots of people, it feels very alive. Here also one sees lots of old cars, many with dark windows...

Dinner at the Bodegón Fueguino, a cosy place. Cordero a la mostaza with mushed sweet potatoes and good latin-american music to go with it. The owner insisted that I had all my food because it´s an excellent aphrodisiac... I didn´t dare to ask any questions.

The last song before I left was of Caetano Veloso, who "cantando mandou a tristeza embora." Or is it that I am too happy to be here...?

Argentina, day 1 1/2

Most of it spent in the air. It didn´t seem real that I was in the queue for Buenos Aires. Looking around me, among the dozens of people of all ages also waiting to board, there were some faces that confirmed, more than others, my destination: darker, small eyes, high cheekbones, large and flat noses. I am heading to their land.

During the 11-hour trip, I was always somewhere between being awake and sleeping, at the point of not knowing if some things really happened or were just a dream. But it wasn´t a dream when at one moment I woke up, looked outside my window and saw a beautiful moon and a huge, dark, blue and silver ocean. I was actually crossing it.

Arriving to the big capital, moving from one airport to the other, nothing looked distinctive. On my left, poor two to three-floor constructions, lots of electricity cables hanging between them, huge outdoor advertisments. Like arriving to Athens by coach. On the left, tall box-like blocks of flats, desperately needing to be cleaned and painted. An image I hold from Sofia or Bucarest of the early 80s.

On the way from Ezeiza to J.Newbury airport, I see lots of old cars circulating in the road. It´s been a long time I hadn´t seen some of those models. Most of them have dark windows. I associate dark windows to rich people, the mafia or secret police. The cars are old and so many that I can´t reach any conclusion. I must remember to ask.

I didn´t have the courage to read the “Nunca más” report before I left. I´ll do it when I´ll get back. But I did finish “Open veins of Latin America”, by uruguaian Eduardo Galeano. I had started it when I booked my airplane ticket, decided to finish it on the way. It makes you feel you are walking on a raped land. It´s one of those books that make you feel totally impotent, even an accomplice.

I waited for seven hours in Buenos Aires before taking my next flight. It finished me off. And then a three-hour flight to the world under... I was 11 years old when I first told myself I would one day come to the Tierra del Fuego. At that age, I didn´t think it would be a cold place, the name promised warmth and passion. Ushuaia really looks like an “end of the world” place; they are my favourites. The cold wind when I stepped out of the airport took all my tiredness away, it revived me. I would like to join the Ushuaians in their Holy Friday walk. I can´t believe I am actually here...

The journey

"Own just what you can carry with you; get to know languages, get to know countries, get to know people. Let you memory be your travel bag." Alexander Soljenitsyn

Almost on my way.

Ivanov

"Let your intelligence rest. Everything is so simple. The ceiling is white, the boots are black and the sugar is sweet. It´s so simple".

They laughed... I hate it when audiences laugh at the wrong moment. Or was it me that didn´t get the joke? That felt how dramatic such a statement can be...?

Fear

It´s sometimes there to protect us. Thus, overcoming it is not a sign of intelligence or bravery.

Crossroad

Suddenly, a feeling of joy invades us. The reason is small, tiny. It leaves us puzzled, scared. How did this happen? What are we supposed to do about it?

We can let it carry us, for a while, for as long as it might last.

("But think of the price you´ll have to pay.")

Or we can try to control it, protect ourselves from it.

("But are you seriously going to throw away this chance?")

It used to be easy.

The sequence

Lonely. Sad. Deeply sad.
Calm. Too calm. Suffocating.
Relief. And fear.

Like entering a taxi and the driver asking:

- "Where to?".

- "Just drive".

Now what?

And suddenly, when I least expected it, as these things usually happen, I missed feeling happy. It was overwhelming.

Too busy

To answer... To write... To call... To think... To think before acting... To act at all... To care... To care... To care... To consider...

Too busy. Everybody.

Simple - simpler - simplest

It seems it is a question of knowing which words to avoid. You avoid the word, you avoid the responsibility, you avoid the feeling.

Simple. Life is simple. Simpler than it seems. That was a hell of good news.

Reality

In my country they say that one learns the truth from the children and the crazy. It was neither. It was just someone who, together with many others, makes the rules, defines the norm and is determined to defend them. Their invincible truth, my breakable reality.

At least that

E. Hopper, Cape Cod Morning. American Art Museum.

Washington D.C.

Για πού το ΄βαλες καρδιά μου

Was it supposed to?

Si muero, dejad el balcón abierto by Raimund Hoghe (Photo Rosa Frank)

He took all his clothes off. And I felt like hugging the child he had been.

Bolero Variations

The King´s speech

When the speech was over and the trial ended, they breathed with relief and came out to the royal balcony. We all took a look at The Mall, St. James´s park... Despite the crowds cheering, it was peaceful. A peaceful view. What else could one wish for, after it was all over?

Wild is the Wind

She won a Grammy yesterday. And now everybody is asking: "Who´s that girl?!"

Thank God for music and for beautiful musicians.

Confession

Silence was broken by a confession when this seemed to be the only way to gain acceptance. Not understanding, not pity; acceptance. But it was not the passport to anything. It put an end to the mystery, it revealed the banality behind the unspoken. It satisfied the 'priest´s' curiosity. It left the lost soul wandering naked, ever since. Unable to recover the silence. Begging for it.

A kind of strength

 "I discovered that physical exhaustion helped me to bear spiritual defeat. (...) It was a preparation for lonliness".

Angélica Liddell, La casa de la fuerza.

I am really sorry I don´t have the guts to see it. But I don´t.

Either...or...

It can mean shelter; or punishment. It may conceal nothing; or plenty. It may embrace breathtaking happiness; or profound sadness. It may signal peace; or defeat. It´s silence. And I´ve been on the 'or' side lately. Still, a relief.  

Flying over Africa

I prefer strong feelings. The ones that turn our head around. The ones we feel deep-deep inside. The ones that fill our chest, that catch our breath, that paralyze us, that push us forward or oblige us to sit down. I prefer them. Even the bad ones. Even they are better than constant neutrality, that just makes us wish for the day to simply pass and not to care about the next one.

Composer John Barry died today.

Ushuaia

When one can´t 'fly', one flies. To Ushuaia, "end of the world, beginning of everything". Have I really done this?

I could have...

Favourite scene. Barbican, first row.

On International Holocaust Day.

The choice

In other words, the actual choice is between sadness from lack of happiness and sadness from repeat and totally unsuccessful attempts to be happy. Now, what sounds more intelligent and less pathetic?

Easy?

Happiness used to come easily. Dreams, wishes, plans and hard work were enough to guarantee it. And what was it? A feeling of being full, complete, in the right place. A feeling of being your right self. A feeling of flying.

Lack of happiness weighs terribly on us. The constant effort not to dream, not to plan, not to believe, not to trust, makes days and distances become painfully longer. Acceptance, apparently the ultimate goal, grabs us from the shoulders and keeps us firmly on the ground. No more flying.

Lack of happiness is not a passive state. It´s active and it´s exhausting.

Tulpan

People dreaming. Also in the steppes of Kazakhstan. And a little girl is stubbornly singing, with determination.

Tulpan, by Sergey Dvortsevoy.

The quest for paradise



Paul Gaugin, Two Tahitian Women (1899)

"... all his biographers would cite as a symbol of how unfair sometimes fate is to artists who are dreaming of finding Paradise on this earthly valley of tears".
Mario Vargas Llosa, The Way to Paradise

Cosa voglio di più? (II)

Tu me acostumbraste
A todas esas cosas
Y tu me enseñaste
Que son maravillosas
Sutil llegaste a mi
Como una tentación
Llenando de ansiedad
Mi corazón.

Yo no comprendia
Como se queria
En tu mundo raro
Y por ti aprendi
Por eso me pregunto
Al ver que me olvidaste
Por qué no me enseñaste
Como se vive sin ti?

Destinations

At the same time, there were flights to Lima, Quito, Buenos Aires, Santiago de Chile. Any of those would have served.