Ushuaia to Tolhuin: the sentimental version

“Everything is incomplete, everything is imperfect, everything is impermanent.” — Wabi Sabi (via one of my dance teachers, Lori)

This is not easy.  This is hard.  Day four and what?  What do you want to know?  Anni says, “please let us know the dirt, the grime, the hurt, the human.”  Really?  Let you know the unglamorous?  The moments when it isn’t “wow, look at THAT MOUNTAIN VIEW?”  Because there were those mountain views.  When I kept saying out loud to myself, “Holy shit, you are here.  In Argentina (not Ushuaia).  In Patagonia.”  But the start of this bike trip is not easy.  Day four and Be is passed out, asleep.  Some bug, food, water something or who knows what, but she rightly called for a rest day.  And I am not always the best travel companion.  I am restless, impatient.  I feel afraid that if we don’t keep moving it will just stop.  This bike trip will screech to a halt.  Because it’s been running or walking or riding around in circles.  Turning down the worst of aggressive dog-filled side roads.  There have been tears three days of four.  Rain only one, but that was a lot of rain.  And we haven’t even met the headwinds of the pampas yet.  

I just want to keep going. Out-bike this restless feeling gnawing, gnawing.  Just want to keep these legs moving, moving. Want to keep dreaming in Spanish.  Keep practicing the different conjugations — imperativo, condicional, subjuntivo — while asleep and awake so I can understand more of what people are saying.  The gentle glee inside of me when I talked to the ranger man at Lake Khami for 20 minutes and understood nearly all of what he said.  As he spoke slowly and explained words I said I didn’t understand.  He said, “Puedo entender.”  “I can understand all you say.  Just keep talking and listening and you’ll get there.”  

I want to be able to understand so I can know what those two men showing me the free cyclist room behind the panaderia (that we didn’t stay at here in Tolhuin) were laughing at as they spoke so rapidly.  I want to understand so I don’t have to hold my guard so tight.  So I can speak up for myself as needed.  But I speak English fluently and still, I couldn’t speak up for myself to stop that other cyclist man — splaining, splaining, splaining.  

“JUST STOP!  Yes, this cycle tour is just starting for us.  Yes we are green around the edges, but we have each ridden over 10,000km around Australia, at least half of which was solo.  We know how to figure things out.  We do.  We’ve done it before.  Together and on our own.” 

Words that didn’t make it out of my gut. 

I thought this would all be lighter.  It’s true, I did. But it’s kinda heavy.  

And the lightness comes in as it’s ready.  

Hugging each morning before we start riding, a mix of laughing and crying releasing itself as soon as we make contact with each other.  In hysterics at lunch, day two, before the rain set in.  “Unicorn vomit” on my bike and I can’t even remember what got us laughing so hard.  

The smell of clover flowers.  Camping by Lago Khami In a field of daisies.  Sun and puffy white clouds and alfajores and I told my mom that joy, for me, does not mean happy.  It means the fullness and vibrancy that comes by feeling everything.  The frustration, grief, smallness... Going through all that to come to that mountain view and really being able to take it in.  I said that before I left.  Haha. Easier said than done.  It is not easy feeling frustrated.  It is not easy feeling small.  But here we are.  Just starting.  Still finding the flow.  In Tolhuin for an extra night.