Small World

I've noticed this phenomena before, in the Antiplano. The recursion, the seeing the same people over and over. I thought this was a specialty of Bolivia, or atleast Uyuni, until I met a friend from Cuzco in Mendoza.

In fact, the phenomena became stronger in Patagonia, where the land thins to one narrow strip north to south, and the Gringo Trail goes from being a sardonic concept to an actual road. When the Navimag boat let us off in Puerto Natales, I saw the same people shopping in the grocery store that I saw walking back down from Glacier Grey, and the same people gawking in front of calving ice at Perito Moreno Glacier in El Calafate. From there, they must've all caught a flight to Ushuaia, or taken the 15 hour bus, since I'd pass them on the streets there too.

But Buenos Aires was the real kicker. BA is where people would show up in my hostel and say "Hey, remember me from Lima?!" (I could not), or sit down at my table at lunch and say "You're the guy from the boat!" (I assume she's being honest). Generally, I didnt care about these random encounters, as I'd never remember the person. Now that I actually had real friends down here, I didnt need to cling to random encounters for my daily shred of human interaction.

However, I wanted to see these friends of mine, and this is where luck was for once on my side on this trip. Despite our total failure to organize, we managed to find each other.

On New Years, despite the utter breakdown of plans, I still managed to find Martin in the club. The day after, I got an email from Pete and Jan telling me I should meet them in Palermo Station at 9pm. I got this email at 8:45, and didnt arrive until 9:15, to find the just beginning to turn around and walk out of the station. I spent the night bar-hopping with them before kicking on back to the nightclub from New Years. I really half-expected Martin to be there, but it was Doug who made an appearance.

But none of this compares to the next day. I mentioned to Pete and Jan that I'd be in San Telmo around 3pm for the Antiques Fair. I didnt even wake up after the foam party until 4pm. Hustling to get dressed and hoof it down to San Telmo, I found the market only to discover that it was a giant maze of stalls and musty cocktail dresses inside a building of almost stadium proportions. Worse, it spilled out onto the street, and the packed throngs of people stretched for blocks in either direction. And we'd never even established a meeting place.

I meandered along the stalls half-heartedly, until the fact that I hadn't eaten breakfast caught up with me. Just as the need for food struck violently, I walked up to a live band playing on the street outside a restaurant. With a good enough ambiance, I sat down for a meal and chose an item on the all-spanish menu at random. It was a huge delicious steak and glass of wine, for under 10 bucks. Live music free.

With no sign of the others in sight, I decided to break for home and started walking down the street. Right before I needed to turn off the busy market street, someone grabbed me from behind. It was Pete! He directed me to the cafe on the corner where himself and Jan had sat down to eat. Surprisingly enough, I wasnt the first person Pete had pulled off the corner; Kristoff was with him, and Martin was on his way.

For all the failures to meet by plan, here the 5 of us were reunited by sheer luck in San Telmo for one final chance to say goodbye. I shook Kristoff's hand, and hugged Pete and Jan. But no goodbye for Martin, the two of us agreed to go clubbing one last time the next night.

Completely predictably, Martin was a no-show. As I'd learned later, he got drunk with people in his hostel until 1am - which is fine by clubbing standards, since they dont start until 3am, but that implies you dont pass out in a drunk stupor. I should've known better than to invoke the cliche of "I wont say goodbye", because when you do, you never get the chance to say it.

The next day, I left everyone behind and went to Uruguay. Kristoff was going to Brazil, Pete and Jan were packing for Iguazu, and Martin was probably getting his rocks off in the baths. I was finally on my own again. I took the boat over to Colonia, a quaint little town across the channel from Buenos Aires, and soaked up the namesake colonial sights and salty smell. Through the winding streets, over the rough cobblestone, around the crumbling walls, and up to the top of the ivy-covered lighthouse to take it in all from the top.

As I turned around to come back down, I noticed a face pressed to the glass, staring at me. It took a minute to reconstruct the squashed, distorted features... it was Pete! He grinned wide before turning and yelling down the stairs to Jan "I win the bet!" As it turns out, they werent able to book a boat the day they wanted, so instead they're in Colonia today on a day trip.

We spent the rest of the day much as I would've anyway, wandering around town with regular stops at shady watering holes to escape the absurd summer heat and humidity (hi to all you guys shovelling snow back home!). The town certainly wasnt any different, and I would still have to say goodbye yet again in a few hours. But who cares, I got just a little longer with my friends.

When I went to Montevideo, I truly was on my own again. It's a strange place, where colonial edifices are nestles in between modern office buildings, and have McDonalds occupying their ground floor. Where sandwiches cost hundreds of pesos and are still cheap. Where the garbageman comes around on a horse and buggie. I sadly only spent a total of 3 days in Uruguay.

On my way down the stairs after checking out, my breath caught in my throat. Someone familiar was coming up the steps. I nearly eeked out "Jesus Ben, is that you?!" before I caught myself and realized I was mistaken. Ben was probably back in Cambridge by now. The girl from Quito is somewhere in Chile. Pete and Jan are in Brazil, and Martin is still macking it in Buenos Aires.

No, my mind is playing tricks. I am alone again. And I'm going back to Quito, to the start of the Gringo Trail, to the start of everything, to watch other people begin their journies where I end mine. I wonder if they'll see each other down the road. I wonder if I'll see any of my friends again down our respective roads one day. Once we're off the Trail, we dont even know where our roads are going.

Ben is staying in the Navy for a few years, but might be shipped elsewhere. Martin might be in London or South Africa or still here. Kristoff might be in Austria, or Germany or the United States. Pete and Jan are either going to be in New York, or San Diego, or London, or anywhere. And I'll be in Australia, then God knows where. It's an Open Road now.

Well, not yet. First, the Galapagos.