Ok, the first one’s are up.
The folder’s been staring at me for so long, still something inside of me couldn’t open it. It was too fresh. Argentina. Buenos Aires. I booked 2 weeks in advance. Payed 450 euro’s for a return Lufthansa flight STO-BA. And there I am. Fragile, Broken, Tumbling, on my own.
Away from it all. Literally to one of the furthest places I could be from home
I almost didn’t go. But I did.
And it turned out to be one of the best experiences. I didn’t really know why I was going here, only that I could. Or maybe because I had to. I had too many holiday days left and I had to use ‘m up. Sure thing, won’t say no to two weeks off. Although… perhaps I wouldn’t go off adventuring to South America again when the physhe’s a bit damaged.
I stayed in a hostel for one week and a 4 star hotel the 2nd. Not that I’m filthty rich, it’s just that Buenos Aires is SO cheap. 10 bucks more a night and I could stay in a hotel. But I first wanted the hostel. The cozyness, the people, the cooked-on-one-stove food, the weak coffee, the philisopical nights with Mendoza wine. I got them. And plenty more.
I’ll write about this at another time, ’cause I don’t feel ready to go too in to depth here, but boy have I met some wonderful, smart and empathic people on this trip. In a sweltering, humid city I was able to stand still and grieve. Pulled away from everyone and everything, the centre came back to me. The memories are fond, and the pictures bittersweet.
Do you know that Faithless song where he sings: ‘this is my church, this is where I heal my hurts.’
That’s what travel is to me