Sancho Panza doin the ol´ fat-kid-stuck-in-a-hole trick.
More pictures to be seen at http://eleanorchandler.blogspot.com/.
A week in El Bolson, back into Chile, onward fat girl, let´s get outa the south already and warm up and dry out.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
RATS
Pun meloncholily intended: this message is a fairwell to the most fearless mouse ever to scurry the Earth, or even the universe... the mighty Sancho Panza de Mendoza.
The critter valiantly made the who-knows-how-many-kilometers-long voyage by bus and thumb through Patagonia and into the unknown, the Tierra del Fuego, to the southernmost city in the world. He made it through border crossings between Chile and Argentina esconced in socks, tucked under seats, and concealed in pockets, explored the Tierra del Fuegian wilderness despite rains and winds, fearlessly mounted on my shoulders through valleys and over blustery mountain passes, surviving the occasional sub-freezing night by nothing more than the warmth of his own breath. Alas, after crossing borders to get back onto the Argentine mainland, a last minute flustered transfer of trucks left the poor guy stuffed in a jacket and under the seat of a certain Hugo de La Rioja´s cargo truck, never to be seen by mine eyes again, eyes deafeaned by the pitch dark two day ride in a refrigerator big rig´s trailer gripped by the Patagonian cold season, eyes iced over by emerging tears quickly frozen in place, eyes burnt by nothing more than the absence of his fiery mousiness.
Alright so I didn´t cry but my heart is a bit broken. He was a good mouse, and with his wit and charm is surredly in the hands of a caring grandchild of Hugo´s.
God speed you little white rodent. I´ve always envied your whiskers, so this mustache´s fer you.
The critter valiantly made the who-knows-how-many-kilometers-long voyage by bus and thumb through Patagonia and into the unknown, the Tierra del Fuego, to the southernmost city in the world. He made it through border crossings between Chile and Argentina esconced in socks, tucked under seats, and concealed in pockets, explored the Tierra del Fuegian wilderness despite rains and winds, fearlessly mounted on my shoulders through valleys and over blustery mountain passes, surviving the occasional sub-freezing night by nothing more than the warmth of his own breath. Alas, after crossing borders to get back onto the Argentine mainland, a last minute flustered transfer of trucks left the poor guy stuffed in a jacket and under the seat of a certain Hugo de La Rioja´s cargo truck, never to be seen by mine eyes again, eyes deafeaned by the pitch dark two day ride in a refrigerator big rig´s trailer gripped by the Patagonian cold season, eyes iced over by emerging tears quickly frozen in place, eyes burnt by nothing more than the absence of his fiery mousiness.
Alright so I didn´t cry but my heart is a bit broken. He was a good mouse, and with his wit and charm is surredly in the hands of a caring grandchild of Hugo´s.
God speed you little white rodent. I´ve always envied your whiskers, so this mustache´s fer you.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
a quickie
Not that kind.
Gross.
So we´ve hitched from Ushuaia, the Southermost city in de world (nearly escaping the cold after four nights of beautiful and foul weather lakeside in the Tierra del Fuegian wilderness), to El Bolson, the hippiest town in South America in good time and with plenty o good times. Bouncing around with granite rocks and dodging rain in a janky cargo truck, watching rumbling clouds of hot breath by headlamp in a cold cold cold and dark trailer of a refrigerated big rig, marinating in the sweet smell of dead chicken, hopin the winds don´t knock us over like it did to two other trucks a few hours earlier.
We´re alive though and planning new adventures. The cold is officially here in Patagonia. Look out. I´ll try and write more next time. We´re gonna go make us sum dinner.
Love you.
Gross.
So we´ve hitched from Ushuaia, the Southermost city in de world (nearly escaping the cold after four nights of beautiful and foul weather lakeside in the Tierra del Fuegian wilderness), to El Bolson, the hippiest town in South America in good time and with plenty o good times. Bouncing around with granite rocks and dodging rain in a janky cargo truck, watching rumbling clouds of hot breath by headlamp in a cold cold cold and dark trailer of a refrigerated big rig, marinating in the sweet smell of dead chicken, hopin the winds don´t knock us over like it did to two other trucks a few hours earlier.
We´re alive though and planning new adventures. The cold is officially here in Patagonia. Look out. I´ll try and write more next time. We´re gonna go make us sum dinner.
Love you.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)