01. Prelude.
I haven't hitch-hiked for two years, a lifetime... getting back into the swing of things by leaving a megalopolis of thirteen million inhabitants, risking a twist... Stop.
Rwd... Stop.
Play. The meandering river fading into the late summer, the blue of the sky cut by the jagged peaks, the slightest stone protrusion in the snow, the trees in the middle of the pastures further down, my eyes stare at nothing in particular, but every detail pierce my retina, to reach my brain. The sun's rays make their way through the clouds to accentuate the contrasts, the cold and wet wind whips my face : they force me to look.
It’s beautiful, not exceptional, just beautiful. I stay here for a while, sitting on my rock, alone amongst other people, I feel something is happening. Finally, it happens...
The groundswell rose from the depths of the subconscious, has swept everything away, leaving only an obviousness : I must return. All this was just the beginning, the foreplay, I must now embrace what for all these years, have only been touched. And it has to be done here, not somewhere else.
I finally have my answer, the one with enough consistency to last more than a few weeks, and for the first time in my life, a goal. Stop.
Fwd... Stop.
Play. It's been five years. To the return followed the waiting, lived like a long breath hold, or rather a coma, I was starting from far back, I needed it to heal. I prepared myself, especially mentally, I dreamed a lot, trying as much as possible to avoid fantasy, I built myself with this new objective on my crosshairs.
Five years is rather long, however, having accepted to put aside any other personal or professional ambition, staying in stasis haven’t been very complicated ; the hardest was to emerge from it, to find deep inside me the energy that would bring me out of this sedentary torpor, the one that gets you to sleep like carbon monoxide. Giving everything to generate an ultimate saving im-pulse, a deep inspiration to bring in the remains of will up, and an expiration to refloat the forgotten sensations, excavate the taste of adventure. Everything is still here, hidden but intact. It’s time, vamos ahora.
Five years, during all this time my life choices have been dictated by what I’m doing : Reset. You close the file and put it on a shelf, in the archives, maybe it will be used again, maybe not, that’s not the question. No questions by the way, none at all. A one-way ticket and a few names scattered over several million square kilometers, no more. A point of departure, a course, a parenthesis that closes so a quotation mark opens, to let life, real life, speak. From now on, that’s her who leads the dance.
Five years. Blurred vision, stiff muscles, disoriented mind : tough awakening. Leaving didn't require much effort, I knew what was waiting for me if I’d stayed. The journey to the end of the night is coming to an end. Pause.
"fffuuuue..."
Play. Night train to Bahia Blanca, that’s the wisest. I like trains, their seats are still impregnated by the smell of old books and 19th century, they carry a history going from Moscow to Vladivostok, from New York to Los Angeles, a scent of con-quest ; at the ends of its beautiful white and blue shirt, the old mechanics of the industrial revolution has hands sticky with grease and ink.
Bahia Blanca. I couldn’t say what the city looks like, since I left the station I run headfirst towards the road 3, it too started in Buenos Aires.
Walking away from downtown, I cross a bridge over an abandoned railroad track with summer-burned grass, a wagon and a steam locomotive are rusting peacefully. A bullet flies. I bend my knees and look around, survival instinct ; the traffic noise fades out, spurred boots come closer and echo on the whiskey-stained wooden floor, the ragtime of the smashed piano sets the pace, outside hooves strike the ground and wreaths of dust waltz with roses of Jericho.
The landscapes are very similar, here it’s towards South the conquest took place, hat screwed on the head and scarf as dust cover, it’s through them I leave towards mine.
The last straight line is endless, it allows me to drop off the apprehension of the beginning, to wet my neck before diving in a way, a little water to stick the dust to the ground, to not run away at the first gust. The same tune for every new departure, you leave such a huge weight behind you stagger, it takes a while to find the balance back.
I hold my thumb up timidly, a car from time to time, I have to keep going on. Finally, the starting point arrives : the Last Gas Station, where everything begins. It is big, dusty, full of cars and trucks, perfect.
Now I can step over the guardrail, put my bag on the white line and wait for life to hit me.
" -
Bahia Blanca, January 31, 2019.