It has been almost 10 days since I’m here in the tri-border between Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. A bit of sightseeing such as a visit to the Iguazu falls, some errands, such as buying a new cell phone since the old one didn’t seem to agree with the contract on which it fell from more than a metre high. Those of you that are following my blog for a while might remember that in the US I had already tried to befriend my electronic devices with concrete. .That time it was a laptop, now a cell phone. Both time unsuccessful and with a fairly predictable outcome. The gadget stops working after such an encounter. I just might have learned something for the future. But then again, I might not have!
Well, most of the time that I had spent here at the tri-border was dedicated to lighter activities or better said inactivates. A hammock, listening to music, allowing my brains to switch-off, all in all relaxing. Sometimes you have to find time to do this as well. That is why this text will be on the lighter side.
Not only travelling but Life is also full of various moments. Moments are what gives colour to this spinning wheel that we call Life. They can be happy, can be sad, full of action or more laid back, maybe even boring. And there are those that, for a lack of a better description, make me question my own intelligence.
For easier understanding, here are some examples of the moments I’m talking about
For the third consecutive day Andres and I have been climbing towards 4.850 metres high pass called Abra Chonta in Peru. The road was winding, the air was thin, traffic on an otherwise nice, paved road was light. The summit or the pass itself was about 500 metres further up the road but we had no idea since it was hidden behind a curve. We had stopped so to get acquainted with as many of the oxygen molecules passing by as we possible could have. The bikes were leaning on the safety railing, the two of us sitting next to them. Not a living sole in sight, all around us just rocks, sun gently warming us. After about 10-15 minutes a man comes in his new pick-up truck. He slows down, lowers his window, looks at us and asks:
“What are you doing?”
We look at each other, then we look at the bikes next to us which are kind of self-explanatory. After of a moment of surprise Andres said: “We are travelling with our bikes!”
“Oh, OK!” replies the man and, visibly content that we have satisfied his curiosity, he drives away.
We just look at each other!
I wonder how he would react if we would had told him that we were waiting for the pizza guy. We have ordered it hours ago and still hasn’t been delivered.
Another thing that can happen is that you are looking for a place to spend the night, to pitch a tent. Entering one small town Andres and I have passed several smaller plots that were all individually surrounded by make-shift walls. Some of the plots in use, others no. Since these make-shift walls, made out of dry cane, enable us to remain hidden from nosy looks, we go in search of finding an unoccupied plot. Since we were both raised by responsible parents, we both like first to ask for permission to use, Andres goes across the street. There is a car mechanic shop and he goes there to ask if they whom to ask for permission. It was a short conversation:
“We are looking for a place to pitch our tents overnight. Would you happen to know to whom the plot over there belongs to?”
“Sure I know. To the owner!”
Who would have thought – a plot that belongs to the owner!
Here is where the conversation has stopped. You just do not know where to go from here.
Just so to avoid any potential for confusion. These kind of situations are not something that happens only in foreign lands. Nope, not at all!
I remember, years ago, back home in Ljubljana, me and a friend of mine went for a pleskavica (grilled patty of minced meat, similar to what you could find in a burger, but completely different). We went to a restaurant, sat behind a table and looked at the menu. It was listed that they have either a small or a large pleskavica. Since the actual size was not mentioned, we decided to ask the waiter.
“What is the difference between a small and a large pleskavica?”
The man looks at us and calmly explains: “Large one is large, small one is small!”
I really cannot remember what we had then ordered.
There you go, I hope you had a lough or two and might have remembered a similar moment that you have personally experienced.
With a Smile on my face, until next time!