Of the vulnerable and the selfish

by Gonzalo Deubelbeis (Uruguay)

I didn't expect to find Argentina

The morning dew is still, so gentle and immutable as if is floating motionless in the air. Given all the outstanding wilderness surrounding me, it was hard to believe what this location have been hosting for a couple of days. The campsite laid silent, and only a few festival attendees have woken up early to seize the day like myself, or maybe they didn't go to bed last night? All in all, I had to get to Córdoba (the Argentinian city, not the Spanish one) by 10 am, and I would stop at nothing. But first things first and that was getting to the bus station on time. See, 4.2kms is nothing for most people when it comes to walking distance. For me an unknown town is always a challenge, even more when I am an enemy of GPS due to recent not so auspicious experiences with smartphones. I'd rather get it print on paper or even draw the map myself. Did I say I'm awkward? So I leave 1.5 hours before schedule just to make sure I get the bus on time... even sacrificed seeing the last band closing the previous night so I could sleep a bit more. Some people would say I am one of those who likes to be always in control. They might be right. While I'm on my way I stare at many buildings, clearly this is not the average Argentinian town: every now and then I could see cottages built in the typical American style, then other modern houses whose design was so lifeless they reminded me of a concentration camp. Early in the morning all was so quiet that it was almost disturbing. Eventually, I arrive at the bus station half an hour earlier than expected. There are other passengers waiting for their bus going God knows where, and a bunch of street dogs that got in likely to get shelter from the gentle yet cool breeze before sun goes up. Once I hop on the bus, the views through the window flood my eyes... I have forgotten how gifted this land is. Unconsciously I recall Eduardo Galeano's "Open Veins of Latin America". In this book he manages to skin alive a facade which even us South Americans want to keep for the world to see. Despite all the natural resources available in our continent, the links of the redistribution chain are so weak they crack as fast as our societies. As we get closer to the more densely populated area of the capital city of the province, now the views are threatening when the road takes us across some vulnerable neighbourhoods. As if by accident, my mind stumbles with the fact that 50% of children live in poverty in Argentina. Immediatly after, I'm having a word with my mindset while trying to justify myself. Attending a music fest is quite a vague and selfish reason for my trip, isn't it? Alright, I'm a grown up and it's my money after all. Besides, I'm helping Argentinian tourism and spending my cash buying products and services. Yet, what would a father or mother who is in charge of several children say to me? When the thoughts start to heat up, I'm driven out the debate by the sight of the New Terminal Bus Station. The place is huge as it was back three years ago, I know it by heart. At the end of 2016 I had my first volunteer position at a real hostel, with all the fuss and joy and problems it entails, and it was here. That's where I'm headed. Unfortunately I don't remember the streets, turns and twists of the surrounding areas as well as I thought, therefore my way to the destination is slower than expected. It's sunday morning and few people are around. At some point, I leave aside my pride and do one of the things I hate the most, asking for directions. Now I'm no longer sidetracked and a few streets are what's left between me and my destination, yet for the better or worse, things have changed a lot in thirty-four months and am about to witness it myself.