It is always a choice, they say. You choose to be happy, you choose to be locked-in, you choose to be alone, you choose to be with others, you choose to be free. You choose to stick to your plan, you choose to change your mind. You choose to decide your direction, you choose to let the universe decide for you. 2015 was one of those years I chose to let the universe decide for me, or at least come up with ideas I'd not previously thought of. And I found myself in the middle of Argentina, in Trenque Lauquen, latitude -35.97. On almost exactly the same latitude as my city of birth, Wagga Wagga, Australia, latitude -35.10, 11.500 km directly east, as the crow flies.
Wagga Wagga means 'Place of Many Crows' and when I grew up, I had a wonderful childhood in this (then) small country town on the banks of the Murrumbidgee River. It was iconic New South Wales country Australian landscape. However, to explore the world it would seem, is less a fanciful desire than a need, like the need to breathe. So I had spent the last 20 years of my life, wandering all over the planet as she called, avoiding getting settled in the life of a small country town, only to find myself settling in a small country town on exactly the same latitude 11,500 km east. The irony wasn't lost on me and, truth be told, it made me a little nervous. But I chose to settle in this different, small country town, for 2015.
Trenque Lauquen – a name of soft clicking words, old and wise – as grounded and earthy as its Pampa surrounds – and a little mysterious. Here, I had my little home, a balcony out the front on which to grow some plants and veggies, get my hands covered in dirt and observe the cycles of nature. A balcony on which to sit at night, admiring Scorpio hanging above in the evening sky and the passing full moons. A small balcony out the back presented the sunset every night with rays of soft pink and blue hues flung out like a fisherman’s net across the wide open pampas sky.
I went for early morning walks accompanied by the street dogs. These street dogs were something else. When they looked at you, you could swear they were about to say something. They held your gaze for a few seconds longer than normal dogs, and you got the message somehow from their eyes and facial expressions and your own response to it. I loved them. When I would walk in the mornings they would accompany, freely, happily, usually just a little ahead or behind me and occasionally going off to explore and enjoy a field, doing their own thing, coming back when they felt like it and always just at the right time – like good friends and lovers, where the love is pure and unencumbered with attachment.
The landscape was flat in every direction you looked. There wasn't even a small mound in sight which you could climb to get a different perspective. There were days I felt like just walking around on my tiptoes to get some sense of elevation. I promise you, think about that, I had never imagined that staying in a flat landscape for extended periods could get to you like that, no matter its beauty. Yet while I never got this elevation, I frequently experienced elation. The landscape, colours, stillness and mystery under the surface engulfed me. The yellow street lamps against the brilliant slowly darkening azure, just after sunset. The yellow street lamps creating an ethereal misty fog on winter evenings. The yellow street lamps reminding me, every evening that I was here, settled, in this country that I loved so much, which I left the first time in 2009, then again in 2010 and then finally made it back in late 2014 (but hadn't intended to stay even if it was my hope). Sometimes the overwhelming realisation of that fact, the intensity of the gratitude and almost incredulity that I was living what I had thought was a dream lost, produced strange experiences. One evening I saw myself, perhaps younger, ten metres ahead dancing all the way down the street with uninhibited joy until I arrived home. Another evening, I stood in an empty street, consumed by the beauty of yellow lit fog on a winter's night, and I felt and heard how this exact space looked around 100 years ago, in each direction I looked, in emptiness, I felt the 1920s and 1930s. It's hard to explain so I will leave it up to your imagination.
These walks, were always thought provoking and moving, but one never could reach conclusions and I certainly never felt that I really knew this place, even though it was so small, like I have felt I have understood other cities. Looking at the most powerful symbol of the mother’s headscarf of the Association of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo (also known as the Mothers of the Disappeared) painted on the pavement, and understanding that here too, was a place full of stories of lives lived bravely. The stories here were less obvious to stumble upon, it would take more time to learn these stories. They seemed more hidden, more private or deeply etched in covered terrain and you would not get the stories by just walking along the street as you can in Buenos Aires. And I did learn some of these stories, but they are not mine to share. Sometimes, you feel, the story chooses its storyteller. If a story does not want to be told, there is a wisdom behind that. Let it speak in its own time, because the right moment will come.
So then, what can I tell you? It was a great place for riding your bike blissfully with the fresh cold winter wind in your face and biting your hands and feeling grateful for a little calm. And I admired this community. The efforts of those who sacrificed to give the best for their families and for the town. Progressive and courageous people live there. Every week I came across someone who made me think ‘God, what a great person’. Someone who I really admired and respected. Made you feel humble and want to do better. Artists, musicians, educators; people giving a lot of themselves for the community to grow and learn new skills and enjoy life. Really an abundance of higher level behaviour it seemed to me.
Of course I know there are problems that every country and community faces. But you know, I don’t think it’s my role to point these out. For me it is almost impossible to criticise or even hear criticism about Argentina, so deep was the love that got under my skin for that country. When I think about my life, I’m well aware of the bad decisions I’ve made, my faults, my dark side, the alternative ways of doing things that seem more logical to others. We can be our own worst enemies and I don’t really think any of us are ignorant of our shortcomings. But when I’ve really been at my worst, it’s been the people who remind me of my better side, and me, even, reminding me that I have some good to offer, that I have, in fact, achieved a few things, and that life is rich with offerings on a daily basis for us to enjoy and embody. I'm a fan of pointing out the good, especially in tricky times. I think then, it’s better to point out what’s great in us, in a place, in a country and hold that up like a lamp in the distance, for us to aim for that again. In relation to Argentina, the list of beautiful, unique, awesome, and extremely satisfying attributes she has is limitless. So I recommend you just go and visit for yourself. (I'll put something up soon about Buenos Aires, my first great love in Argentina.) Travel for a bit, north, south, etc etc. Then choose a location, a city, country town, choose a house or apartment and just settle in there for a month or so, establish a routine, find your favourite cafe, go there every morning, walk everyday on your favourite street, and see what gorgeous discoveries you make, what experience you will have, that will be completely your own. This is the stuff of life kids. This is the stuff of life.
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