THE PEOPLE'S HEALTH MOVEMENT DONATES A POCKET PROJECTOR

The People’s Health Movement is an organism with presence in more than 90 countries around the world. Its aim is to claim for the accomplishment of “Health for all now” intending health as a broad concept that includes the access to culture and aesthetic expression.
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Last year, the PHM and I accorded to articulate our skills and resources in the context of my coming travel project: Argentina to Alaska by Americycle (and hitch-hiking, of course). The trip, taking some 18 months comprehends at least two defined cultural projects. The first contemplates the organization of free educational events in schools, villages and communities. These events will focus in inter-cultural understanding, by means of story telling and photo exhibitions. Sharing the episodes of hospitality and everyday life of distant cultures, I hope to foster tolerance and peace. To assist this challenge, the PHM has recently donated a wonderful pocket projector. It will allow me organize conferences for kids and adults regardless their school or institutions owns a projector or not.

Another dimension of my coming expedition is to document the mining conflicts and their social and environmental impact. Transnational mining companies have settle all across the Andes, extracting gold, uranium and other minerals by hazardous methods that poison community water and increase cancer risk. The projector will be a good tool to display documentaries on the subject in each visited community.

Also this week, I finally purchased the paniers (70 lts) for the Americycle (I will show you the picture when the assambling process finishes). La Maga (my 80 lts backpack) will go in the front. Its decided. No way I can leave La Maga behind, after hitching with her from Ireland to Thailand....

HITCHING UNDER THE RAIN TO COLONIA

Uruguay seems to have a surprising ability to deterr us from normal hitch-hiking. Drivers are kind, there are no noisy highways, and everyone seems to be in a good mood, but there is always some nasty ingredient.... This time it was rain. Thankfully our French friends driving the rented car were heading for Paysandú, so we had at least 70 dry kilometers guaranteed. In a town called Chamberlain we saw a big Mercedes truck carrying cattle making a braek by the roadside. So our friends stoped their car for obvious reasons. The driver agreed inmediatly to take us. Unbelievably, he was going very near Colonia.

Rain hadn't stopped, and again we had to hitch-hike in abnormal conditions. Luckily for us, this is Uruguay, and 1 minute was enough to stop a Toyota double cab taking us straightforward to Colonia. They dropped us off at the Technical University in San Carlos de Reales, where we could use wi-fi and have a hot coffee...

Image of Colonia, Heritage Site of the UNESCO. The city was founded by the Portuguese in 1680. Ou host this time was Gino (HC).

The yatch's Dock.

Fundada en 1680 por los portugueses frente a Buenos Aires, la ciudad conserva en cierto grado su arquitectura colonial.

Old cars abound in Uruguay, so they can afford to decorate their bohemian atmosphere with them. Almost each café in the old town has one parked outside.





Beach landscape at Real de San Carlos.





Cheap food stalls to eat.




Sunset at the yatch's harbour.




Paula making handstill....

Real de San Carlos Bull's Arena, erected in the fist decade of XX century.

MURALS AND STORMS AT SAN GREGORIO DE POLANCO

Thoug road number 5 unfolds its red thick line across the Uruguayan map from South to North, we were surprised to find an almost untraveled road. We traveled in the rented Chevrolet Celta of a French couple, and decided to join them camping at San Gregorio de Polanco.

The Camping grounds are at the shores of Rio Negro river.

San Gregorio de Polanco is Uruguay's first Open Air Contemporary Arts Museum. Thus, expect to find a homage to Jan Vermeer next to car park.

Murals take in different topics, from ecological damage to the dispute over Gardel's birthplace.

Paula, Amandine and Cyrile, playing cards and tasting some Uruguayan red wine (too soft for my taste) during ths storm that hit the town that night...

VALLE EDEN: GARDEL'S HIPPIE CRADLE

Valle Edén is a small town, 26 kms away from Tacuarembó. The almost unknown forested valley claims to have been the birth place of Carlos Gardel, the famous tango singer. Legend has it that he was born in Touluse, France, but Uruguayans have their own reasons to believe he was local, of an ilegitimate affair. We waited 45 minutes in Tacuarembó, in a roadside decorated with beheaded hens, candels an other remains of an umbanda ritual.

Valle Edén had a beautifulenergy, no wonder it hosted a Rainbow Gathering a couple of yeras ago.

A man collects her granddaughter from school....

Horses, hens, cows, pigs and others abound. Actually, we must cross several wire fences to get to our hosts house.

Locals prepare mate with apple and lemon skins and other unusual ingredients.

Our new tent: a Rock Empire "Alaska", made in the Czech Republic, was used for the first time in Valle Edén. Hey, and that's Milagros, a beautiful tender calf that was receiving her milk from a bottle...

We visited Valle Eden's school. Belive it or not each kid at Uruguay's public schools has received a free laptop from the goverment. Wi-fi connection is available in every schol, even in those towns that don't dome up in any map... Something to bear in mind if you travel with your laptop.

The mural at Valle Edèn School supports the local theory about Gardel's birthplace.

Clever and Fernando were local farmers with knew where to stand in political and enviromental issues. They were good representatives of those who consciously decide to make a step towards a life closer to the land, while haveing the education and the tools needed to be succesful city dwellers....

THE WATERMELON REVOLUTION!

This is Carmen, our host in Tacuarembó, Northern Uruguay. Her house was a cozy collage of handicrafts, books, seeds and plants. The place abounds with pots with mint, tomatoes, quinoa or lavender. Considering the current trend to produce food intensively aided with genetic technology, those planting watermelons in their garden may soon become the ultimate revolutionaries.

MISTERY AND LITTLE TRAFFIC ON THE "CHARRUA'S ROAD"

Baldomir, the policeman that hosted us in Merinos, gave us a ride for some 20 km to a town called Morató, where cows seemed to have gained full citizenship and roamed freely... The unpaved desolate road overlapped with the historical track followed by the Charruas, the original inhabitants of the land, to their final stand. They were ambushed by General Rivera in 1831....

One hour later we hitched a lift in a VW Trcuk on to Taitcurá, another slow paced town...

We decided to walk to a junction (even unpaved roads form junctions). On the way, we found a weird wooden box, tighten with barbed wire and wrapped in thick metallic tin. We first thought of some kind of ritual burial. When we finally decided to open te box, it only revealed a rotten honeycomb...

In Morató we waited for 3 hours. A Toyota double cab driven by a ranch administrator took us to the main road, Road 5. There we hoped to hitch-hike in normal conditions (paved road!) for the first time since our arrival to Uruguay. But then it was too late and the sun was sinking behind the horizon. Placed under a lighting pole, we needed 55 minutes to halt a VW Worker (truck) that took us to Tacuarembó. Couchsurfing member were already waiting for us there.

BILLIARD AND BOOZE AT MERINO'S GENERAL STORE

The following morning Baldomir suggested I should go with him to the town's general store. Secretly, he wanted me to witness how he challenged the local folks in the billiard... I remained more curious of how locals enjoyed drinking at the bar, threading conversations that not always made sense for those who hadn't drink....

Merinos' general store.

MERINOS: OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH URUGUAYAN HOSPITALITY

Paula and I at Merinos' old -and derelict- railway station.

As usual, I prefer unspecific hitch-hiking signs. In this case "Conociendo Uruguay", which stands for "Getting to know Uruguay".

A group of drunken shearers were the first we made contact with. They suggested we could camp by the town's club, but imagining people around there would be even more drunk at night, we kept searching for options....

Stores still bear advertisng signs from at least three decades ago.

Old high roof houses abound in small towns. Their style is quite similar to the ones in Argentina.

When we asked Baldomir, the town's only policeman, where we could camp. we couldn't know he was going to offer us his house....

... and he went further and pointed there was some meet in the refrigerator we could cook. Some meet ment almost an entire sheep!

Since he had to live on duty to a nearby town, we were left alone at the place. The fire was on, so we use it to grill the sheep meet. Unbelievably there was also wi-fi connection.

HITCH-HIKING MENNONITE CARRIAGES

Elbowed out of the rest of the World by cars and motorcycles, the horse-drawn kart, the mythic chariot, has found among the Mennonites a sanctuary where its thread of evolution. One of the aims of my trip was to hitch a ride in on of these fancy vehicles, called buggies by themselves. No need to stretch my thumb, I am offered a ride by one of the guys, whose family sells spiced cheese. I say I would like to buy some, and he takes me to his house in his buggy. The name of my new friend is Pedro.

To my surprise, the buggy advances smoothly over the unpaved road. The car I had arrived in had, in the contrary, let me feel every ditch of the road with more fidelity. Jacobo tells me that buggies are produced in the colony by a couple of families, who charge around 6000 and 8000 pesos for them (1,800 USD). The deluxe version has adjustable seats, glass windshield and Volkswagen suspension system.

Along the dusty avenue we find scattered groups of boys and girls. Since it is Sunday, it is the only the day they can abstract from their work routine. Then, boys and girls meet up to chat –and drink beer- in the road itself. Jacobo says if they meet a girl and start going out with her, thay can visit each other in her house Mondays and Wednesday afternoon for two hours. A remember a novel by Bioy Casares in which a Danish family who had settle in Patagonia attempts to stop time –and then death- by repeating every day the same sequence of prearranged acts, barring entry to their farm of every news. Likewise, this tendency to schedules makes the Mennonites a community sedentary not only in space but also in time.

MENNONITE FAMILIES AND THE RIGHT TO DIFFERENCE

We arrive to Pedro’s house, and after a tour of their carpentry, we are shown the traditional cheeses. We enter a small room where also two large pieces of jam are being stationed, and choose a couple of oregano and pepper cheeses we buy from them. Pedro invites us to drink mate with his family. It is our first chance to enter a Mennonite house. The excuse for socializing is quite Argentinean; the bizarre social situation we are about to live is rather unclassifiable.

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The first impression on passing the simple wooden door is that we were not expected by Pedro’s family, who immediately order two of their daughters to sweep the wooden floor. A compact legion of blonde kids is chewing and spitting sunflower seeds, almost in consonance. When I remark how much they seem to like the seeds Pedro’s explanation is: “Well, it is Sunday”. So in Sunday everything that’s otherwise banned during the week seems to be tolerated. And sunflower seeds are the closest to a forbidden snack children can crave for.

The two teenage girls prepare the mate while their mother swings quietly in a rocking chair by the window. The woman is huge like a Russian matrioska. You would bet there are several layers of women inside… None of the women take part of the conversation, which rather have Raul (my friend), Pedro, Pedro’s father, and me as participants. Even if the girls would like to talk, they are not taught Spanish. The father is a lightly built man with square glasses and a broad forehead. He makes me several questions about Germany, a country that I have visited several times, and which is where the Mennonite’s gene pool comes from… The man is kind and low paced in all his way of being and talking. I talk to him in German and we understand each other despite speaking different dialects. They all have a lot of fun when I take their Bible and start reading –without understanding everything- a short bit…

I ask the man for the names of his children, and he names only the boys. The girls, both the tiny ones chewing seeds and the teenage ones coming and going with the mate, remain anonymous. In this context, I can imagine the girls have no further life prospects than becoming children factories and seating by the window as their mother. There is no chance of getting to the “outside world” to work or study.

A dilemma emerges. Must the estate interfere in order to guarantee certain contents in education? Can family and community exclude the instruction of the language needed to be a free person in Argentina? I mean, is it fine that girls here speak medieval German and couldn’t even take a bus if they dared to, while men are bilingual? Schools have always been factories of mentalities, from the times of Sarmiento to nowadays. They have been widely used to displace the native tongues prior to the Conquista and homogenize population. Bilingual education has normally arrived too late. It happened with Irish, and also with quechua. Will it come the day when prohibition of prohibition becomes a part of universal ethics? Tht day Iranian girls will have the chance to walk unveiled, and Mennonite ones will be taught Spanish. The systems that now try to protect themselves by coercing individuals to act this or that way will only be legitimized when they become optional. We leave Pedro’s house and 30 kms later we are having a beer in one of Guatrache’s bars, wondering if everything was real or if we have just dreamt it.

THE LAND WITOUT SOCCER

We continue towards a more distant second church. On the way we see children playing around the school yard. At the sight of the car, they promptly hide beneath a tree, and only gradually go out to look at us when they discover we are carrying two of their men in the car. There is a skateboard near them which must be the most boring toy to have in an unpaved road. Jacobo explains us that bicycles are also banned. And soccer?

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Forbidden as well. –says Jacobo while pretending not be regretting it- Last year we attempted to start playing it, but the bishop ordered us to stop it.

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In a world where soccer seems to globalize in spite of any social, political and ethnic context the fact that a nostalgic agricultural colony can still bar it through an edict of its bishop vindicates the unpredictable of our species.

I remember to have seen a guy with a small pin of River Plata clinged to the zip of his jacket. How does he do to know the weekly scores without TV? Jacobo once more rescues me from ignorance and explains that the guys who installs the silos, masterly produce and sell nationwide by the Mennonites , are the only ones with chances to get to the outside world. They bring –smuggle- the weekly scores. Just imagine one of them whispering in church the results of a River-Boca match in Low German.

TOWERLESS CHURCHES AND ABSTRACT SPIRITUALITY

If protestant churches are themselves scarcely decorated, Mennonite ones go a step further and lack any ornamentation at all. An abstract spirituality didn’t put Muslim calligraphists and architects to come up with Esfahan mosques. Its intricate designs avoid human figures but resourcefully extract all possibilities of flowers and purely geometric figures. Mennonites don’t just avoid representation; they avoid any sort of decoration. This iconoclast spirit also means they don’t have tombs for their dead. Only the land he so eagerly worked and oblivion wait for each man after his material cycle is over. Both religiously and economically, Mennonites are nothing but pragmatic. In the same way they do without the aesthetic additives of their temples they equally discard the symbolic background of the land they plough. Most of them couldn’t point the areas of Germany and the Netherlands their community is originally from. Most of the adults in the Colony at Nueva Esperanza were born in other Mennonite colonies in Mexico and Bolivia, out of a Nordic gene pool, displaced again towards Argentina, so I can understand they identify with their community rather than with any of the countries they have paraded through. The contrast is generated by their being so uprooted from the symbolic dimension of the grounds they work, while so inserted glued to it at a literal and concrete level.

THE UNIVERSE OF CONDEMABLE ITEMS IN MENNONITE SYMBOLIC SYSTEM

An obvious of conversation was prohibitions. The guys say adults don’t want them to drink, but beer has somehow become tolerated, unlike whiskey or wine. So far the list of sins is predictable: adultery, alcohol, etc. However, Mennonites can surprise with a unique universe of condemnable items and activities.

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Nobody would think tractors tyres are harmful, but all tractors here are deprived of their rear tyres. Maybe it is a precaution to make it harder for a teenager to leave the colony. Almost all items derived from technological advances of the twentieth century are banned, such as cars, mobile phones and computers. So is music. Despite this, we have seen a couple of guys with MP3s. Jacob, one of the guys, admits he secretly listens to music. When I enquire what genre of music he likes most, he is surprised at the whole idea of genres, and says he only listens once and again to the only CD he was able to get, some sort of Mexican music.

OUT OF A GOETHE’S NOVEL…

As a sample of how predictable human nature is beyond the cultural format, not far from the boys I find a group of girls. Like among the Kalasha in Pakistan, or the Otavaleños in Ecuador, here are also women who conserve the typical way of dressing. As elsewhere, men end up by adopting a pair of jeans or similar variations of contemporary clothes.

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Mennonite girls seem straight out of Goethe’s novels, elegant blue eyed dolls wearing violet and blue neck-to-toe dresses and stunning hats. It’s in these unknown settlements were Romantic aesthetics have residually survived. What are those dresses, designed some centuries ago in Eastern Prussia, getting dirty with the Pampas soil? Curious collage plotted by history’s turns, migrations and religious persecutions. The girls smile and tell each other secrets in the ear. Saying I feel sad for them unveils my ethnocentrism.

I don’t know why, I feel more sorry for them than for the boys, and I perfectly know I shouldn’t be sorry for anyone but myself. I have travelled 45 countries and learnt to find beauty in each kind of society. Maybe I believe that male soul is the ony capable of building and applying castrating philosophical systems. Obsessions in general, either to build skyscrapers, cities or cults, seem to me a male affair. Women are smarter, and they are the ones showing us the apples. They go always in front, throwing banana skins just ahead of any kind of theological arithmetic planned by ayatollahs, bishops or popes. Parties can be organized by either men or women. Boring scenario, instead, can only have a man behind the master plan. Women’s boycott consists of returning man to reality. And they can achieve this very simply, by the only mean of existing. Some religions have chosen to call this temptation. Behind the grind of resignation, nevertheless, I can guess a winged spirit…

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The only girl of the group to look at me in the eye did so because her boyfriend had told her to behave normally in front of foreigners. Of course, here the ones speaking medieval German are the locals, while we are the exotic!

IN THE MENNONITE COLONY OF NUEVA ESPERANZA

The Mennonites are an Anabaptist religious community that originated in the 16th Century in Europe. In the times of the Reform the Anabaptists took distance from both the Vatican and the Lutheran church, since they didn’t support the baptism of babies but that of adult voluntary believers. By 1530 Rome and the Protestant communities agreed to persecute the Anabaptists, who organized a frustrated revolt in Munster, Germany. Hundreds of them died in the attempt. But many others, later called the Mennonites preferred to start an exodus that four centuries later resulted in more than a million and a half Mennonites settling in more than 109 countries. Where they go, the nestle in farming communities where they practice a frugal lifestyle characterized by work in the fields, strong sense of community and family, the conservation of plat-deutsch, and regulation of the contacts with the outside world. They don’t use cars, radios, computers, etc. Today, only 37% of them live in Europe (they are original from Northern Germany and the Netherlands), the rest have settled across the Atlantic in North and Latin America (particularly in Paraguay, Mexico and Bolivia). The largest numbers of them are found, however, in Africa.

We finally catch a glimpse of a Group of them. When we go out of the car, it seems we are in front of several clones of the same individual. They all resemble each other! I allow myself to think that, after several centuries of crossing of the same genetic lots nature must tend to the generation of beings with less and less inter-individual differences. They are all blonde, tall, with an unmistakable Nordic look. They also wear the same kind of clothes: they use baseball caps –cowboy hats for the adults- quadrille shirts and blue trousers. Two little kids observe us from afield, but don’t get close.

At their feet I see an empty wine bottle. Alcohol is forbidden, but I haven’t yet generated the sufficient confidence to ask them details about that and other transgressions. My mind is an index of questions which remain unsaid out of strategy. The tallest of them has clearly a set of white headphones climbing from within his jacket to his ears. Music is also theoretically banned, as anything else that takes man away from the three pillars of the Mennonites: family, work and spirituality. The Taliban had also banned music in Afghanistan. While a parallel with them would be an exaggeration, reminiscence in some regards in unavoidable.

UNVISIBLE BOUNDARIES IN LA PAMPA PROVINCE

When something exotic flourishes in distant latitudes, it surprises gently. The adrenaline of the truly exotic comes when the unseen arises around the corner. That’s what I felt last week when visiting the Mennonite colony of Nueva Esperanza, in the Argentinean province of La Pampa.

We exited Bahía Blanca towards Guatraché, the closest town. In the ay, we can see the typically rural landscape configuration of the Pampas: broad horizons, uninterrupted plains, perpendicular windmills with metallic spikes, and cows and cows, symbols of the richness of a few landowners. From time to time a tiny town, with its weathered red brick houses of tall roofs… The wind arouses dry bushes to roll over the plain, and dust filters through our car ventilation system. Focused in the meteorological adversity we forget we are crossing invisible cultural boundaries.

IMAGES OF A ROUND THE WORLD HITCH-HIKING TRIP, IN TANDIL

Making a Photo Exhibition in Tandil, Argentina. he venue was offered by Tandil University Cultural Center. Title of the exhbition was "Images of a Round the World Hitch-hiking trip". More than 50 people attended the event.

After introducing myself and The Wizard (my backpack) we carried on with the slide of around 400 photographs. I thought they would be too many, but people kept their attention focused. Many of them later bought copies of my book "Vagabonding in the Axis of Evil" (Spanish version. English one coming soon). I also displayed a hundred of my hand made postcards. Rhey allow anyone to take a souvenir home, since they are cheaper than the 20x30 I always sell.

What is behind selling a photograph? There several dimensions beyond the economic side of it. Firstly, unlike the book, people can choose among the +100 pictures, letting me know something about their likes, dislikes, etc. More importantly, the energy of the photographed episoded comes back to me when someone chooses a picture. Kids smile again, and deserts print their austerity in my eyes once again... A magic evocation that claims time for already lived moments and make life reversible...

As I said, there is something fundamental behind a simple event. I have been a nomad fo 4 years now, and my e-mail contact list has around 1400 addresses, plus some 690 Facebook friends (clic here to find my profile and add me!) This forces me to inforce some discipline in the task of recording and organizing new contacts. As ii travel, I send general e-mails telling all this readers and friends where I am, and if there is any event coming. And then the desired alchemy happens: the virtual world touches the real one, when someone comes to the event thanks to an e-mail. In this case I could meet face to face dozens of readers I had never seen before. In the picture you can see Teresa foor instance. She would always comment my blog to check I was still alive while hiking in Tibet or Afghanistan. I could have never fortold this woman whose messages often gave me strenght was on a wheelchair.

Readres geting their book signed.

My girfriend Paula and Rocío. I had last seen Rocío, from the Cyclown Circus in Thailand in 2007. Imagine my surprise!

Friends at Tandil, Argentina.

A cute boy selling bicycles made from wire in the streets.

BY THE SHORES OF URUGUAY RIVER, IN ENTRE RIOS PROVINCE

Sticky Notice! Visit my online bookshop, order my book and keep me hitch-hiking around the world!
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As I keep preparing the Americycle for my Argentina-Alaska trip, I take short rips around Argentina by hitch-hiking. Paula and I spent a nice weekend in Concepción del Uruguay and Colón, both cities in the Argentinean province of Entre Ríos. In the picture, one of the historic buildings that charm up the shores of Colón.

A rusty abandoned Wessel sets the scenes for lovers who can’t afford to rent a true Titanic for a romantic kiss.

As Colón is a touristy place, houses and guesthouses are painted in the fashion way their Buenos Aires counterpart are.

Zárate – Brazo Largo Bridge is the easiest access point for hitch-hikers thumbing north from the national capital.

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THE CULT OF SAINT DEATH AND THE ARGENTINEAN ROADS

Our driver was called Javier and he was from Concordia, Entre Ríos. He stopped for to check the tires pressure in Gualeguay crossing and we were soon asking him wether he could take us south back to Buenos Aires. On board, the cabin of his Mercedes 1620 had its own iconography that including illustrations of different saints.

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Among the classic stamp of Gauchito Gil and Difunta Correa, emerges the image of Death, with her own chopper. “It’s Saint Death” – affirms Javier, and proceeds to tell us the story of how he became a follower.

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He had been working for years for a logistic company. He used to drive so fast that his boss seemed to trust Javier would always made it, no matter how distant was the goal. If there was a queue of fifty truck in the loading spot, he wouls be granted priority. He was a true king of the road. “Then they started sending me to Misiones province” – regrets. There the landscape is so hilly that you can hardly drive Fast. When going down a hill, actually, you need to have good breaking skills. On the contrary, Javier had fun descending at 120 km/h.

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One day, on reaching the bottom of a steep hill, he found an old truck joining the main road from an unpaved track coming from the rainforest. It’s the kind of trucks carrying on illegal deforestation. E had no time to break and next time he opened his eyes he had all sorts of electrodes connected to his body. He lost her job, and his wife. A man who came suddenly out of nowhere –like the truck he had crushed with- gave him an illustration of Saint Death. As in a miracle, he got a better job and mended the relationship with his wife.

With a bit of research, I found that the cult had its origins in neighbouring Paraguay, as some kind of syncretism that takes roots in the Guarani tradition of worshipping the bones of your ancestors. Natives there used to ask for protection from physical pain and natural disasters.

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During the Jesuits era this concept boarded the Christian entity of saint to form a new cult that hasn’t however been recognized by the church. Inner migrations forwarded the cult into other regions, such as the Argentinean provinces of Santa Fe. Corrientes, Chaco and Formosa, and south of Brasil. There is even a large sanctuary in RN 12 Km. 983, in Corrientes. Another example of how there is a lot to learn from hitch-hiking.

GASTRONOMY AND INMIGRATION IN ARGENTINEAN NORTHEAST (Salam Aleikum my gaucho!)

It was quite a surprise to find these two guys Dresde in Iraqi T-shirts selling shawarma, as I strolled the shores of Uruguay River, in Colón, Entre Ríos. I approached them in Arabic and of course they were true Iraqis who had migrated from Baghdad in 2002, precisely a year in which Argentina sent out huge waves of émigrés as a result of local crisis.

Aiming to seduce the pocket of patriots, the guy next stall made it clear he was selling Argentinean meet…

As for us, far from having passport related problems in our diet, we cooked this Dorado in a clay oven, spiced with chilli, herbs, lemon, etc. We bought it first hand to the fisherman who goes around the city in his bicycle…

Paula and I baking bread for dinner, filled up with salami and cheese.

Our hosts, Miguel and Paula.

VOLGADEUTSCHEN COLONIES IN ENTRE RIOS, ARGENTINA

This is how the streets of Valle María, a little rural town 50 km south of Paraná, the provincial capital of Entre Ríos, Argentina, look. From left to right, the German flag, the provincial and the national one. How do we arrive to this? The story begins in 1770, when the Russian tsar Catalina II invited Germans to populate a strip of land near the Volga River. After a short stage of hope, it turned out the lands were poor indeed, and moreover, the new generations were expected to line up in the Russian Army… SO emigration began towards South America. Many of them made it to Brazil, and after a time there head on south towards Argentina, where the government granted them lands in 1880. The Argentineans of the time, moved by a simplifier spirit, decided to nick them “Russians” full stop.

Paying attention to a road map of Entre Rios Province, the fact is clear. Hasenkamp, Spatzenkutter, Aldea Protestante, Valle María…. The last two still mark the religious differences the original settlers had when they set foot in the steam ship that brought them from Europe. Today the region still bears a visible ethnic Teutonic feature, but the language has been nearly lost, with a few exceptions I observed, as an 80 years old couple speaking out loud in old German while killing time in the supermarket queue…

Augusto Lucero, collegue from Autostop Argentina, and road mate in this short visit to Vale María, one of the German colonies. In the photo you can see him hitching with a reflective sign. Despite darkness came over, we managed to stop a Renault 18…

Signs of the German heritage can be observed in the name of local shops and companies.

THE LOCAL “BOLICHE” IN VALLE MARIA.

Carlos, the owner, opens our beer. His sad grind was later explained by other locals, who said he had been a rich landlord of the region, before loosing everything in Argentina’s hyperinflation of 1989.

Among the gin and the vermouth, a sign says: “We no longer keep your drinks. Once served, you drink it, take it home or throw it away!”

Locals were proud that at least some lost hitch-hiker remembers the existence of their villages. Notably, Carlos invited to stay overnight at his home. While another local toured us around his milk farm on the morning of our departure.

IMAGES OF VALLE MARIA, SOCCER AND STUDEBAKER.

"The other photograph"

Studebaker Champion.

POSSIBLE ENDS FOR OLD SCHOOL BUSES

One possibility is plain abandonment. The gradual rust conciliates technology and nature. Something Julio Cortázar would have called the unfair cycle of trash. Example: this Mercedes 1114 school bus will hardly have a different chance.

The other possibility as an extra flair of poetry. The bus, already disabled for its original task, ends up taking up a new job and avoiding retirement…. In the picture, a 1960 English-made Leyland renamed “Choribus”. Now it hosts the kitchen room! Instead of children, grilled sausages come out of its depths now. Well, there is not a big difference if you read it as a Pink Floyd The Wall metaphor.