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Date:
May 09, 2002
Hello,
I hope this email finds you well.
I am writing from
Villaguay, Argentina. Villaguay is centrally located
in the province of Entre los Rios about 400kms
northwest of Buenos Aires.
The Buddhist believe that life is an ever turning
wheel. Figuratively there are times that I am at the
top or the bottom of life. From this analogy I accept
that most of my life will be lived somewhere between
the highs and lows. This is where I find myself since
leaving the awesome beauty of Bolivia. Getting mired
in the mud of the Chaco and meeting Ramiro's family. I
count down the kilometers through unchanging scenery
while I envision all the the things I desire to
achieve while I am home. I struggle with the lack of
excitement in what should be a never ending ,
inspiring, romantic adventure.
My ride south from Corrientes has followed the same
endless flat roads that bisects the swampy marshlands
and vast cattle ranches of Mesopotamia. The mosquito
infested swamps blossomed to life recently because of
the 15 inches of rain that deluged the area in late
April. Most of this region was a palm Savannah before
the cotton farmers and cattle ranchers arrived. What
remains is a sometimes surreal scene. Cranes prance
through the marshes that line the road. Behind them
cattle and horses graze in the grassland among the
palm trees. I am reminded of Kansas and Florida
simultaneously.
There are subtle daily hints that I am in a foreign
land. A southerly wind is the harbinger of rain and a
penetrating cold. A northerly winds means warm sunny
weather. The trees are changing color and losing their
leaves in early May. The sun appears lower and lower
in the northern sky. These things seem odd.
South of Goya near the end of a long day I met Manzon.
He was riding his bicycle home after a day of work. On
his bicycle rack he was carrying a plant for his
garden. I partially understood his heavy accent as we
rode towards his home. We parted company when I
stopped to wait for Scott. I soon saw him again. He
was standing in his front yard waving a white t-shirt.
I accepted his invitation to dinner and camped in his
front yard.
Manzon is a spry 54 years old general laborer who has
6 children. We sat in chairs drinking mate while his
well kept front yard filled with wood smoke. He was
proud to treat me to barbecued beef that his wife
prepared over the wood fire. Manzon told me he works
10 hours for 10 pesos. ( $3.25 US ) He complained
about the inflation and lack of work in Argentina. He
laughed and showed me his empty wallet. He seemed
unconcerned. Soon we were seated around the dinning
room table where I enjoyed a meal of roasted beef and
fried bread. This was followed by an episode of The
Simpsons that I watched through a blizzard of purple
snow. The Simpsons is Monzon's daughter's favorite
show. It was the episode about Homer's singing group
the B Sharps.
I said goodbye to Monzon and his family the next
morning. I was surprised to see Monzon. He intended to
leave for work at 5:30am but the work he anticipated
was not available. Here is a man who has no money and
is unemployed. Yet he did not hesitate at inviting a
stranger into his house for dinner.
From Villaguay I will continue east into Uruguay and
then turn south following the Uruguay River to the
town of Colonia. This is where my 11750km bike trip
through Latin America will end and my first
celebration will begin. I intend to ride the boat
across the Plata River from Colonia into downtown
Buenos Aires. I choose this route to avoid the noise,
traffic, pollution and crime generated by a city of 13
million people. The locals call route 14 that enters
Buenos Aires " Ruta de Muerte ". ( The route of death
) Thankfully there is no shortage of locals who are
willing to offer their opinions.
I miss you all and I will see you soon,
Dennis
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