Pieds dans les étriers.

(11 février 2009)

Sous une pluie batante
nous sommes partis.

À la marche, au trot, au galop.
À cheval.





Après peu de temps,
le ciel s'est dégagé,

on s'est retrouvé seul sous le soleil.

Voyageant
au rythme des sabots,

rêvant
au rythme des vagues.



D'un côté, vents et marées.
De l'autre, dunes et rochés.

Devant, toujours
nadie, nadie, nadie ..



.. Sauf, peut-être,
Cabo Polonio.

Avec son énigme
cachée sur la rive,

et son phare
au bout de la péninsule.



Petit village isolé

sans eau courrante
ni électricité,
sans routes ni chemins.

Pour s'y rendre,
seuls les moyens d'antan..

À pied, à bateau,
ou à cheval.



Sur nos scelles,
nous sommes repartis
entre les arbres.

Sous un ciel limpide,
le soleil tout près
s'est perdu au loin.

"Estos momentos son por la memoria,

no por la cámara."
- Mauro Rios, notre guide.

Entre nous.

(9 et 11 février 2009)

Valizas.
Un village simple, tranquille.
Tout près, plages et dunes de sable.
On était inspiré. On était fou de joie.

El Rancho "Antrenu".

C'est sous ce toit qu'on a chaleureusement été accueilli
lors de notre passage à Valizas.

On y a passé des heures et des heures,
échangeant une partie de nos vies...

We hopped on a bus to Valizas, not knowing what to expect.
But yet again, we had a good gut feeling.

Once in Valizas, we wandered the desolate streets
with nothing but a vague address, "rancho #475".

Finally, we came upon a white ranch.
The door was open.

We caught a glimpse of Gustavo
in the shade of the cottage, with his family.

A little hesitant about our spontaneous visit,
we slowly walked up to the door.

Gustavo turned around before we even had a chance to knock.

He was surprised but elated to see we had kept our word.

It had already been a week since our meeting in Salta.

We had said we would try to make our way out to his ranch.

And we did.

Affectionately, he invited us in.

At once, he introduced us to his wife and kids
who looked intrigued as to why two strangers
had so casually walked into their cottage.

And so it is that we met Gustavo's wife Eliana,
two of their three children, Agustina and Emilio,
and the rest of the family.
A dog, a cat, and two parakeets.

Pepé was especially fond of Dominic.

Our friendship began with a puzzle,
as we were welcomed with curious and interesting questions
about our travels and our lives back home.

During another visit, they shared with us
a delicious homecooked meal, cajá for dessert,
and our first maté experience.

Cultural exchanges gave way
to a game of Spanish Trivial Pursuit,
and a serene walk on the beach at 2:00 am,
moved by the moonlight.

Hours and hours passed,
talks of nothing and everything,
the night passing between.

Tongues in Spanish, English, and French,
yet relating beyond words.

With the sun about to rise,
we parted ways with heavy eyelids,
and heavier hearts.

Our travels, forever changed.

La famille Cousin,
des gens remplis de bonté.

Deux.

(10 février 2009)

Punta del Diablo,
ancient village de pêcheurs

où les bateaux
se font légers,

et les rêves
se font bercer.

Centaines de coquillages
sur la rive,

une croix sur le calendrier.

Un de ces jours
dont je ne pourrai oublier.

Pieds nus,

mer entre les orteils,
vagues à l'oreille.

Derrière nous, que nos traces
qui s'effacent.



Playa Grande

éternelle,
naturelle.

Au-delà de la pointe,
nadie, nadie, nadie ..

Ensemble, tous les deux.
Sur une plage déserte,
à perte de vue.

Notre petit coin de paradis.

Mots et sablier,
contre bague et pensées.

Tel est notre bonheur.

Une douce mélodie
nous chantant l'océan,

on s'est endormi,

le coeur plein
comme la lune.

Comme si on y avait passé
deux ans.

Uruguay, pulling on our heartstrings.

(February 4-8, 2009)

Our point of entry into Uruguay was the city of Salto, which was but a transition stop on our way to our first destination, Tacuarembó. We were exhausted following a long day of travel and only a few hours of restless sleep on the banana-shaped mattress of a sketchy hotel room in the border town of Concordia, Argentina, but we were quickly rejuvenated by a chance encounter with an admirable man at the Salto bus station. He approached us as we were waiting in line to buy bus tickets, and we were surprised to be spoken to in French. He explained that he had lived eight years in Belgium, and his eldest son had spent a year in Saskatchewan as part of a student exchange. That is how it all began.

Gustavo Cousin, a generous man indeed.

In his voice, we could tell he was enthusiastic to be conversing with French Canadians, and he was all excited at the thought of sharing his dear hometown of Salto. Had we had more time, we gladly would have went to visit the grapevines on his home farm, but we now had our next bus to catch at noon. Nonetheless, he still offered to personally take us in his pickup truck to visit the termas (hot springs) on the outskirts of town. ''Même si vous n'avez pas le temps de vous y baignez, au moins vous pourrez les voir. Attendez-moi ici et je passe vous chercher avec ma camionnette!''

The termas was a vast villa of warm swimming pools, tropical trees and picnic tables. A beautiful, peaceful place. Uruguay has many hot springs, which take their warm water from natural sources, 800 meters underground. We walked around the grounds and then Gustavo treated us to some good local mandarin juice, and even better conversations.

We exchanged travel experiences and at one point, we told him we were planning on spending time in Punta del Diablo, a tiny village on the east coast. Coincidentally, he told us he was soon leaving on a family vacation to his rancho in Valizas, only an hour away from Punta del Diablo. He gave us the number of his cottage, and told us we were welcomed to drop by and meet his family if we happened to make our way to the village.

When he drove us back to the bus terminal, we wanted to give him 10$ US in return (for having driven us to the hot springs, paid for our entrance and the orange juice), but he graciously refused. ''Non non, c'était mon plaisir. Mais peut-être si vous avez une pièce de monnaie canadienne, par contre, j'aimerais bien en avoir une comme souvenir''.

Señor Gustavo Cousin wanted nothing in return but a little Canadian coin keepsake. Although we both hadn't kept much Canadian money when we left, we managed to find a few scattered coins. We left him with a looney, and two quarters - an original one, and another one with a Vancouver 2010 Olympic logo. He was glowing. He gave us hugs and departed as we walked into the bus station with a perma-smile. These are the experiences we live for.

The bus ride to Tacuarembó was a highlight in itself. Among the passengers on our bus, there were a few gauchos, original Uruguayan cowboys wearing berets and baggy pants tucked into their leather boots. They really stood out in the crowd, as though they had stepped out of a western movie. The entire ride to Tacuarembó was made up of a beautiful nothingness. Aside from the occasional herd of sheep and cattle, there was nothing but fields, crops and sunflower patches. And, of course, authentic gauchos on their caballos.

Arrived in Tacuarembó, we went out on a hunt for a place to stay after the only three hotels in the city had not a single room available. Apparently, it was one of the busiest summer holiday weeks and the city was invaded by vacationing Argentines. Luckily, we kept walking a few blocks and came upon a little pensión, where we gladly took the last room available in the tiny guesthouse. We didn't stay long in Tacuarembó; the only real reason why we took the detour to the city was to see the land of the gauchos and to discover a bit of the lesser-known northern regions of Uruguay. The detour was worthwhile if only for the tranquil, untainted landscapes that made us daydream along the way.

We then took to the road again on an overnight bus in direction of Montevideo, where we arrived in the early morning hours. The modern and spotless bus station was the first of many delightful surprises to come. We had a good gut feeling about Uruguay, and we were excited to discover its capital city.

After walking around the captivating streets of Ciudad Vieja (the Old City) and enjoying a little jog along the port, we treated ourselves to a contemporary dance performance at the magnificent Teatro Solis. We were so charmed by the theatre that we returned the following day for a guided tour of its grand refined halls.

Another leisurely walk in the city revealed more artisan kiosks, more culture, and more little treasures. We were charmed by the discovery of the marvelous atmosphere that is the Mercado del Puerto. Art, music and culture all around. Exquisite craftsmanship, beautiful paintings, bongo players and musicians winding through restaurant terraces stringing folk songs on their guitars. So much heart, so many talented hands for a city of just over 1 million people. We couldn't believe how much cultural flavour could flow through a small country with a population of no more than 3 million. A third of Uruguayans live in the capital city, and we quickly became fans of Montevideanos with their friendly demeanor, their maté cups, and their spontaneous tango dancing in the streets.

We couldn't get enough of Montevideo, so much so that we delayed our departure in order to enjoy more time in the city. For exploration purposes, we rented bikes for a refreshing tour along the harbour. We stopped at an old lighthouse, wandered through a pleasant shady park, and got a kick out of observing people playing some kind of beach tennis with what looked like long wooden ping-pong rackets. On the seat of our bikes, we discovered a different side of the city, and even more reasons to be infatuated by it.

The art of ruins.

(February 2, 2009)

One of our highlights in Paraguay was exploring the sites of Jesuit ruins in the villages of Trinidad and Jesús. We first visited the ruins in Jesús, where we arrived after a haphazard car ride venture. After waiting at a bus stop for a bus that never came, we were offered a ride by a guy who seemingly took himself for a taxi driver. We met a couple from Ireland who were also trying to get to the ruins, and so we agreed to hop in together and share the ride there. There was a decent-looking white car parked nearby (which we assumed was the taxi), but then the guy had us follow him a little farther to where his actual vehicle was parked. Under a tree, almost hidden in the woods, we came upon what looked like an old, abandoned car. Well, calling it a "car" is putting it mildly. At first glance, we didn't even think it had a motor so much so it was rotting and missing pieces. It looked like nothing more than a huge piece of scrapyard junk on four wheels. And we were indeed right about the missing pieces, since the car was lacking, among other things, a starter. We then realized why it was parked uphill off the road - to start the engine, the guy had to release the brake in order to accelerate down the hill.

We exchanged skeptical looks with the Irish couple, who were also chuckling discreetly. The Irish guy was sitting up front in the passenger seat, where the door almost fell off after he had tried closing it. The interior of the doors was pure metal with wires sticking out everywhere. There was barely no lining inside the car and no rearview mirrors, lest the one dangling on the driver's side, which our chauffeur casually held in place with his hand. It was all very reminiscent of our previous scrapyard-bus ride to Ybycuí.

Oh but it was all for the sake of adventure, we told ourselves. At least that was until, not much farther ahead, we saw a rickety bus stranded on the side of the road. We soon figured that was most likely the bus we had been waiting for, and that one of the wheels it was missing was probably the reason why it had never showed up. And so, ironically, we were reassured to know that our decision to get a ride down the deserted cobblestone streets in the dilapidated car had actually been a wise choice. And, as it turned out, the safest of two options. Almost impossible, but true.

In the end, the sketchy and bumpy ride was well worthwhile for what awaited us on the outskirts of the village. A field of grand, historic ruins. The Jesuit ruins in Paraguay are some of the best preserved works and dreams of early Jesuit missioners during the colonization of South America in the 17th century. The missions were created in 1609 and developed for over 150 years, much to the benefit of the indigenous Guaraní people, whom the Jesuits befriended and protected in the vast area of lands granted to them by the King of Spain. However, with the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1767, all of their hard labor and good intentions were reduced to ruins, now merely proof of their existence.

But the proof is so much more than crumbling concrete and stone structures. Their was an ancient smell in the air, walking among the ruins, admiring the labouring efforts of Jesuit missionaries who built walls for their homes and temples on the very same grounds, centuries ago. Their dedication, still evident in the details of their work, is absolutely impressive. As it has been too often the case in history, what a shame the Jesuits were expulsed from their native settlements. Observing their unfinished works, we could not help but realize how much greater the potential of their impact could have been.

There was no one else was around. It was just the two of us as we walked around for hours admiring the ruins, with a lingering presence of history in the air.