Digging La Pedrera

Digging La Pedrera

Felipe and I arrive at La Pedrera just on nightfall, and it turns out there's no free camping.  I try to look around after we asked a camp-site owner about prices, but as usual, he's watching like an angry old Oobleck.  Camp-site owners all seem to have the same basic mindset: Everyone is a thief, people with long hair and beards are evil (and they should expect to be treated as escaped convicts), and everything must be a war over money.  I figure its a combination of charging money for the use of land (an inherently ridiculous concept, seeing as the earth simply is not owned by anyone) and having nothing else to do, then collect the money and worry about who's "ripping" you off.  From your illegitimate job.  I HATE CAMPSITE OWNERS. I say hate in a loose sense, and as much of a peace lover I want to be, I really only want to bathe in their blood and eat their children.

Anyway we decide just 1 night is affordable.  We set up camp, we head out.  There's a little hustle and bustle and Felipe seems to know every transient on the block from his travels in Brazil.  In NZ there would be one or 2 people selling woven trinkets, beads and earrings etc, here, the main street is lined with them. Lined with young people living on the road, weaving friendship bracelets, carving whistles etc.  And that is a pretty common way for some to choose to live here.  I think it's awesome how common this lifestyle is.  We hang about a bit and eventually end up sitting in a circle with some of the weavers, and one in particular, Padmera, who seems to have that rare spark of joy for life in him I've only seen once before. 

I gave him a whistle I had with me earlier, because he made them, all different sorts, and it felt right. I play some guitar, there is boxed wine everywhere.  I simply do not know how people manage to drink boxed wine, wine is bad enough, but boxed?? don't tell me you like the flavor, you LIE, show me the non alcoholic wine with that flavor! for all the kiddies out there to enjoy etc. eh???? LIES, it's shit, and you've been lying to yourself for so long you actually believe it.  Pretty much the same goes for beer, but there's no way it's as foul as that goon.  Amongst the ragamuffins there is a Brazilian guy, who has no idea where New Zealand is, asks to play my guitar and I take like 20mins to tune it…just operating a bit slow now that I've found these hippies.  He doesn't even know where Australia is. Strange. He plays and plays as I make friends with an uruguayan girl.  After a while I look back to spot some strange fluid on the guitar, I look closer to see nearly the entire pick-guard and most of the back of the guitar covered in blood. I don't mean a few splatters, I mean it's like a thick red lacquer coating the pickguard.  It would seem our drunk friend has been strumming a bit hard.  Blood is splattered all through the inside.  There's a round of apologies and qualifiers. ahhh etiquette. I don't really care. I know his blood could be a good energy for my guitar, but the fact that he then picks up where he left off and keeps playing is strange for sure.

Now, I wana tell you something, but I don't quite know how to put it without sounding like a twat.  There's this other Brazilian there, blonde, white, european descent etc.  But I'm just a bit spellbound watching him (no Vashti…I'm not). You see, whenever I've met people with vastly different mannerisms and behaviors, they've always been of a different race.  Take a stereotypical person from Jamaica for example.  The way they walk, move, gesticulate, talk, laugh, - it's all vastly different.  But even though I've noticed it, commented on it, appreciated it and said all the right words, for me, I can tell you, it was utterly different to see someone so common looking, acting so uncommonly.  He was like an african or jamaican.  And I know stereotypes blah blah, but you know what I'm talking about, that's all I'm trying to get across.  And I just couldn't stare enough, he was so relaxed, so natural, loose at the joints, laughing and ….human.  I mean, I want to be that relaxed man! and I thought I was getting there.  No way.  This guy made me realise to be relaxed is something different from me.  It would seem you BE, you just let it all go, and I'm nowhere in sight of that.  It was cool, I hope I explained it.  It has the potential to be life changing.

I've always found that term funny "life changing".  I mean, what isn't?

The next day I spend thinking about where the hell Im going to sleep as I just cant afford another night at the campsite.  And I am so sick of paying money to assholes, and of course in my bid to experience life, due to the oppressive feeling I get in NZ from people obsessed with worshiping the commerce system, I ironically have centered my life around money and dealing with those who are ruled by it.  Uhhh prison earth.  Anyway my backpack is my prison guard and I cannot be far from it without the worry of loosing it, and I cannot walk far with it on in the heat, and with my bad knee.  So my frustrations grows.  The things I own are owning me. I go for a walk to look for the uruguayan girl where Felipe said she would be, but fail. I have an idea she is in the other direction, where she said to meet her the night before.  So I go walking that way, also looking for a large bush or something I can throw my pack under so someone doesn't steal it.  I see her walking down to the beach near some rocks but I continue looking a moment longer…just because I felt like it. Im not sure it's her but it is where I thought she said she would be.  I casually wander over there to find her in tears, unable to hide them at all. She has had a fight with her boss and doesn't know if she can return to work, and seeing as she just started living at his house, whether she has a place to stay.  I try my best to comfort her.

It's weird this culture, you see affection everywhere, hugs, kisses etc in actions and words.  But what I have found is that this is more like protocol, in fact, people here don't seem to hug a lot when they're sad (this isn't the only instance I am basing this on), they don't seem to cuddle up.  In NZ I would expect to sit for a few minutes comforting her, but here we exchange a small hug, and that's it. And just to add on an off topic, they may gesticulate wildly, but that seems to have completely numbed their ability to actually pay attention to hand movements  - notable when your language skills are lacking. Pointing at something is a bit like doing so with a puppy…it may sniff your finger, and here they may look at you with annoyed confusion (annoyed faces seem to be all the rage here) but they wont think to look where you're pointing, or at what you are doing…or anything….  hmmmm.

Anyway She is more than a little surprised I found her, seeing as it turns out it is no where near where she told me she would be, or even at a time she said she'd be there, but here I am, to which she adds she is thankful I didn't come a moment earlier as she was taking a pee.  How convenient.

So she comes back with me to see Felipe and we hang out a little while.  When she goes we take our stuff to the place where all the transients sell trinkets and leave it with friends of Felipe…I think, whatever I'm done with it all.  We make friends with a saxophonist who is so full of energy he plays nearly constantly if he can.  Rare for a saxophonist.  We go for a walk eventually (everything here happens 2 hours after it's finally decided on) and play for some people at restaurants and bars.  Here it is normal and accepted for a musician to walk up to a bar, ask the manager, and then walk around or stand and play music to the people, after which they pass a hat around and collect coins etc.

The 4 of us are actually very good and we get encouraged by that.  We manage to get a proper gig at a large bar the next day.  It has a stage and PA etc, bueno. That night we try to get dinner, we don't communicate well, me and my friends…we made friends with a Mapuche juggler and Felipe and  I and him go to a pizza place.  The cost would be about 500 pesos for the 3 of us and we have about 200, some 140 or so is donated by me.  And I'm not going to give more. Here people see you as rich if you're a foreigner, and continually try to get you to pay for everything.  I just get sick of it.  And yes, yet again, I find myself centered around money.  Money money, no one wants to share, everyone's afraid of being used…out of control…unhappy, abandoned through the doller.  uhhhhh.  It was a long night of looking for food and miscommunication.  Anyway we follow chino as he is called (because he looks chinese - oh how I love these people and they way they categorise everyone) out into the dark, past the houses and campsites, down an abandoned road to a bit of bush and I put up my tent and we camp.  Felipe has his own tent, but for some inexplicable reason, he'll spend the rest of the time there in mine.  Still don't know why he did that.  Sure wasn't the most comfortable plan.

Too bad the next day my throat is sore and I'm feeling terrible.  I've not had a cold for over 2 years, but this sure feels like one.  So I don't go to the gig.  Stink.

My teeth are also a problem, I cannot chew or floss without a lot of pain and the fillings feeling like they're pushing on the nerves and coming out.  THANKS to all the dentists that have f#$%^d me over, I'm in Uruguay now, in pain, worried my teeth are just getting worse and worse, How're your bank accounts looking? EH???!!!!!   hmmmmm. Money.  Money makes you see your job…as something you do only for money.  and you wont help…you wont make the job right…you'll do what you exchange money for….. that way you're not being mucked around. Thats just the way the world works.  Great.  It does when that you're in it….

I'm actually really fatigued at this point, so I stop playing and singing with all the travelers like I have been.  Instead I just rest and sit.  Padmera lends me his coat and I sleep behind the bush in front of which he sells whistles and woven hats, woven puppet birds (which he loves to demonstrate to the kiddies by dancing all over the street with it in his hand, flapping and swooooshing).  The streets during the day are now filled with people, and more and more keep arriving.  Children and eventually everyone throw water balloons at cars with open windows (with surprising aggression) and anyone else they fancy.  I tend to be left alone. Bueno.  I talk to the uruguayan girl when she comes to hang out with padmera. Now I don't know when it was but at some point I realized in my stoned and drunk stupor that I would have to head into the bush that night alone and I didn't even have my torch.  The uruguayan girl wlked me to the edge of town then went home.  I walked for a little bit then gave up and went back to the street, sat and watched the folks go by until dawn. Call me paranoid.

Naturally I slept most of the next day, turned out Felipe hadn't returned to the tent either.  There's these birds here, they get up early, their "song" as best I can fathom is to try and get as close to the sound of a chainsaw as possible.  Amazing and interesting really…..if you give half a shit.  I on the other hand I personally would like to see this bird reach extinction.  And the bush here is quite different to the completely tame NZ, or even the comfortable but deadly Aussie forest. Here, every plant, bug and animal would like you to be in pain.  They don't want to kill you…at least not individually, but you get a sense of some sinister collective plan when you stand on grass and come up with a 3cm spike that's pieced your jandal and into your skin.  And every ant, no matter what size, is absolutely in love with the idea of crawling on you just to bite you.  I don't know the gain in it for them, why don't they just go play with their friends? no, they wont.  Every leaf has a jagged edge, everything is covered in spines or spikes of thorns.

And the people I'm camping with like to surprise too.  These transients, making "Om" necklaces and juggling, they like to throw all their refuse into the bush……..and not even far into the bush -  like, right next to the tents! Right next to where they've also decided to take a dump, uncovered, with the paper wipings blowing about in the breeze like some great toilet flower has thrown off it's seeds.  How lovely.  Here it would seem, is does not matter who you are, they all have the same basic idea, f@k 'em all and take what you can.  The beautiful Argentinian girl interrupts my computing to use it for her MP3 player.  I talk of re-charging the battery, she reassures me.  I find out that means - don't worry, there's enough for what I want to do, and if you want to charge it again, so you can return to your work, well, that's your f@#$n problem.

….They burned my teapot too, didn't even bother to remove the plastic tape before they fired it up, and used all my food, and didn't clean it. Not that people here are worse than anywhere else….I seem to recall running into similar issues everywhere...

But the same girl also spend 30 mins boiling and preparing a eucalyptus steam for me so I could get better.  And then cooked, translated and helped out a lot for me etc.   Hmmmm, I should perhaps try not to jump so quick to conclusions.

After I manage to get some water (con gas, it turns out, means WITH.  trap for young players), I discover my paranoia and lethargy was due to dehydration.  Now that I think about it I haven't drunk water almost at all for the last 3 days.  Ahhhhhhhh (light above my head)

 Now shitting in the woods here is fun, there are really no broad leafed plants, just these tiny eucalyptus trees everywhere.  Weird to camp around them, because in OZ, they'll drop branches and kill you, here, they're miniature, and don't fall apart quite so readily.  New shoots on these trees seem to have the broadest leaves around, so I grab a handful and make my way through the thorny forest to a clearing and try to dig as deep a hole as I can be bothered.  I put my pants up on a tree so they don't fill with lonely and discontented insects waiting to bite me, and squat over my divot. It then occurs to me exactly why people have always told me native americans shat with their back to a tree, you see, you become acutely aware of your vulnerability when taking a dump, especially in Puma country, out in the bush alone.  If I was a puma, it's not a bad time to attack your prey.  …maybe messy though...

Taking a dump the natural way has some unnerving benefits, other than apparently being very healthy for you, it leaves your exit quite free of debris, which is in itself unexpected and worrisome, added to which the eucalyptus leaves have a strange characteristic of always feeling a bit moist…leaving their scent with each stroke…..so I keep wiping, no sign of trouble, but a kinda wet feeling…am I clean???  I pull up my pants and try not to think too much about it.  One way or the other, at least I'll smell nice.

Its getting to carnival time and the parade's started, -a tribe of people dressed as fish preceding a large shark, a dragon, loads of people in costumes of every theme from ghostbusters to workmen, cheerleaders (boys included) and other randomness.  With a incessant beating drum a crowd surrounds an area of road deep in the festivities and I get a look over the heads (easily done down here in midget-land) to see such a heartwarming sight.  A bunch of 11-year old girls dressed in feathered hats, tiny sparkled bras and the kind of anal-floss undies that predominate the beaches here.  And yes, they sure are dancing…well…mincing, gyrating, thrusting and shaking loose (as best I can determine, this is their goal) their tiny protuberances obviously in the hopes of loosing them forever and thus becoming entirely uncorrupted.  It's so lovely to see children trying so hard to grind like strippers.  Really puts things into perspective.  I pretty much give up on carnival at this point and go play music with my friends.

On the way I see the only aggression I have since I got there.  Despite free drinking and uncontrolled selling of alcohol by anyone and nearly everyone on the streets, the mood is very positive and friendly here, no bad vibes at all.  Except for this one guy who seemed to be the single expression of all the collective, like a chocolate-caused pimple, maybe he was channeling it away from everyone else.  He was just trying to fight absolutely everything he saw!  I followed him and his 2 friends desperately trying to stop him attacking everyone for a few minutes, watching him sequentially set eyes, then ATTACK, set eyes, ATTACK!!! - EVERYONE.  Then in a personal attack of unusual clarity I realise it is only a matter of time until he sees me, so I hang back in the crowd and go another way.

In all the heat, carnival and commotion.  The tiny village of La Pedrera has NO cold water.  It is simply inundated to bursting and no fridge stays closed long enough to cool.  So you're stinking hot, bothered and dehydrated (because there is no free water other than the airborne kind - and even that is suspect, full of chlorine and a good part of what made me sick) and there's no cold water! Cold beer exists….but it will dehydrate you.  uhhhhhh

The next morning bcd at the campsite the police arrive to clear us out.  We cant stay there, and if we light a fire, we will be arrested.  So we pack up, hide our things, and that night, I try to return.  But there's captain cowboy on his horse waiting for me in the dark of the bush.  So I make out like I'm going on a night stroll. Insert if you will, a picture of hairy old me, the sound of whistling and my bearded surprised face trying to pretend I just loooove the smell of the open sewer (that runs off the campsite and down the creek near where the road to our campsite is), making like I'm not going anywhere at all…oh the police huh? hmpf,… wonder what he's up to…doo-de-dooo. 

Still the raw sewage is a good way to tell you're on track in the black of the night.

Eventually after waiting nearby, and the cavalry waiting and watching us, we win, and they turn in.  The carnival is in full swing and they've got better things to do.  And we go back and camp, further into the bush this time.

The next day Felipe gets a message from the canadian girls, they have an apartment and want us to come and stay. Jess is so sick she's just waiting for a flight back.  She is dropping in and out of consciousness and loosing track of reality etc hallucinations etc.  Not nice.  I would learn later she was aware that she was loosing her mind.  Scary.

Anyway with that I just decide to go straight away, no contest.  They're great, and it sounds fun.  But there are no buses, so we go to hitch.  Don't let anyone tell you hitching is rare here, we were one of 6-7 groups of people waiting.  But buy did we wait.  and wait.  Felipe went and got some bread, and stole some cheese.  No wonder they make everyone lock up their bags when they go in a shop.  Mmmmm but we had bread and cheese, I decided to let Felipe deal with the Karma-Dharma of that and we laughed and joked and threw a bottle of water at each other to pass the time.  Felipe didn't really want to do any of the hitching, and was quite content just to sit there whether I did or not.  Great.  after ages and ages I gave up.  Then I tried again.  then gave up.  Then eventually I just decided to go, but Felipe held up is palm telling me to wait, just a moment more.  And as much as I hated it, and argued, I did, just if nothing else to feel like I had done all I could.  Then a car pulled in.  A lovely 4WD with 2 amazingly beutiful girls in it, plenty of room for our gear and going to the next town.  Amazing!  especially as they all talked in Spanish and I sat and looked at the driver who was wearing a blouse that simply did not do it's job.  Ahhhhhhhhh riiiiiico.

They drop us in La Rocha, at the bus terminal, where we just cant get a bus until 5:30 the next morning.  Felipe wants to do that, but I prefer to keep hitching.  So we walk to the main road, about 1/2 a Km away, which I still manage to do, sick, with my pack, bag and guitar.  But it starts raining.  Now me, I'd have kept hitching, but not Felipe.  Funny how people will go so far out of their way to find water, swim, play and drink it. But the moment it falls from the sky, with no effort, for free, it's HORRIBLE! hmmmm.  We wait it turns out with people waiting for a bus to Montevideo also.  And every empty seated bus tat passes us, they seem ever more indifferent…and my confusion grows.  I try to make myself busy  cutting up a bottle with my travel scissors to make a make-shit water catcher.  Which is accidentally tipped over by someone.  And you should have seen me see red until I realized it was a mistake. Oh my Ego.

Anyway somehow in the madness and rain, Felipe manages to wrangle us a seat on a bus.  Don't ask me how, but we get it, and the others stand ever indifferently waiting for what I have decided is an ice-cream truck driven by Elvis, because there were more seats available on the bus, of which they took none.

The bus is plush and secure. We will get to where we are going, and as the sunsets, and the clouds shine their metallic orange and lavender reflections in sympathy, and the sky turns a brief beautiful light but vivid Aqua to complete the majestic reminder that the world is beautiful after all, I realize we were never going to make it there hitching. And as the moon sets later that night, like it has done during the past few days, an ever sharpening slice in burned orange dropping below the trees, I point it out to a bewildered Felipe who really does not believe it is the moon at all and I breathe a resting sigh. 

Back to Montevideo.