Peace and love

We arrive in the Lakes District of Argentina heavy hearted, having just heard the news that the same Chilean volcano to disrupt our flight from Christchurch to Auckland in June has erupted again, depositing a fresh dump of ash all over our next destination.  For me it was a tearful bus journey passing by scenery we could barely see, so thick was the air with a fine grey mist that has essentially devastated the surrounding landscape.  Arriving in Bariloche, one could just make out the shadow of the mountains that sit across from it on the shores of Lake Nahuel, and it was so disappointing to have come so far only to be cheated of the views that this region is so famous for.  We deliberated whether or not we should stay, which in the end we did, and fortunately it turned out to be a good decision, for over the next few days, strong winds lifted the ashy smog elsewhere.  It made for an exceptionally chilly cycle around the nearby lakes (of which there are many), but the air was clear and the views of the lakes and the jagged snow-capped mountains that surround them were spectacular.  It reminded us a lot of New Zealand, though the smell of the pine trees was 100% Scotland and, as with any reminder of home, deliciously comforting.  We ended up having a great, relatively ash-free, few days, after which we headed a couple of hours south to El Bolson. 

El Bolson is set in an idyllic valley snuggled between two mountain ranges and is renowned for its reputation as the hippy town of Argentina which is, of course, what attracted us to it, and where we discovered “La Casona de Odile” - hands down the best hostel we have stayed at during our entire year away.  Breakfasts of homemade bread and jam; nightly log fires; beautiful gardens; good company and the most gorgeous setting 5km from the town, with stunning views of the mountains.  Not to mention the home brewed beer, which, I’ll admit, I am getting quite the taste for, and so feeling considerably more supportive of Phil’s plan to brew his own on our return.  We spent six days here, and they were some of the most relaxing we’ve had in a long while.

From El Bolson we took a beautiful but heart-wrenching journey to Chile, through the area most affected by the volcanic ash.  Entire lakes were covered in a grey film, the rivers flow with it, and streets are lined with mounds (some higher than our double-decker bus) that I imagine will take years to clear.  The air is full of it and toxic as a result, and when you see how the lives of the people have been devastated as they have, suddenly a cancelled flight or foggy day seems entirely insignificant.  It was the first day time bus we have taken in a few months and, ash-aside, the scenery was truly breathtaking and, face pressed to the glass, I find myself choked with emotion at the realization that this experience is so very nearly over.  Though I am more than ready for the reunion with family and friends, I am aware that this may be the only thing I am anticipating with excitement.  We have become so used to this nomadic lifestyle and the daily discovery of the incredible wonders of this world.  We have become accustomed to having our breath stolen, on a regular basis, by such startling beauty that one can barely begin to imagine, and of which photographs cannot hope to do justice.  Though I have daydreamed about the feelings that I don’t doubt will overwhelm me the night we touchdown in Glasgow airport, I realise that these things of discovery that have become our life, will soon replace my family as the subject of my daydreams.  There is so much of the world still to see and beauty to behold; I realise that my opportunity to do so is almost over, and only God in heaven knows when another will arise, if ever again.  For though it is true; to quote “The Wizard of Oz”; that “there is no place like home”, the world is truly remarkable and I’m not sure that I am ready to let it go.  Having been so certain that we would be immune to the culture shock and struggle to settle back into “real life”, I suddenly find myself wondering if it is possible to ever fully readjust to the life we, temporarily, left behind, or will I be in a constant daydream, always anticipating the next journey?  Will we ever again feel ready for the certainty and predictability that accompany the nine-to-five life?  Will we be able to adjust to seeing the same things - day in, day out - and never have them leave an impression on us?  Will it ever be enough?