Ushuaia, Argentina: my trip to Patagonia was winding down. I still had time to make ends meet but the end was in sight. June 21, Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. For several days, Jos had been talking about going skiing, feeling me out to see if I’d want to go along. When he found out I had my own skis he got the same, silly little smirk on his face as when he ran out of words, talking about his marriage/family dilemma. I knew how to get on and off the lift and he figured I would come around.
There is only one road into and out of Ushuaia. Mt. Castor is a short half hour up that road, we passed the lodge on the bus coming down from Rio Grande. In that long week since, it had been snowing every night up on the mountain and their snow machines were still making snow at the base. I met Jos at the bus station and rode the shuttle with him. Solstice, shortest day of the year, opening day of their ski season; there were no locals in the small crowd. Jos wore an old, beat up jacket and I had my GoreTex shell, over a couple of layers of fleece. Everybody else was sporting new, expensive suits, shiny ski pants, some whose price tags were freshly deposited in waste barrels at the Mt. Castor ski shop.
Just above the city was a smaller hill with a shorter run, Ushuaia’s ski hill didn’t have enough snow to open yet. Locals ski there in jeans and sweat shirts but they would have to wait. Lift ticket at Mt. Castor was steep but I wanted that feather for my hat so I shelled out the money. The valley was near sea level with a long ride to the top, nearly a mile. Plenty of oxygen there so breathing came easy. I hadn’t skied for five years and my legs were soft. But we rode the lift up and skied easy traverses on well groomed trails. Castor’s blue runs were not as challenging as Colorado’s A Basin blues but the leap to black diamond was a no-brainer. I was’t pointing my skis down any of those. We had to be off the hill early for them to check all the runs before dark and it came early. I had a great time, my last time on skis and I don’t remember falling but then I didn’t try anything fancy. I made lots of slow turns across the fall line and stopped often to lean on my poles. Just being there was beyond my expectations. Jos skied better than I did but he wasn’t trying to impress, waiting for me along the way. We only got to ski about four hours and a lot of that was riding the lift. But I didn’t want to be exhausted either. Solstice was the day Madeleine needed a story teller.
Back in town, I had time to shower, change clothes and take the guitar down to Fireland Institute. They were already working on conversation; “Hello, how are you?” “My name is . . .” It sounds silly when it’s your native tongue but struggling in someone else’s, I understood. You need to get some repetition with the easy stuff before learning new. We munched pretzels and sipped Koolaid and then I went to work. They tried to be a good audience but I knew how difficult it was. Spitting out words at your own speed is one thing and making sense of full speed monologue is another. I slowed down and repeated lines when they gave me the blank eyes look. I did the Great Turnip story, alternating English & Spanish. At the end of the day they were ready to go home. Carrying on a conversation without having to translate first is pleasure most people take for granted.
There was a Solstice concert in the park, we could hear the music as we left the building. It was cold but everyone was dressed for it. Vodevil was on stage. I thought, ‘How cool is this!” I got to see Martin Gunter’s band play; lots of head banging heavy metal but I listened from a distance. Satisfied I had heard enough, I made my way up the hill, back to Los Cormoranes. My time in Ushuaia was about up. It changes the way you go about your business. If you have discretionary money, money that has not been designated to a purpose, easy come, easy go. Nondiscretionary money my be in your keeping but its destination has already been fixed. You don’t spend it on unauthorized whims. That’s how time works as well. I had just enough time left to close all the loose ends, no new adventures.
The next morning I dropped dirty clothes off at the laundry, didn’t want to travel with dirty and clean in the same bag. Coffee with Jos, he still had time to play with. He’d met a couple from England who were sailing through. They invited him to sail up and across the channel to Port Williams, Chile with them. Their visa and papers allowed them to enter Chile from Ushuaia and the Dutch hitchhiker would be welcome as well. They would bring him back before they shoved off for Brazil. All I had left to do was a walk around town, pick up laundry, check my stuff and catch Miguel Gunter’s performance at Restaurante Kaupe.
As much as I wanted to believe I’d come back to Ushuaia someday, I knew the odds were against it. So everything I did that day was framed with that caveat. My last pineapple empanada was relished a little more, the streets were deep in shadows all day and it was cold, I wanted to get that memory, that feel down pat. Paula from Fireland wanted to meet me in the afternoon. She and Zoe had chipped in for a little memento, an old fork, repurposed with a hanger hole in the handle and the tines bent for hanging keys.The streets had been treated for ice but not the sidewalks so on the hills, we walked in the street. There would be a lot more snow and ice before the spring thaw arrived.
When I got to Restaurante Kaupe the room was full. Miguel met me at the door and had in fact saved me a seat up front. His amigo on the other guitar was funny, they told jokes, played instrumentals and even sang. Formal dress was the rule but I was exempt. He introduced me between songs, his American amigo. He played a blues riff I showed him at his house and gave me the credit. I wasn’t expecting the attention and felt self conscious but it was great. They did two hours with a ten minute break. The rhumba and flamenco was really interesting, like a conversation between two instruments. like James Taylor and Carol King, setting each other up. Ten o’clock came, the place cleared out and we said goodbye. All I had left was breakfast and a bus to catch.
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