Island Living

If I thought I was in love when I met Buenos Aires, it's because I was green. And that certainly is the case because now with a little more wandering under my belt, I see that though an enjoyable city, BsAs is anything but lovable. My disclaimer here, unlike those of movies and shows which insist that the opinions of characters are strictly fictional, is that this is but my opinion. All I ever heard from my upper-class homestay Portena was monotone criticism glowing with self-importance. The corners of my mouth felt ashamed for their widening habit of smiling because it seemed no one else around me had that habit. In fact, they frowned at our smiles. In a pretty polar contrast, Chileans sing their Spanish, ending sentences on a high note and adding the syllable 'po' after particular lyrics for rhythm's sake. They're friends and they're happy. That's contagious.

My travel in Argentina was limited to the mountains of Cordoba and the country's corner, Iguazu. Our camping trip in the mountains was more a solitary experience of group bonding, Argentines excluded. But even in Iguazu where the townspeople welcome foreign guests and don't end all their sentences on a low drawl, I never experienced the genuine hospitality and kindness that have defined my Chilean travels. From the strangers I ask for street directions to the fishermen who made our island trip possible, I have received nothing but kind human helpfulness. Cristian the bus driver loves Jesus and directed us to the police station in Tirua. There, one of the Carabineros took off work to get us to the Quidico beach in time to meet his fisherman cousin. This man, Carrete, asked for nothing but help in loading his modest motor boat with barrels of petroleum and planks of wood in return for a beautiful two hour ride to the serene Isla Mocha. Ocean Spray, Blue Skies, and Salty Wind.

Upon our arrival, this group of friends with little gave us their everything. Lunch, coffee, a field in front of the ocean to set up tent. "Somos todos iguales," one of them said. How we know it.

The next morning, we accompanied the sun's steps across the island for 9 hours, circumnavigating its coasts, marshes, sand dunes and mountains. Isla Mocha is like New Zealand in that its terrain rolls with hills and it has more livestock than people. Baby animals everywhere.

Then we hitch hiked a ride with the local mode of transportation, horse driven carts. We got in the smallest plane I've ever been in and flew across 24 miles of ocean back to mainland.

Time is adventure.