The nowhere zone

by Gabriel Rodríguez (Colombia)

I didn't expect to find Colombia

He was beginning to believe that people were inherently good. He had hitch-hiked over 300 miles, and two of the people that gave him a ride, also gave him money. Once stopped in a police station, he played two songs on his guitar and the cops gave him two plates of gnocchi and a liter of soda. Then traveled 2.000 miles more to Usuaia. When he arrived, he played at a restaurant: “El Griego”, where the manager essentially adopted him. Sometimes, he wouldn't even have to open the guitar case to have a wonderful dinner. After two weeks staying at the dishwasher's house- either sleeping or getting wasted during the day, that lasts 21 hours on usuaian summer, he hit the road to “Las Torres del Paine”. Just the entry to the national park cost thirty six dollars. He had forty in his pocket. No kitchenette, no camera. The tarp over his tent was a piece of plastic found in a nearby construction site. When the wind roared, the plastic made the sound of a freight train. The guy who brought him to the entrance was headed to the south entrance, which was about thirty miles away from the east entrance- the one he was going to. The clerk said that the next bus was the last one of the day. The ticket was twelve dollars. “What am I going to do?” He thought. “O.k.” He said. Once on the bus, a French man nudges his arm, points to the floor and says: “Your camera”. He looked down and saw an almost brand new camera, then looked up to the sign behind the driver's seat: “We don´t respond foy any forgotten object”. With that in consideration, he chose to have a new camera. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, a puma appeared. There are people that go to this park and spend months looking for the creatures, and never end up seeing one. The French guy told him he should buy a lottery ticket. The traveler knew that it doesn´t work like that. The bus ride ends. With a little bit of theatrics, he acted out an "I-lost-my-money" scene. The driver became angry and just left, the man on the campsite saw it too. It was another eight dollars to put up the tent. “I lost my wallet and it's so late now”, “Don't worry about it, weón.” When he was building the tent, he saw on a tree branch an unattended camping tarp. “Is this yours?” he asked the people around, “No”, something imposible to understand and next, “It's yours then”. Asked borrowed a kitchenette, prepared hot tea and rested. The next day he hiked ten miles, eight with a backpack on. He arrived at another campsite, this time a free one. Cold food. On his way to the bathroom, there is another man that says to the traveler, “My backpack is so heavy now, do you want my propane?” He readily accepts the propane and also rice, powdered milk and corn. He cooks a meal and passed along the tanks away to a very silent couple that arrived at the campsite late. That was his last night there. Back on the trail headed toward “Calafate”, the gateway to the glacial region of Patagonia, the traveler arrived at a very small town named “28 de Noviembre” along route 40 where n-o-t-h-i-n-g happens. With little hope of finding a ride out of town, he put his backpack on when a car stopped next to him. “We can take you to the next town”. He couldn’t believe it. Once there, he looked for a place to put up his tent, when he heard someone shouting at him: “Guitar player! Where are you going?”“To Calafate”, he shouted back. “Behind the pink house, there’s a group headed there too!”. He, getting used to be incredibly lucky, got there, and the people he found greated him excitedly “look, a guitar player, welcome!!” so there he was, in front of a bonfire with an enormous leg of lamb over it. They asked him where was he going, and how. He responds, “To Calafate and, well, the truth is that I don´t know”.