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Selva de cemento
The city gets left behind. Traffic jams dissolve, street vendors disappear. What remains is a vehicle full of grown men acting like boys. Deserting all the noise brought forth by the concrete jungle.
A break from the Argentinian city life, a break from the numerous redundant matters.
Soon mountains introduce themselves and our horizontal journey skyrockets. We swerve over and through rocky gorgeousness. Getting away from any thought occupying our minds.
After stopping at a viewpoint overlooking all nearby nature we arrive at our destination. A village that doesn’t scream, but elegantly whispers tranquility and secludedness. Apartment buildings have turned into cottages, narrow sidewalks have turned into deserted roads.
We drop our bags off at the hotel and embark on a journey to the nearby landscape. We come across a river and find a hidden trail descending and leading to it. Colossal, oval stones laying in the water form a path in the river. We start our hopscotching adventure and continue until nature is out of stones.
We take in all the beauty. Numerous plants cover the rocky surroundings, the bluest of skies accentuates the colour of the water and a wall of rocks and earth to our right provides us with just the right amount of shade.
We agree that half an hour of hopscotching is more than enough and decide to climb the rock wall. Intelligence, you marvelous phenomena. Slipping, sliding, reconsidering: success. I’ll act as if, and will write down that, our climb went surprisingly well. Then we head back to our hotel.
After a few hours of rest and remixing the alphabet I head out to the town center, together with my accomplice. A cloudy sky prevents us from stargazing. Therefore we enter the one establishment that seems to be open at this time of night.
The local tavern is filled with empty chairs and tables showing solidarity. The furniture squeaks as we sit down. The innkeeper walks up to us to take our order. Meanwhile his toothless wife winks at us from behind the bar. Although… she might just be blinking. Her eyepatch makes it hard to be certain. We choose to leave her be.
As our drinks are served, the entrance door swings open. A dyslexic horse, a wingless parrot and a bunch of regulars walk in. A prehistoric coin enters the jukebox. Some unintelligible music starts playing. We are slightly confused, to say the least.
Two drinks on the house are placed in front of us. We look at the innkeeper’s wife, heavily blinking/winking at us. We raise our glasses and toast.
The night begins.
The adventure lingers on.
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