The morning's songs had begun to beat, and the air surrounding us filled with applause. With each verse more and more people crowded about us, filling in tight. Fearless Stephano beckoned them closer, announcing us to the marketplace. He told the people of our mission to the mountains, that we were on our way but couldn't leave without sharing a few of our songs. The vendors and customers fawned while we strummed and i saw more coins passed towards Alexandria and her small bucket.
Our songs were simple in structure yet the moment i saw a bag of vegetables handed to Pablo i lost my place, lost track. It was astonishing. This was actually working. “Whoa! Guys! Food!” i exclaimed in disbelief when the song ended.
My new friends laughed at me, this is what they had been expecting, and what we would live off of for the next few days. We’d be staying in the wild as long as our supplies lasted, and the more food arrived the more excited i became.
Over the next hour we played the same six songs in four locations around the market. Juan's dreads shook as he played his little off time drum, Stephano, and i rattled our strings and sang our hearts out. As we basked in sunshine, songs, and smiles the time flew by. We walked out of the market with two giant bottles of Cola, bags of tomatoes, peppers, onions, potatoes, lettuce, rice, a bag of meat cuts, corn, a bag of flour, and around ten dollars. We used the money for water purifiers, toilet paper, salt, pepper, cinnamon tea bags, a small sac of sugar, and extra matches. Gob-smacked, i looked at the loot in disbelief. This was great!
A walked a little ways out of the market before deciding it would be best to split a local collectivo out of town. Divided amongst us it cost a few dollars each. Worth it with such a large group and heavy bags.
Our modest fare ended up taking us winding over mountains, snaking along a gorgeous river, close to three hours away, less than a kilometre from where Pablo intended. We arrived in a small valley, with a few scattered farms. While the bus had dropped us off near a campsite near a small waterfall we were unwilling to pay, and opted instead to explore for somewhere else a little more suitable to our finances.
After jumping a fence into a large grassy field filled with cows we found our way towards the water . Everyone removed their shoes and we walked up the river enjoying the cool, flowing water over our toes. After 20 minutes of hiking with no major falls, we found a small sandy beach on the side of the river, completely hidden away with thick trees on both sides. Beyond that point the water got quite deep which was horrible for walking but ideal for swimming.
It was unanimous- this was the perfect spot. Our tents came out and we began to set up camp. Stephano loaned me his fly-less tent. He would be crashing with Pablo. i felt a bit uncomfortable about being the only one not sharing a tent and having the luxury of sleeping alone. Everyone smiled and insisted i didn't worry about it. It was a happy turn of events, and besides if it got a bit rainy i’d be joining the boys anyways.
After the tents, we all collected fire wood, and made a large stock for the next few days. Stephano was very excited when i pulled out my machete for the wood, it was a tool that no one else had and a huge help. Large logs became furniture, and before long we sat comfortably beside our fire.
After our camp was set we went through our food, washing and sorting it all. Pablo had been working in kitchens back home in Chile and took the lead deciding what needed to be used first and what we should make. In our single pot he fixed together a risotto with the rice, tomatoes, and onions. He then skewered all the meat that looked edible with a sharpened stick and roasted it over the fire. Patient Pablo rotated the meal over the licking flames, salting and peppering the sizzling flesh with each spin, serving my salivating friends as each piece readied. i was happy to opt instead for a small salad of tomatoes, lettuce, and a sprinkle of salt.
From beside our blaze our risotto bubbled. We feasted in the warm glow of the flames under the stars, passing around our pot wrapped in a small towel, sharing our only spoon.
There was something magickal about those meals. Despite being excruciatingly basic they were as unforgettable as they were delicious. Perhaps it was the smoky, fiery taste, our ravenous hunger, the rustic primordial eating style, or the fact that every morsel had been earned together in song that ignited the flavour. Maybe it was that our meals marinated in unadulterated freedom, soaking in a dreamy sixties faux gypsies haze in outskirts of the Andes. The intoxicating spice of unity and community added to each meal, a familial secret ancestral recipe. Whatever it was our modest feasts melding the young vagabonds, and myself. The lifestyles of foreigners- now new friends had come together, complementary, and harmonious.
Our utensils may have been limited, the one small pot and a few tea cups, the one spoon between the five of to use, but our hearts were boundless. More times than not we’d end up eating with our fingers; which i’ve always found to be such a primal and beautiful way to eat. i’m aware that its quite frowned on Western society but after spending time in India i found the practice made food taste better, and helped me connect with my meals a little more. There’s something foreign , and in some ways awkward when eating with metallic or plastic cutlery. There is a similar joy when using wooden chopsticks or spoons, though given the choice, i'd definitely prefer my hand more times than not. The only downfall is of course the mess, and social faux-pois.
Each bite was savoured. Chewed slow. In rhythm with the length of time it took for the plate or pot to make its way back around our circle. We’d never cook a huge amount of food, and while i’d feel a bit hungry afterwards, it was always enough. Smiles, thank you’s, unity shared amongst the youth of three countries, of two continents.
While we cooked Alex and Stephano worked with me improving my Spanish. They saw my cheat of phonetic praises and pleasantries i made and helped revamp it. Juan, Pablo, and i helped each other by starting a pointing language game that would last us for days. They would point to an object and say its name in Spanish then i’d explain the word in English, or vice-versa. We’d repeat the words and correct each other until we started to figure them out.
When the games had finished, and the few dishes cleaned in the river, the instruments came out. We sang late into the night. Until our hands tired and our voices ached. From there careful stories were whispered as the firelight danced upon a cliff across the water. Everyone spoke slow, with frequent pauses allowing for Alex and Stephano time to translate so everyone could enjoy the tales. Each yarn was sweet, and funny, i remember my friend's laughter as light and as musical as the songs we played earlier in the evening.
In darkness stars blazed above us, then descended, as if falling from the heavens themselves, scattering above and around us to trees and surrounding brush. The gorgeous ballet of light was as shocking as it was mezmerising. Our conversations immediately slipped to silence in awe. It took moments to realize that we were watching fireflies, camouflaged both by the stars above and their mirrored reflections from the water below.
Alex and Juan snuggled in close, and we all held delirious smiles, taken away by our individual euphoric memories, and thoughts. i breathed in deep, and felt happier than i had in a long time. Everything felt harmonious, the melodies in our songs, the natural way our food had come, that we were sleeping outside with a warm fire, next to a river, illuminated by hundreds of fireflies under one of the starriest skies i’d ever witnessed. We capped off the evening by sipping cinnamon tea and watching the fire burn to ash before climbing to our tents.
i awoke alongside the Sun, and started the morning fire. It caught fast. The sand still warm from the night before, with a few embers still burning deep under the dusty night's ash. After filling our bucket with water i set a large pot of tea above the flames and reached for my book. i was rereading one of my favourites, His Dark Materials by Phillip Pullman. An epic spanning over a thousand pages, a welcomed companion in my travels, despite its weight in my bag.
Pablo was the first to wake, and joined me for tea. He wandered about with his mug, drawing in the sand as the others slowly rose. i kept the tea running. Pablo found some nearby roots and herbs to add to our running pot, which were a fantastic addition. After a small breakfast the morning was spent swimming and splashing in the river. We thought of hiking to a nearby waterfall, but decided rather to explore our end of the river further.
Around the corner the river wove in-between two enormous cliffs. Up the steep rocks we climbed, and downwards we plunged, diving under and around other stones as we headed deeper and deeper down the river. The beautiful natural formations, and debris in the river was unbelievable. We made frequent stops at beautiful sights as we explored, diving from the shoreline. The environment felt like a set from a prehistoric jungle film, akin to something out of Jurassic Park. Amongst the trees i found a sturdy vine to swing into the water. Pablo came racing over to join in the fun, carrying two large sticks that he'd clearly been pretending were swords. We both paused for a moment recognizing a similar regression in maturity to childlike imaginative play. He shrugged and handed me a stick so we could have a mock sword fight. Stephano mediated above us, perched atop of a large rock, while we took turns laughing and swinging below.
After Stephano reset he joined Pablo and i, splashing around before we made our way back to the camp. We arrived to Alex preparing soup. Always on the hunt, Pablo took off again around the riverbed. He returned with a long thin rock that could almost be mistaken for a plate, and placed it over some embers of the fire. With a pint of salt, pepper, river water and some of our stores of flour he rolled a crude dough. Like an assembly line we formed behind him, one making the concoction, one rolling out flat breads, and one cooking them on our new stone element. The soup and bread were fantastic, and our evening unfolded exactly the same as the perfect previous night. The fireflies joined us in the midst of our sing-a-long.
And like that so i stayed another night, for another daze, suspended in our peaceful bohemian dream. Our friendships blossomed, and while our paths have yet to cross again, those cherished memories of those days created and cradled by the songs of strangers remain close at hand. Hopeful memories that shine an encouraging light into the future. Made by those that said yes to adventure, yes to the road, and yes to friendship.
Thanks for reading,
Wazoo!
-Mr. Write