My favorite Hungarian wrote me that title today :) Perhaps it is true, at least in these pampas, these plains.
I am in Chile, after two long bus rides and a short stop in San Martin de Los Andes. Where to begin? The first bus ride, where both Julie and I became extraordinarily naseous, the salty pumpkin soup we ate last night, the adorable lodge-hosteria with a naked woman statue that was so ornately detailed it was almost real and brown overhead beams and a 1950s green bathroom. The huge, immaculate roses of San Martin. The second bus ride, at 6 AM, towards the volcanos, where I slept, spoke in Spanish, English and German with a sports student from Munich, stopped for crackers, petted kittens, encountered military style border guards all in vibrant green, wiped the cold sweat from the binational window pane, thought of home.
Tonight we are going to the Termas. We will lie in the hot springs and look up at an open sky. Maybe we will see the volcano glow a barbie pink or single stars that I cannot know in Manhattan. I dont know where my sudden desire to climb this volcano has come from, but it is strong and startling, perhaps because lava is not only something rarely thought of but rarely dreamt of, as well. Chile reminds me so much more of Costa Rica than Argentina...it is flat and warm, the buildings low and cool. It has been too short a time to form a real opinion, although a volcano guide is going to have a barbecue for us on Easter (I must note that he asked whether it was on Sunday or Monday). I told him I was sad to be away for Easter, asked if there were any festivities and he seemed more than happy to plan an afternoon affair.
We are in a cabin-like room and overlook a small garden area. There are tiny kittens in the bushes, which I mistook, what with the shaking leaves, for wretched repiles. I was thrilled to see their tiny, chirping faces, striped and striking among the trees.
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