“It’saboutajourneyofdiscoverythatbecomesoneofself-discoveryaswell.It’sabouttheemotionalandpoliticalchoiceswehavetomakeinlife.It’salsoaboutfindingfriendship,aboutsolidarity.Finally,it’saboutfindingone’splaceintheworld—onethatisworthfightingfor.”—WalterSalles,directorof“TheMotorcycleDiaries”

“A journey, a number of journeys. Ernesto Guevara in search of adventure,ErnestoGuevara in searchofAmerica,ErnestoGuevara in searchofChe.Onthis journey of journeys, solitude found solidarity, ‘I’ turned into ‘we’.” —EduardoGaleano

“Che was 24: the world was not only an oyster, it lay at his feet. And lifestretched out endlessly, languidly before him…This new edition of the book,published tocoincidewith the releaseofa filmbyRobertRedfordandWalterSalles, is enhanced from the original 1993 publication. Included are Aleida’smuchexpandedcommentsand24pagesofpreviouslyunpublishedphotostakenbyCheandhistravelingcompanionontheirjourney.”—JanuaryMagazine

“DasKapitalmeetsEasyRider.”—Times

“ALatinAmericanJamesDeanorJackKerouac.”—WashingtonPost

“An extraordinary first-person account. If theworld eventually came to knowCheGuevaraandhisNewMan,inTheMotorcycleDiariesweseetheformativeman.It redoubleshis imageandlendsa touchofhumanitywithenoughroughedgestoinvitecontroversy.”—LosAngelesTimesBookReview

“For every comic escapade of the carefree roustabout there is an equally eye-openingmoment in thedevelopmentof the future revolutionary leader.By theend of the journey, a politicized Guevara has emerged to predict his ownlegendaryfuture.”—Time

“There ispathos in thesepages—thepathosofChehimself,ever thoughtful,everwillingtosacrificeall,burningwithguiltoverhisownprivilegesandneverlettinghissufferingsimpedehim.”—NewYorker

“A revolutionary bestseller… It’s true, Marxists just wanna have fun.”—Guardian

“TheMotorcycleDiariesmixeslyricalobservation,youthfuladventureandanti-imperialist political analysis… This candid journal, part self-discovery, partfieldwork, glimmers with portents of the future revolutionary.”—Publishers’Weekly

“Whatdistinguishes thesediaries…is that theyrevealahumanside toElChewhichhistorianshavesuccessfullymanagedtosuppress.Itisinthepagesofthisbreathless journal… that one senses El Che’s belief that determination andconvictioncanbeenoughtochangeone’sselfandothers…Thejournal…isajoytoreadfromstarttofinish.”—FinancialTimes

“ThisjourneywasobviouslytheformativeinfluenceonChe’sPan-Americanismand the development of his revolutionary consciousness… There’s politicalincorrectness galore… this book should domuch to humanize the image of amanwhofoundhisapotheosisasalate‘60sculturalicon.Itisalso,incidentally,aremarkablygoodtravelbookaboutSouthAmerica.”—TheScotsman

“Thevisionofthenobleloner,whetherfreedom-fighterorbiker…giveshopetoworld-wearyrevolutionariesandnon-revolutionariesalike.”—WeekendTelegraph

“Politically correct revolutionary hero? Perhaps a few years later, but in thisaccountCheGuevaracomesoverasoneofthelads.”—Bike

“Cheiscertainlyashrewdobserverofwhathecallsthe‘strange’humanrace…ThegreatthingaboutthisbookisthatCheGuevaraisneverabore.Itsatisfiesbothasanenjoyabletravelogueandasachronicleofthedevelopmentofoneofthiscentury’smostromanticfigures.”—LiteraryReview

“Thisbookisworthreadingformorethannoveltyvalue.InhisjourneyacrossLatin America, through the Andes and the rainforest, Che’s diary is full oforiginalobservation,hilariousmishapsandhumanunderstanding.”—Briefing

“Chewrites withwit and skill, giving insights into theworld that shaped hisbeliefs…Thereadercanseehimpiecing together the ideas thatwillshapehis

politicalfuture.”—Impact

themotorcyclediariesNOTESONALATINAMERICANJOURNEY

CHEGUEVARAPUBLISHINGPROJECT

ThesebooksformpartofaseriespublishedbyOceanPressandtheCheGuevaraStudiesCenterofHavana,withtheobjectiveofdisseminatingthe

worksandideasofCheGuevara.

Self-PortraitAPhotographicandLiteraryMemoirTheMotorcycleDiaries

NotesonaLatinAmericanJourneyReminiscencesoftheCubanRevolutionaryWar

AuthorizedEditionTheBolivianDiaryAuthorizedEditionCheGuevaraReader

WritingsonPoliticsandRevolutionLatinAmericaAwakeningofaContinentGlobalJustice

LiberationandSocialismGuerrillaWarfareAuthorizedEditionOurAmericaandTheirsKennedyandtheAllianceforProgress—

TheDebateatPuntadelEsteMarx&EngelsABiographicalIntroductionCriticalNotesOnPoliticalEconomy

ACriticalAnalysisoftheSovietEconomicSystemSocialismandHumanityinCuba

AClassicEdition

ERNESTOCHEGUEVARAthemotorcyclediariesNOTESONALATINAMERICANJOURNEY

prefacebyAleidaGuevaraMarchintroductionbyCintioVitier

OceanPresswww.oceanbooks.com.au

CoverdesignbyKarenOh

Copyright©2003OceanPressCopyright©2003CheGuevaraStudiesCenterCopyright©2003AleidaMarch

Allphotographs©2003CheGuevaraStudiesCenterPreface©2003AleidaGuevaraMarch

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinaretrievalsystemortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recordingorotherwise,withoutthepriorpermissionofthepublisher.

ISBN:978-1-876175-70-2LibraryofCongressCatalogCardNumber:2003107187

FirstPrinted2003Twenty-secondprinting2011

PublishedinSpanishbyOceanSurasDiariosdeMotocicleta,ISBN978-1-920888-11-4

PUBLISHEDBYOCEANPRESSAustralia:POBox1015,NorthMelbourne,Victoria3051,AustraliaE-mail:info@oceanbooks.com.au

OCEANPRESSDISTRIBUTORSUnitedStates:ConsortiumBookSalesandDistribution

Tel:1-800-283-3572www.cbsd.com

Canada:PublishersGroupCanadaTel:1-800-6635714customerservice@raincoats.com

AustraliaandNewZealand:PalgraveMacmillanE-mail:customer.service@macmillan.com.au

CubaandLatinAmerica:OceanSurE-mail:info@oceansur.com

www.oceanbooks.com.auinfo@oceanbooks.com.au

contents

Preface,byAleidaGuevara

Prefacetothefirstedition,byAleidaMarch

BiographyofErnestoCheGuevara

BriefchronologyofErnestoCheGuevara

MapandItineraryofTheMotorcycleDiaries

Introduction,byCintioVitier

themotorcyclediaries

Soweunderstandeachother

Forewarnings

Discoveryoftheocean

…Lovesickpause

Untilthelasttieisbroken

Fortheflu,bed

SanMartíndelosAndes

Circularexploration

DearMama

OntheSevenLakesRoad

Andnow,Ifeelmygreatrootsunearth,freeand…

Objectsofcuriosity

TheExperts

Thedifficultiesintensify

LaPoderosaII’sfinaltour

Firefighters,workersandothermatters

LaGioconda’ssmile

Stowaways

Thistime,disaster

Chuquicamata

Aridlandformilesandmiles

TheendofChile

Chile,avisionfromafar

Tarata,thenewworld

InthedominionsofPachamama

Lakeofthesun

Towardthenaveloftheworld

Thenavel

ThelandoftheIncas

OurLordoftheEarthquakes

Homelandforthevictor

Cuzcostraight

Huambo

Evernorthward

ThroughthecenterofPeru

Shatteredhopes

Thecityoftheviceroys

DowntheUcayali

DearPapi

TheSanPablolepercolony

SaintGuevara’sday

DebutforthelittleKontiki

DearMama

OntheroadtoCaracas

Thisstrange20thcentury

Anoteinthemargin

Appendix:Achildofmyenvironment(Speechtomedicalstudents,1960)

ALEIDAGUEVARA

preface

WhenIreadthesenotesforthefirsttime,theywerenotyetinbookformandIdidnotknowthepersonwhohadwrittenthem.IwasmuchyoungerthenandIidentifiedimmediatelywiththismanwhohadnarratedhisadventuresinsuchaspontaneousway.Ofcourse,asIcontinuedreading,IbegantoseemoreclearlywhothispersonwasandIwasverygladtobehisdaughter.

Itisnotmyaimtotellyouanythingofwhatyouwilldiscoverasyouread,but I do not doubt thatwhenyouhave finished the bookyouwillwant to goback to enjoy some passages again, either for the beauty they describe or theintensityofthefeelingstheyconvey.

There were moments when I literally took over Granado’s place on themotorbikeandclungtomydad’sback,journeyingwithhimoverthemountainsand around the lakes. I admit there were some occasions when I left him tohimself,especiallyatthosetimeswhenhewritessographicallythingsIwouldnevertalkaboutmyself.Whenhedoes,however,herevealsyetagainjusthowhonestandunconventionalhecouldbe.

Totellyouthetruth,Ishouldsaythat themoreIread, themorein loveIwaswith the boymy father had been. I do not know if youwill share thesesentimentswithme,butwhile Iwas reading, Igot toknowtheyoungErnestobetter: theErnestowho leftArgentinawithhisyearning for adventure andhisdreams of the great deeds hewould perform, and the youngmanwho, as hediscovered the reality of our continent, continued tomature as a humanbeingandtodevelopasasocialbeing.

Slowly we see how his dreams and ambitions changed. He grewincreasinglyawareofthepainofmanyothersandheallowedittobecomeapartofhimself.

Theyoungman,whomakesussmileatthebeginningwithhisabsurditiesandcraziness,becomesbeforeoureyesincreasinglysensitiveashetellsusaboutthecomplex indigenousworldofLatinAmerica, thepovertyof itspeopleandtheexploitationtowhichtheyaresubmitted.Inspiteofitall,heneverloseshissenseofhumor,whichinsteadbecomesfinerandmoresubtle.

Myfather,“ése,elquefue” (“myself, themanIusedtobe”),showsusa

LatinAmericathatfewofusknowabout,describingitslandscapeswithwordsthatcoloreachimageandreachintooursenses,sothatwetoocanseethethingshiseyestookin.

Hisproseisfresh.Hiswordsallowustohearsoundswehaveneverheardbefore, infusing uswith the surroundings that struck this romantic beingwiththeir beauty and their crudity, yet he never loses his tenderness even as hebecomes firmer in his revolutionary longing. His awareness grows that whatpoor people need is not somuch his scientific knowledge as a physician, butratherhisstrengthandpersistenceintryingtobringaboutthesocialchangethatwouldenable themto livewith thedignity thathadbeen takenfromthemandtrampledonforcenturies.

Thisyoungadventurerwithhisthirstforknowledgeandhisgreatcapacityto love shows us how reality, if properly interpreted, can permeate a humanbeingtothepointofchanginghisorherwayofthinking.

Readthesenotesofhisthatwerewrittenwithsomuchlove,eloquenceandsincerity, these notes thatmore than anything elsemakeme feel closer tomyfather.Ihopeyouenjoythemandthatyoucanjoinhimonhisjourney.

Ifyoueverhavetheopportunitytofollowhisfootstepsinreality,youwilldiscoverwith sadness thatmany things remain unchanged or are evenworse,and this is a challenge for thoseofuswho— like this youngmanwhoyearslaterwouldbecomeChe—aresensitivetotherealitythatsomistreatsthemostwretched among us, those of us who have a commitment to helping create aworldthatismuchmorejust.

IshallleaveyounowwiththemanIknew,themanIloveintenselyforthestrengthandtendernesshedemonstratedinthewayhelived.

Enjoyyourreading!Everonward!

AleidaGuevaraMarchJuly2003

prefacetothefirstedition

Ernesto Guevara’s travel diaries, transcribed by Che’s Personal Archive inHavana,* recount the trials, vicissitudes and tremendous adventureof ayoungman’sjourneyofdiscoverythroughLatinAmerica.Ernestobeganwritingthesediarieswhen,inDecember1951,hesetoffwithhisfriendAlbertoGranadoontheirlong-awaitedtripfromBuenosAires,downtheAtlanticcoastofArgentina,acrossthepampas,throughtheAndesandintoChile,andfromChilenorthwardtoPeruandColombiaandfinallytoCaracas.

These experiences were later rewritten by Ernesto himself in narrativeform, offering the reader a deeper insight intoChe’s life, especially at a littleknown stage, and revealing details of his personality, his cultural backgroundandhisnarrativeskill—thegenesisofastylewhichdevelopsinhislaterworks.Thereadercanalsowitnesstheextraordinarychangewhichtakesplaceinhimas he discovers Latin America, gets right to its very heart and develops agrowingsenseofaLatinAmericanidentity,ultimatelymakinghimaprecursorofthenewhistoryofAmerica.

AleidaMarchChe’sPersonalArchiveHavana,Cuba,1993

*NowtheCheGuevaraStudiesCenterofHavana,Cuba.

biographyofernestocheguevara

OneofTimemagazine’s“iconsofthecentury,”ErnestoGuevaradelaSernawasborn in Rosario, Argentina, on June 14, 1928. He made several trips aroundLatin America during and immediately after his studies at medical school inBuenos Aires, including his 1952 journey with Alberto Granado, on theunreliableNortonmotorbikeLaPoderosaIIdescribedinthistraveldiary.

He was already becoming involved in political activity and living inGuatemala when, in 1954, the democratically elected government of JacoboÁrbenz was overthrown in the CIA-organized military operation. ErnestoescapedtoMexico,profoundlyradicalized.

FollowinguponacontactmadeinGuatemala,Guevarasoughtoutagroupof exiled Cuban revolutionaries in Mexico City. In July 1955, he met FidelCastroandimmediatelyenlistedintheCubanguerrillaexpeditiontooverthrowthedictatorFulgencioBatista.TheCubansnicknamedErnesto“Che,”apopularformofaddressinArgentina.

On November 25, 1956, Guevara set sail for Cuba aboard the yachtGranmaasthedoctortotheguerrillagroupthatbegantherevolutionaryarmedstruggle in Cuba’s Sierra Maestra mountains. Within several months, he hadbecomethefirstRebelArmycommander,thoughhecontinuedtreatingwoundedguerrillafightersandcapturedsoldiersfromBatista’sarmy.

InSeptember1958,GuevaraplayedadecisiveroleinthemilitarydefeatofBatistaafterheandCamiloCienfuegosledseparateguerrillacolumnswestwardfromtheSierraMaestra.

AfterBatistafledonJanuary1,1959,Guevarabecameakeyleaderofthenewrevolutionarygovernment,firstasheadoftheDepartmentofIndustryoftheNationalInstituteofAgrarianReform,thenaspresidentoftheNationalBank.InFebruary1961hebecameministerof industry.Hewasalsoacentral leaderofthepoliticalorganizationthatin1965becametheCommunistPartyofCuba.

Apart from these responsibilities, Guevara represented the Cuban

revolutionary government around the world, heading several delegations andspeaking at theUnitedNations andother international forums inAsia,Africa,Latin America and the socialist bloc countries. He earned a reputation as apassionateandarticulatespokespersonforThirdWorldpeoples,mostfamouslyat theOrganizationofAmericanStates (OAS)conferenceatPuntadelEste inUruguay,wherehedenouncedU.S.PresidentKennedy’sAllianceforProgress.

AshadbeenhisintentionsincejoiningtheCubanrevolutionarymovement,GuevaraleftCubainApril1965,initiallytoleadaguerrillamissiontosupportthe revolutionary struggle in the Congo. He returned to Cuba secretly inDecember 1965, to prepare another guerrilla force for Bolivia. Arriving inBolivia in November 1966, Guevara’s plan was to challenge that country’smilitary dictatorship and eventually instigate a revolutionary movement thatwouldextendthroughoutthecontinentofLatinAmerica.HewaswoundedandcapturedbyU.S.-trained-and-runBoliviancounter-insurgencytroopsonOctober8,1967.Thefollowingdayhewasmurderedandhisbodyhidden.

Che Guevara’s remains were finally discovered in 1997 and returned toCuba.AmemorialwasbuiltatSantaClaraincentralCuba,wherehehadwonamajormilitarybattleduringtheCubanrevolutionarywar.

briefchronologyofernestocheguevara

1928ErnestoGuevaraisbornonJune14inRosario,Argentina.Heisthefirstchildofmiddle-classparentsErnestoGuevaraLynchandCeliadelaSerna.

1932TheGuevarafamilymovesfromBuenosAirestoAltaGracia,aspatownnearCórdoba,onaccountofErnesto’schronicasthma.Hisasthmaalsopreventshimfromregularattendanceatschooluntilheisnineyearsold.

1948Alteringhisinitialplantostudyengineering,Ernestoenrollsinmedicalschoolat the University of Buenos Aires, while holding a series of part-time jobs,includinginanallergytreatmentclinic.

1950Ernesto sets out on a 4,500 kilometer trip around the north ofArgentina on amotorizedbicycle.

1951–52InOctober1951,ErnestoandhisfriendAlbertoGranadodecideonaplantorideAlberto’s motorbike (La Poderosa II— TheMighty One) to North America.Granado is abiochemistwhohad specialized in leprologyandwhoseyoungerbrothers had beenErnesto’s school friends.They leaveCórdoba inDecember,heading first to farewell Ernesto’s family in Buenos Aires. The adventuresexperienced on this trip, written up by Ernesto during and after the journey,comprise this book, published first as Notas de Viaje (Travel Notes or TheMotorcycleDiaries).

1953Ernesto graduates as a doctor and almost immediately embarks on anotherjourneyaroundLatinAmericawhich takes inBolivia,Peru,Ecuador,Panama,Costa Rica and Guatemala, where he meets Antonio (Ñico) López, a youngCuban revolutionary. InBolivia,he iswitness to theBolivianRevolution.Theaccount of these travels was first published as Otra Vez (in English, LatinAmericaDiaries).

1954Ernesto’spoliticalviewsareprofoundlyradicalizedwheninGuatemalaheseesthe overthrow of the democratically elected government of Jacobo árbenz byU.S.-backedforces.HeescapestoMexicowherehecontactsthegroupofCubanrevolutionaryexiles. InMexico,hemarriesPeruvianHildaGadea,withwhomhehasadaughter,Hildita.

1955AftermeetingFidelCastro,heagreestojointhegroupbeingorganizedtowageguerrillawaragainst theBatistadictatorship.Nowcalled“Che”bytheCubans— a common nickname for Argentines— in November 1956 he sails as thetroop’sdoctorontheyachtGranma.

1956–58Chesoondemonstratesoutstandingmilitaryabilityandispromotedtotherankofcommander inJuly1957. InDecember1958,he leads theRebelArmy toadecisivevictoryoverBatista’sforcesatSantaClaraincentralCuba.

1959InFebruary,CheisdeclaredaCubancitizeninrecognitionofhiscontributiontothe island’s liberation. He marries Aleida March, with whom he has fourchildren. InOctober, he is appointed head of the IndustrialDepartment of theInstitute of Agrarian Reform and in November becomes President of theNationalBankofCuba.Withagestureofdisdainformoney,hesignsthenewbanknotessimplyas“Che.”

1960Representingtherevolutionarygovernment,CheundertakesanextensivetriptotheSovietUnion,theGermanDemocraticRepublic,Czechoslovakia,ChinaandNorthKorea,signingseveralkeytradeagreements.

1961CheisappointedheadofthenewlyestablishedMinistryofIndustry.InAugust,he heads Cuba’s delegation to the Organization of American States (OAS) atPuntadelEste,Uruguay,wherehedenouncesU.S.PresidentKennedy’sAllianceforProgress.

1962AfusionofCubanrevolutionaryorganizationstakesplaceandCheiselectedtotheNationalDirectorate.ChevisitstheSovietUnionforthesecondtime.

1963ChetravelstoAlgeria,whichhasjustwonindependencefromFranceunderthegovernmentofAhmedBenBella.

1964Beforeheadingoff for an extensive trip aroundAfrica,Che addresses theUNGeneralAssemblyinDecember.

1965Che leads an international mission to the Congo to support the liberationmovement foundedbyPatriceLumumba.Responding tomounting speculationaboutChe’swhereabouts,FidelCastroreadsChe’sfarewelllettertotheCentralCommittee of the newly foundedCubanCommunist Party. InDecember, ChereturnstoCubatoprepareinsecretforanewmissiontoBolivia.

1966InNovember,ChearrivesinBoliviaindisguise.

1967In April, Che’s “Message to the Tricontinental” is published, calling for thecreationof“two,three,manyVietnams.”Thesamemonth,partofhisguerrillagroup becomes separated from the main detachment. On October 8, theremaining 17 guerrillas are ambushed andChe iswounded and captured. ThefollowingdayheismurderedbyBolivianforcesactingunderinstructionsfromWashington.Hisremainsareburiedinanunmarkedgravealongwiththebodiesofseveralotherguerrillafighters.October8isdesignatedtheDayoftheHeroicGuerrillainCuba.

1997Che’sremainsarefinallylocatedinBoliviaandreturnedtoCuba,wheretheyare

placedinamemorialatSantaClara.

mapofthemotorcyclediaries

itineraryofthemotorcyclediaries

ARGENTINA1951 December CórdobatoBuenosAires1952 January4 LeaveBuenosAiresJanuary6 VillaGesellJanuary13 MiramarJanuary14 NecocheaJanuary16–21 BahíaBlancaJanuary22 EnroutetoChoeleChoelJanuary25 ChoeleChoelJanuary29 PiedradelÁguilaJanuary31 SanMartíndelosAndesFebruary8 NahuelHuapíFebruary11 SanCarlosdeBarilocheCHILE

February14

TaketheModestaVictoriatoPeulla

February18 Temuco

February21 Lautaro

February27 LosÁngeles

March1 SantiagodeChileMarch7 ValparaísoMarch8–10 AboardtheSanAntonio

March11 AntofagastaMarch12 BaquedanoMarch13–15 Chuquicamata

March20 Iquique(andtheToco,LaRicaAventuraandProsperidadNitrateCompanies)

March22 AricaPERUMarch24 TacnaMarch25 TarataMarch26 PunoMarch27 SailonLakeTiticacaMarch28 JuliacaMarch30 SicuaniMarch31–April3 Cuzco

April4–5 MachuPicchuApril6–7 CuzcoApril11 AbancayApril13 HuancaramaApril14 HuamboApril15 Huancarama

April16–19 AndahuaylasApril22–24 AyacuchotoHuancalloApril25–26 LaMercedApril27 BetweenOxapampaandSanRamónApril28 SanRamónApril30 TarmaMay1–17 LimaMay19 CerrodePascoMay24 PucallpaMay25–31 AboardLaCenepasailingdownRíoUcayali,atributaryofthe

AmazonJune1–5 IquitosJune6–7 AboardElCisnesailingtothelepercolonyofSanPabloJune8–20 SanPabloJune21 AboardtheMambo-TangoraftontheAmazonCOLOMBIAJune23–July1 LeticiaJuly2 LeaveLeticiabyplaneJuly2–10 BogotáJuly12–13 CúcutaVENEZUELAJuly14 SanCristóbalJuly16 BetweenBarquisimetoandCoronaJuly17–26 Caracas,whereCheandAlbertoseparateUNITEDSTATESLateJuly MiamiARGENTINAAugust ChereturnstohisfamilyinCórdoba

CINTIOVITIER

introduction

IfthereisoneheroinLatinAmerica’sstruggleforliberation—stretchingfromBolívar’s1 time until our own—who has attracted young people from LatinAmerica and from all over theworld, that hero is ErnestoCheGuevara.Andthough since his death he has become a modern myth, he has not yet beenstripped of his youthful vitality. To the contrary, his mythic status has onlyserved to heighten his youthfulness which, together with his daring and hispurity,seemtoconstitutethesecretessenceofhischarisma.

Becomingamyth,asymbolofsomanyscatteredandfiercelyheldhopes,presupposes that such a character possesses a kind of gravity, a certainsolemnity.Itisgoodthatthisisso;historicutopianeedsfacestoembodyit.Butweshouldn’tlosesightoftheeverydaynatureofthosehumanbeings,whowerechildren,teenagersandyoungpeoplebeforetheyacquiredtheskillsbywhichtoguideus.ItisnotthatIwanttoburytheirexceptionalnaturesinthecommonorfamiliaraspectsoftheirlives,butthatknowledgeofthosefirst,formativestagesshowsusthestartingpointfortheirlatertrajectories.

This is especially true in Che’s case, whose account of this first trip hemadewithhisfriendAlbertoGranadoofferstheyoungatheartsuchacloseandcheerful, seriousandat thesame time ironic imageof theyoungman, thatwecan almost glimpse his smile and hear his voice and asthmaticwheeze.He isyoung,likethem,andhefilledhiswholelifewithyouthfulnessandmaturedhisyouthwithoutdilutingit.

This edition of The Motorcycle Diaries, the notes describing a journeymade without hesitation, aboard the noisy motorcycle La Poderosa II (whichgaveouthalfway,butonlyaftertransmittingtotheadventureajoyousimpulsewe,too,receive),freeasthewind,withthesolepurposeofgettingtoknowtheworld, is dedicated to people whose youth is not merely sequential, butwholeheartedandspiritual.

In the first pages, theyoungmanwhowouldbecomeoneof thegenuineheroesofthe20thcenturycautionsus,“Thisisnotastoryofheroicfeats.”Theword“heroic” ringsout above theothers,becausewecannot read thesepageswithout thinking of Che’s future, an image of him in the Sierra Maestra, an

imagewhichreachedperfectionatQuebradadelYuroinBolivia.2If this youthful adventure had not been prelude to his revolutionary

formation,thesepageswouldbedifferent,andwewouldreadthemdifferently,thoughwecannotimaginehow.SimplyknowingthattheyareChe’s—thoughhe wrote them before becoming Che — makes us believe that he had apresentimentregardingthewaytheyshouldberead.Forexample:

Thepersonwhowrote thesenotespassedaway themomenthis feet touchedArgentinesoilagain.Thepersonwhoreorganizesandpolishesthem,me,isnolonger,atleastI’mnotthepersonIoncewas.Allthiswanderingaround“OurAmericawithacapitalA”haschangedmemorethanIthought.

Thesepagesareatestimony—aphotographicnegative,ashealsoputit—ofan experience that changed him, a first “departure” toward the outer worldwhich, likehisfinaldeparture,wasQuixotic in itssemi-unconsciousstyleand,asforQuixote,hadthesameeffectonthescopeofhisconsciousness.Thiswasthe“spiritofadreamer”experiencinganawakening.

Inprinciple,andwith theperfect logicof theunforeseeable, their journeywasatfirstdirectedtowardNorthAmerica,asinfactitturnedouttobe:towardthe“photographicnegative”ofNorthAmerica that isSouthAmericanpovertyandhelplessness,andtowardrealknowledgeofwhatNorthAmericameansforus.

“Theenormityofourendeavorescapedusinthosemoments;allwecouldsee was the dust on the road ahead and ourselves on the bike, devouringkilometers in our flight northward.” Wasn’t that “dust on the road,” thoughwithoutCherealizingit,reallythesamedustJoséMartí3sawwhenhetraveledfromLaGuaira toCaracas“inacommonlittlecoach”?Wasn’t it theQuixoticdustinwhichtheghostsofAmericanredemptionappeared,“thenaturalcloudofdustthatmustrisewhenourterriblecasingofchainsfallstotheground”?4ButMartí was coming from the north, and Che was traveling toward himself,catching only glimpses of his destiny, which we glimpse as well through hisanecdotesandvignettes.

Comeback, the little dogwith “aviator’s impulses”Che presents to us socomically, leaping around the motorcycle from Villa Gesell to Miramar,reappearsyears later in theSierraMaestramountainsasapuppywhomustbestrangled,becauseofits“hystericalhowls”duringanunsuccessfulambushlaidin the hope of catching [Batista’s notorious army colonel] SánchezMosquera.“Withonelastnervoustwitch,thepuppystoppedmoving.Thereitlay,sprawledout,itslittleheadspreadoverthetwigs.”5But,attheendofthisincidentfromEpisodesof theRevolutionaryWar,anotherdogappears lying in thehamletof

MarVerde:

Félix patted its head, and the dog looked at him. Félix returned the glance, and then he and Iexchangedaguilty look.Suddenlyeveryonefellsilent.An imperceptiblestirringcameoverus,asthedog’smeekyetroguishgazeseemedtocontainahintofreproach.There,inourpresence,thoughobservingusthroughtheeyesofanotherdog,wasthemurderedpuppy.

ItwasComebackwhohadreturned,livinguptohisname,remindingusalsoofwhat Ezequiel Martínez Estrada, our other great Argentine, said about JoséMartí’scampaigndiary:

These emotions, these sensations, cannot be described or expressed in the language of poets andpainters,musicians andmystics; theymust be…absorbedwithout reply, as animals dowith theircontemplativeandentrancedeyes.6

A comparison of Episodes with The Motorcycle Diaries shows us that, eventhoughmore than 10 years had passed, the latterwas a literarymodel for theformer. It contains the same moderation; the same candor; the same nimblefreshness;exactlythesameconceptofmomentsusedtoprovideunityforeachbriefchapter;and,ofcourse,thesameimperturbablesteadinessthatacceptsbothhappyandtragiceventswithoutsharpinhalationorexhalation.

It isn’t literary skill but fidelity to experience and narrative effectivenessthatissought.Whenbothareattained,skillfollowsnaturally,takingitsallottedplace, neither blinding nor disturbing but making its contribution. Here, withlittle fumbling or hesitation, Che’s style is already formed. The years wouldpolishit,justashehimselfpolishedhiswillwiththepleasureofanartist,thoughnotthatofawordsmith:aquietshynessforcedhimnottodwelltoomuchbuttopushonwiththewordstowardthepoetryofthenakedimage,whichhisminimaltouch turned into reality.His “I—it-inme” circle opens and closes continuallywithout ever becoming dense, accommodating a style that prefers to remainhidden. The prose on the page sheds light, though does not drag on theimperceptiblelightnessofthenarrative.Itflowsbetweendescriptionoffeeling(in Episodes, “the determined murderer left a trail of burned huts, of sullensadness…”) and narrative accounts in which he searches for himself (in theDiaries, “Man, themeasure of all things, speaks here throughmymouth andnarrates inmy own language thatwhichmy eyes have seen”) and sometimesevenseemstobewatchingus.

Che’scolorfulprosepaintsobjectsas farashiseyescanseeandoften, ifthelandscapepermitsit,withanintimatetouch:

The road snakes between the low foothills that sound the beginning of the great cordillera of the

Andes, thendescends steeplyuntil it reaches anunattractive,miserable town, surrounded in sharpcontrastbymagnificent,denselywoodedmountains.

The episode of the attempt to steal wine, and others in this cheeky tradition,containspreciouspearlsofdiction:

The fact was, we were as broke as ever, retracing in our minds the smiles that had greeted mydrunkenantics,tryingtofindsometraceoftheironywithwhichwecouldidentifythethief.

Asenseofstrangenessreturns.Inthechapter“CircularExploration”:“Asnightfell it brought us a thousand strange noises and the sensation ofwalking intoemptyspacewitheachstep.”InEpisodes:“Then,inthemiddleoftheambush,an eeriemoment of silence arose.Whenwewent to gather the dead after theinitial shooting, there was no one on the highway…” The imagery is fairlyburstingwithboththeabundanceandthesilenceofthevisualworld:

Thehugefigureofastagdashedlikeaquickbreathacrossthestreamandhisbody,silverbythelightoftherisingmoon,disappearedintotheundergrowth.Thistremorofnaturecutstraighttoourhearts.(TheMotorcycleDiaries)

[Fidel’s]voiceandpresenceinthewoods,litupbythetorches,tookonmovingtones,andyoucouldseethatourleaderchangedtheideasofmanypeople.(Episodes)

ThoughreferenceismadetoFidel’svoiceandtone,thesceneseemssilenttous,asifithasbeenwitnessedfromafar.

Inthesetravelnotes,severalQuixoticorChaplinesqueepisodes—suchasthealreadycitedtheftof thewine, thenocturnalpursuitof thetwoyoungmen“by a furious swarm of dancers,” their enlistment in a corps of Chileanfirefighters,thedelectableescapadeofthemelonsandtheirtrailoverthewaves,andtheenigmaoftheimpossiblephotoinamiserablehutonahillnearCaracas—arewrappedinasimilarsilence.

LaPoderosa’sneartolaststandistoldwithcinematographiceffectandweseemtobewatchingitallamidafilm-likesilence:

I threwon the hand brakewhich, soldered ineptly, also broke. For somemoments, I sawnothingmorethantheblurredshapeofcattleflyingpastusoneachside,whilepoorPoderosagatheredspeeddownthesteephill.Byanabsolutemiraclewemanagedtograzeonlythelegofthelastcow,butinthedistanceariverwasscreamingtowarduswithterrifyingefficacy.Iveeredontothesideoftheroadand in theblinkofaneye thebikemounted the two-meterbank,embeddingusbetween tworocks,butwewereunhurt.

These youthful adventures—veinedwith cheerfulness, humor and frequentlyself-directed irony— seek the spirit of the landscape rather than merely thescenery. That “spirit” was found in the sudden appearance of the deer: “We

walkedslowlysoasnottodisturbthepeaceofthewildsanctuarywithwhichwewerenowcommuning.”Chewriteswithnoneofthesarcasmhededicatestothetopicofreligion:“Both[ofus]assistantswaitedforSunday[andtheroast]withakindofreligiousdevotion.”Sowhilebeingunbelievers,theywereabletofeelthemetaphoricalpresenceofa“sanctuary”innature,wheretheywereincloserapportwithits“spirit”—immediatelyremindingusofanalogousimagesfromthefreethinkingMartí,suchasthisfromhisSimpleVerses:“ThebishopofSpainseeksSupportsforhisshrine.Onwildmountainpeaks/Thepoplarsaremine.”7

OnMarch7,1952,inValparaíso,theycamefacetofacewithinjustice:itsvictimwasanasthmaticoldwoman,acustomerinasmallshopbythenameofLaGioconda:

Thepoorthingwasinapitifulstate,breathingtheacridsmellofconcentratedsweatanddirtyfeetthat filledher room,mixedwith thedust fromacoupleofarmchairs, theonly luxury items inherhouse.Ontopofherasthma,shehadaheartcondition.

Aftercompletingapictureoftotalruin,andfurtherembitteredbytheanimosityof the sick woman’s family, Che — who felt helpless as a doctor and wasapproachingtheawakeningofconsciencethatwouldtriggerhisother,definitivevocation—wrotethesememorablewords:

Itisthere,inthefinalmoments,forpeoplewhosefarthesthorizonhasalwaysbeentomorrow,thatonecomprehends theprofound tragedycircumscribing the lifeof theproletariat theworldover. Inthosedying eyes there is a submissive appeal for forgiveness and also, often, adesperateplea forconsolationwhich is lost to the void, just as their bodywill soon be lost in themagnitude of themysterysurroundingus.

Unabletocontinuetheirjourneyanyotherway,thepairdecidedtostowawayonashipthatwouldtakethemtoAntofagasta,Chile.Atthatmoment,they—or,atleast,Che—didnotseethingssoclearly:

There[lookingatthesea,leaningsidebysideontherailingoftheSanAntonio],weunderstoodthatour vocation, our true vocation, was tomove for eternity along the roads and seas of theworld.Alwayscurious,lookingintoeverythingthatcamebeforeoureyes,sniffingouteachcornerbutonlyever faintly—notsettingdownroots inany landorstaying longenough tosee thesubstratumofthings;theouterlimitswouldsuffice.

Theseaheldagreaterattractionthanthevoyagers’“road,”becausewherelanddemands that even those in passing take root, the sea represents absolutefreedomfromallties.“Andnow,Ifeelmygreatrootsunearth,free,and…”TheversethatheadsthechapteronhisliberationfromChichinasaysitall.All?Chetoreupanother root in thepresenceof theoldasthmaticChileanwoman.Andsoon his chest would be stung again when he made friends with a married

Chileancouple,communistworkerswhohadbeenharassedinBaquedano.

Thecouple,numbwithcold,inthedesertnight,huddlingagainsteachotherinthedesertnight,werealivingrepresentationoftheproletariatinanypartoftheworld.

LikegoodsonsofSanMartín,8theysharedtheirblanketswiththem.

Itwasoneofthecoldest timesinmylife,butalsoonewhichmademefeelalittlemorebrotherlytowardthisstrange,formeatleast,humanspecies.

Thatstrangeness,thatdeepseparationandintrepidsolitudeinwhichhewasstillwrapped,iscurious.Thereisnothinglonelierthanadventure.Untilhewasfilledwith pity for the galley slaves and for the whipped child, Don Quixote wasalone,surroundedbystrangeness,bythecrazinessoftheworldaroundhim.InhisMeditations on Quixote, José Ortega y Gasset wrote, as the center of hisreflections, “I am myself and my circumstances,” which has usually beenunderstoodasthesumorsymbiosisoftwofactors.Itmayalsobeunderstoodasadilemmainwhichthe“I”or“myself”expressesthosetwofactorsasseparated,distanced,thoughintenselyrelated.ThisdilemmaappearedinChe’smemoirsofhisfirst“departure,”whenhesaid:

Althoughtheblurredsilhouetteofthecouplewasnearlylostinthedistanceseparatingus,wecouldstill see the man’s singularly determined face and we remembered his straightforward invitation:“Come, comrades, let’s eat together. I, too, am a tramp,” showing his underlying disdain for theparasiticnaturehesawinouraimlesstraveling.

Whose was this secret disdain: the humble worker’s or Che’s? Or perhapsneither,butthatthemeeting“inthedesertnight,”thesharingofthemate,bread,cheeseandblankets,causedasparkwhichlitupapainfulseparation.

Atanyrate,theywereinChuquicamata,withthemineandtheminerfromthesouth:

Cold efficiency and impotent resentment go hand in hand in the bigmine, linked in spite of thehatredbyacommonnecessitytolive,ontheonehand,andtospeculateontheother…

An imposingsuggestionappeared,and the leap toakindof ideawhichwouldachieveitscontext,itspossiblemeaning,yearslaterinCuba:

…wewillseewhethersomeday,someminerwilltakeuphispickinpleasureandgoandpoisonhislungswithaconscious joy.Theysay that’swhat it’s likeover there,where the redblaze thatnowlightsuptheworldcomesfrom.Sotheysay.Idon’tknow.

Infact,inCubain1964,Chewouldlinktheseideaswiththewordsofthepoet

LeónFelipe(Idon’tknowifChewasfamiliarwiththemwhenwritingthelinesabove):“Noonehasyetbeenabletodigtotherhythmofthesun…noonehascutanearofcornwithloveandgrace.”

Iquotethesewordsbecausetodaywecouldtellthatgreat,desperatepoettocomenowtoCuba;tosee how human beings, after passing through all of the stages of capitalist alienation and afterthinkingofthemselvesasbeastsofburdenharnessedtotheyokeoftheexploiter,haverediscoveredtheir path and have found their way back to play. Now, in our Cuba, work is acquiring a newmeaningandisdonewithanewjoy.9

Yet in March 1952, Che simply wrote, “we will see.” The harsh lessonscontinuedinthechapter“Chuquicamata,”namedaftertheminingtownthatwas“like a scene from amodern drama,” and which he soberly described with abalanceofimpression,reflectionanddata.Itsgreatestlessonwas“taughtbythegraveyardsofthemines,containingonlyasmallshareoftheimmensenumberofpeopledevouredbycave-ins,silicaandthehellishclimateofthemountain.”In his note of March 22, 1952, or some time later revising his notes, Checoncluded:“ThebiggesteffortChileshouldmakeistoshakeitsuncomfortableYankeefriendfromitsback,a task that for themomentat least isHerculean.”ThenameSalvadorAllendestopsusinourtracks.

On the motorcycle, on trucks or in vans, on a ship or in a little Ford;sleeping in police stations, under the stars or in occasional shelters; Chestrugglingalmostconstantlywithhisasthma,thetwofriendscrossedArgentinaandChile.TheyenteredPeruonfoot.ThePeruvianIndianshadahugeimpactonthem,justastheMexicanIndianshadimpressedMartí:

Thesepeoplewhowatchuswalkthroughthestreetsofthetownareadefeatedrace.Theirstaresaretame,almostfearful,andcompletelyindifferenttotheoutsideworld.Somegivetheimpressiontheygoonlivingonlybecauseit’sahabittheycannotshake.

They come to the kingdomof defeated stone, Pachamama’s kingdom,MotherEarth,who receives the spat-out “chewed coca leaves instead of stones”withtheiraccompanying“troubles.”Thecenterornavelof theworld,whereMamaOcllo dropped her golden wedge into the earth. The place Viracocha chose:Cuzco.And there, in themiddleof thebaroqueprocessionofOurLordof theEarthquakes,“abrownChrist,”theyfindaneternalreminderofthenorthwhichcanonlybeseenfromSouthAmerica,itsfatalanddenouncingantithesis:

StandingoverthesmallframesoftheIndiansgatheredtoseetheprocessionpass,theblondheadofaNorthAmericancanoccasionallybeglimpsed.Withhiscameraandsportsshirt,heseemstobe(andinfact,actuallyis)acorrespondentfromanotherworld…

ThecathedralofCuzcobroughtouttheartistinChe,withsuchobservationsasthis: “Gold doesn’t have the gentle dignity of silver which becomes morecharming as it ages, and so the cathedral seems to be decorated like an oldwoman with too much makeup.” Of the many churches he visited, he wasparticularly struck by the lonely, disreputable and “pitiful image of the belltowers of the Church of Belén, toppled by the earthquake, lying likedismembered animals on the hillside.” But his most penetrating judgment ofPeruvian colonial baroque is found in the lines of his sharply contrastingdescriptionofLima’scathedral:

ThereinLima,theartismorestylized,withanalmosteffeminatetouch:thecathedraltowersaretallandgraceful,maybethemostslenderofallthecathedralsintheSpanishcolonies.ThelavishnessofthewoodworkinCuzcohasbeenleftbehindandtakenuphereingold.Thenavesarelightandairy,contrastingwith those dark, hostile caverns of the Inca city.The paintings are also bright, almostjoyous,andofschoolsmorerecentthanthehermeticmestizos,whopaintedtheirsaintswithadarkandcaptivefury.

Their visit toMachuPicchu onApril 5 served as the subject for a newspaperarticlethatChepublishedinPanamaonDecember12,1953,inwhichthereisacarefulgatheringofdataandhistoricalinformation,andadidacticintentionthatwasabsentfromhispersonalnotes.

Somethingsimilaroccurredinanarticleentitled“AGlanceattheBanksoftheGiant ofRivers,”whichwas also published in Panama, onNovember 22,1953,thoughinthisCheplacedgreateremphasisonexperience,describinghisjourneydown theAmazonona raft.The raft, humorously christenedMambo-Tango — so they wouldn’t be accused of being fanatics about the latter —enabledCheandAlberto,withalotofhardworkanddanger,tolearnabouttheharshrealityoftheAmazonianIndians.

Fromthesolitaryheightsofthe“enigmaticstoneblocks”tothedebilitatingneglecttheywitnessedonthebanksoftheAmazon,itwasliketravelingthroughageneticmapoftheAmericas.Celebratinghis24thbirthdayinthelepercolonyof San Pablo, Che spoke, in a style reminiscent of Bolívar and Martí: “Weconstitute a single mestizo race, which from Mexico to the Magellan Straitsbearsnotableethnographicsimilarities.Andso,inanattempttoridmyselfoftheweightofsmall-mindedprovincialism,IproposeatoasttoPeruandtoaUnitedLatinAmerica.”

Therewasnohintofsolemnityinthesewords;rather,pretendinghiswordsweremerelyrhetorical,hespokewithaconfidencethatplacedthemoutsideallconvention:“Myoratoryofferingwasreceivedwithgreatapplause.”Hedidthesame in a letter that he wrote to his mother from Bogotá on July 6, 1952,

(includedheretocompletethedescriptionofhisColombianexperiences),whenhe referred once again to his “Pan-American speech,” which won “greatapplause from the notable, and notably drunk, audience,” and when hecommented, with affectionate sarcasm, on Granado’s ownwords of gratitude:“Alberto,whobelievesheisPerón’snaturalheir,deliveredsuchanimpressive,demagogicspeechthatourwell-wisherswereconvulsedwithlaughter.”Buthespokeinaverydifferenttoneofthelepersandtheirlives,usingmoderationtotry—invain—tohidehisownsuffering.Writingabout theirdeparturefromtheSanPablolepercolony,Chesaid:

Thatnightanassemblyofthecolony’spatientsgaveusafarewellserenade,withlotsoflocalsongssungbyablindman.Theorchestrawasmadeupofafluteplayer,aguitaristandanaccordionplayerwithalmostnofingers,anda“healthy”contingenthelpingoutwithasaxophone,aguitarandsomepercussion.Afterthatcamethetimeforspeeches,inwhichfourpatientsspokeaswellastheycould,alittleawkwardly.Oneofthemfroze,unabletogoon,untiloutofdesperationheshouted,“Threecheersforthedoctors!”Afterwards,Albertothankedthemwarmlyfortheirwelcome…

Che described the scene in detail in the letter to his mother, (“an accordionplayerwithnofingersonhisrighthandusedlittlesticks tiedtohiswrist”and“almost all theotherswerehorriblydeformed, due to thenervous formof thedisease”),tryingunsuccessfullynottosaddenhertoomuch,comparingitwitha“scenefromahorrormovie,”butthetearingbeautyofthatfarewellwasclear:

Thepatientscastoffandtothesoundofafolktunethehumancargodriftedawayfromshore;thefaintlightoftheirlanternsgivingthepeopleaghostlyquality.

Fromhisnoteson their experienceswith the lepers, forwhom they surelydidmuch good, not only by treating them but also by playing soccer and talkingwiththeminthespiritofunprejudiced,fraternal,intensehumanity—explainingthe lepers’ immense gratitude— we can perceive the origins of the buddingrevolutionary in Che. I emphasize these words: “If there’s anything that willmakeusseriouslydedicateourselvestoleprosy,itwillbetheaffectionshowntousbyallthesickwe’vemetalongtheway.”Impossibletoimagineatthetimehowseriousanddeepthatdedicationwouldbe,understanding“leprosy”tomeanallofhumanmisery.

Havingreadthesenotes,filledwithsomanycontrastsandteachings,withso much comedy and tragedy, like life itself, and having commented— notexhaustively, but only as suggestions— I concludewith the joyous image ofChearrivinginCaracas,wrappedinhistravelingblanket,staringaroundhimattheLatinAmericanpanorama,“mutteringallsortsofverses,lulledbytheroarofthetruck.”

I’ll leave you with no further commentary, because, in its terrible,unadornedmajesty,thatexceptionalfinalchapter“ANoteintheMargin”neitherneeds nor tolerates it. In fact, I’m not sure whether this unfathomable“revelation”shouldbeplacedatthebeginningortheendofthese“diaries”;therevelation Che saw “printed in the night sky”; his own fate; waiting for “thegreatguidingspirittocleavehumanityintotwoantagonistichalves”;theGreatSemí who, in Martí’s view of Our America, would go “astride its condor,spreading the seed of the new America through the romantic nations of thecontinentandthesorrowfulislandsofthesea.”10Itisaninexorablechapterthat,likeatragicflashoflightning,illuminatesforusthe“sacredspace”inthedepthsofthesoulofonewhocalledhimself“thissmallsoldierofthe20thcentury.”Ofonewho,inourinvinciblehope,alwaystakes“totheroad”again,shieldonhisarmandfeeling“theribsofRocinante”11beneathhisheels.

1.SimónBolívarledseveralarmedrebellions,helpingtowinindependencefromSpainformuchof

LatinAmerica.HisvisionwasforafederationofSpanish-speakingSouthAmericanstates.2. The ravine inwhichChe’s guerrilla unitwas ambushed onOctober 8, 1967, andChe himself

takenhostage.Hewasmurderedthefollowingday.3.JoséMartí,Cubannationalheroandnotedpoet,writer,speakerandjournalist.Martífoundedthe

CubanRevolutionary Party in 1892 to fight Spanish rule and opposeU.S. neocolonialism.Helaunchedthe1895independencewarandwaskilledinbattle.

4.JoséMartí,Obrascompletas(CompleteWorks),Havana:EditorialNacionaldeCuba,1963–73,vol.7,pp.289–90.

5.FromErnestoCheGuevara,EpisodesoftheRevolutionaryWar,forthcomingfromOceanPress,2004.AlsoinErnestoCheGuevara,CheGuevaraReader,OceanPress,2003,p.37.

6.EzequielMartínezEstrada,Martírevolucionario(MartítheRevolutionary),Havana:CasadelasAméricas,1967,p.414,no.184.

7.JoséMartí,Op.cit.,vol.16,p.68.8. JosédeSanMartín,Argentinenationalherowhoplayedamajorrole inwinning independence

fromSpainforArgentina,ChileandPeru.9.ErnestoCheGuevara,Obras,1957–67(Works,1957–67),Havana:CasadelasAméricas,1970,

vol.II,p.333.10.JoséMartí,JoséMartíReader,OceanPress,1999,p.120.11.CheGuevaraReader,p.384.

themotorcyclediariesNOTESONALATINAMERICANJOURNEY

ENTENDÁMONOS

soweunderstandeachother

Thisisnotastoryofheroicfeats,ormerelythenarrativeofacynic;atleastIdonotmean it tobe. It isaglimpseof twolivesrunningparallel fora time,withsimilarhopesandconvergentdreams.

Inninemonthsofaman’slifehecanthinkalotofthings,fromtheloftiestmeditationsonphilosophytothemostdesperatelongingforabowlofsoup—intotal accord with the state of his stomach. And if, at the same time, he’ssomewhatofanadventurer,hemight live throughepisodesof interest tootherpeopleandhishaphazardrecordmightreadsomethinglikethesenotes.

And so, the coin was thrown in the air, turning many times, landingsometimesheads andother times tails.Man, themeasureof all things, speakshere throughmymouth andnarrates inmyown language thatwhichmyeyeshaveseen.Itislikelythatoutof10possibleheadsIhaveseenonlyonetruetail,orviceversa. In fact it’sprobable,and therearenoexcuses, for these lipscanonlydescribewhattheseeyesactuallysee.Isitthatourwholevisionwasneverquitecomplete,thatitwastootransientornotalwayswell-informed?Werewetoo uncompromising in our judgments? Okay, but this is how the typewriterinterpreted those fleeting impulses raising my fingers to the keys, and thoseimpulseshavenowdied.Moreover,noonecanbeheldresponsibleforthem.

ThepersonwhowrotethesenotespassedawaythemomenthisfeettouchedArgentinesoilagain.Thepersonwhoreorganizesandpolishesthem,me,isnolonger,atleastIamnotthepersonIoncewas.Allthiswanderingaround“OurAmericawithacapitalA”haschangedmemorethanIthought.

Inanyphotographicmanualyou’llcomeacross thestrikinglyclear imageofalandscape,apparentlytakenbynight,inthelightofafullmoon.Thesecretbehind this magical vision of “darkness at noon” is usually revealed in theaccompanying text. Readers of this book will not be well versed about thesensitivityofmyretina—Icanhardlysenseitmyself.Sotheywillnotbeabletocheckwhatissaidagainstaphotographicplatetodiscoveratpreciselywhattimeeachofmy“pictures”wastaken.What thismeansis that ifIpresentyouwith an image and say, for instance, that itwas taken at night, you can eitherbelieveme,ornot;itmatterslittletome,sinceifyoudon’thappentoknowthescene I’ve “photographed” in my notes, it will be hard for you to find analternativetothetruthI’mabouttotell.ButI’llleaveyounow,withmyself,themanIusedtobe…

PRÓDROMOS

forewarnings

ItwasamorninginOctober.Takingadvantageoftheholidayonthe17thI

had gone to Córdoba.* We were at Alberto Granado’s place under the vine,drinkingsweetmate*andcommentingonrecenteventsinthis“bitchofalife,”tinkeringwithLaPoderosaII.**Albertowas lamentingthefact thathehadtoquithisjobatthelepercolonyinSanFranciscodelChañarandabouthowpoorhis pay was now at the Español Hospital. I had also quit my job, but unlikeAlberto I was very happy to leave. I was feeling uneasy,more than anythingbecause having the spirit of a dreamer I was particularly jaded with medicalschool,hospitalsandexams.

Along the roadsofourdaydreamwe reached remotecountries,navigatedtropicalseasandtraveledallthroughAsia.Andsuddenly,slippinginasifpartofourfantasy,thequestionarose:

“Whydon’twegotoNorthAmerica?”

“NorthAmerica?Buthow?”“OnLaPoderosa,man.”The trip was decided just like that, and it never erred from the basic

principlelaiddowninthatmoment:improvisation.Alberto’sbrothersjoinedusinaroundofmateaswesealedourpactnevertogiveupuntilwehadrealizedourdream.Sobeganthemonotonousbusinessofchasingvisas,certificatesanddocuments,thatistosay,ofovercomingthemanyhurdlesmodernnationserectinthepathsofwould-betravelers.Tosaveface,justincase,wedecidedtosayweweregoingtoChile.

Mymost importantmissionbefore leavingwas to takeexams inasmanysubjects aspossible;Alberto’s toprepare thebike for the long journey, and tostudy and plan our route. The enormity of our endeavor escaped us in thosemoments;allwecouldseewasthedustontheroadaheadandourselvesonthebike,devouringkilometersinourflightnorthward.

*AtthetimeanationalholidaytocommemorateJuanPerón’s1945releasefromprison.GeneralPerónwaspresidentofArgentinafrom1946to1955andfrom1973untilhisdeathin1974.*TheArgentinenationaldrink,atea-likebeveragemadefromtheherbmate.**Granado’sNorton500motorcycle,literally“TheMightyOne.”

ELDESCUBRIMIENTODELOCÉANO

discoveryoftheocean

The fullmoon is silhouettedagainst the sea, smothering thewaveswith silverreflections.Sittingonadune,wewatchthecontinuousebbandflow,eachwithour own thoughts. For me, the sea has always been a confidant, a friendabsorbingallitistoldandneverrevealingthosesecrets;alwaysgivingthebestadvice— its meaningful noises can be interpreted any way you choose. ForAlberto,itisanew,strangelyperturbingsight,andtheintensitywithwhichhiseyesfolloweverywavebuilding,swelling,thendyingonthebeach,reflectshis

amazement.Nearing30,Alberto is seeing theAtlantic for the first timeand isoverwhelmedby thisdiscovery thatsignifiesan infinitenumberofpaths toallendsoftheearth.Thefreshwindfillsthesenseswiththepowerandmoodofthesea;everythingistransformedbyitstouch;evenComeback*gazes,hisoddlittlenosealoft,atthesilverribbonsunrollingbeforehimseveraltimesaminute.

Comeback is both a symbol and a survivor: a symbol of the uniondemandingmyreturn;asurvivorofhisownbadluck—twofallsfromthebike(inoneofwhichheandhisbagflewofftheback),hispersistentdiarrhoeaandevengettingtrampledbyahorse.

We’re in Villa Gesell, north of Mar del Plata, enjoying my uncle’shospitalityinhishomeandrelivingourfirst1,200kilometers—apparentlytheeasiest,thoughthey’vealreadygivenusahealthyrespectfordistances.Wehavenoideawhetherornotwe’llgetthere,butwedoknowthegoingwillbehard—atleastthat’stheimpressionwehaveatthisstage.Albertolaughsathisminutelydetailed plans for the trip, according to which we should be nearing the endwheninrealitywehaveonlyjustbegun.

WeleftGesellstockeduponvegetablesandtinnedmeat“donated”bymyuncle.HeaskedustosendhimatelegramfromBariloche—ifwegetthere—so thatwith the number of the telegramhe could buy a corresponding lotteryticket,whichseemedalittleoptimistictous.Oncue,otherstauntedthatthebikewouldbeagoodexcusetogojogging,etc.,andthoughwehaveafirmresolvetoprove them wrong, a natural apprehension keeps us from declaring ourconfidenceinthejourney’ssuccess.

AlongthecoastroadComebackmaintainshisaviator’simpulses,emergingunscathed from yet another head-on collision. The motorbike is very hard tocontrol,withextraweightonarackbehindthecenterofgravitytendingtoliftthefrontwheel,andtheslightestlapseinconcentrationsendsusflying.Westopatabutcherstoreandbuysomemeat togrillandmilkfor thedog,whowon’teventryit.Ibegintoworrymoreaboutthelittleanimal’shealththanthemoneyI’dforkedouttopayforthemilk.Themeatturnsouttobehorse.It’sunbearablysweet andwecan’t eat it.Fedup, I toss apieceawayandamazingly, thedogwolfsitdowninnotime.Ithrowhimanotherpieceandthesamethinghappens.Hisregimeofmilkislifted.InthemiddleoftheuproarcausedbyComeback’sadmirersIenter,hereinMiramar,a…*TheEnglishnicknameErnestohasgiventothelittledoghe’stakingtoChichina,hisgirlfriendwhoisholidayinginMiramar.

…PARÉNTESISAMOROSO

…lovesickpause

TheintentionofthisdiaryisnotreallytorecountthosedaysinMiramarwhereComeback found a new home, with one resident in particular to whomComeback’s namewas directed. Our journeywas suspended in that haven ofindecision,subordinatetothewordsthatgiveconsentandcreatebonds.

Alberto saw the danger and was already imagining himself alone on theroadsofAmerica, thoughhenever raisedhisvoice.ThestrugglewasbetweensheandI.ForamomentasIleft,victorious,orsoIthought,OteroSilva’slinesranginmyears:

IheardsplashingontheboatherbarefeetAndsensedinourfacesthehungryduskMyheartswayingbetweenherandthestreet,theroadIdon’tknowwhereIfoundthestrengthtofreemyselffromhereyestoslipfromherarmsShestayed,cryingthroughrainandglasscloudedwithgriefandtearsShestayed,unabletocryWait!Iwillcomewalkingwithyou.*

YetafterwardsIdoubtedwhetherdriftwoodhastherighttosay,“Iwin,”whenthetidethrowsitontothebeachitseeks.Butthatwaslater,andisofnointeresttothepresent.ThetwodaysI’dplannedstretchedlikeelasticintoeightandwiththebittersweettasteofgoodbyeminglingwithmyinveteratebadbreathIfinallyfeltmyself lifteddefinitivelyawayon thewindsof adventure towardworlds Ienvisagedwouldbestrangerthantheywere,intosituationsIimaginedwouldbemuchmorenormalthantheyturnedouttobe.

I remember the daymy friend the sea came tomydefense— takingme

fromthe limboIwascursedwith.Thebeachwasdesertedandacoldonshorewindwas blowing.Myhead rested in the lap tyingme to this land, lulled byeverything around. The entire universe drifted rhythmically by, obeying theimpulses of my inner voice. Suddenly, a stronger gust of wind brought adifferentseavoiceandIliftedmyheadinsurprise,yetitseemedtobenothing,afalsealarm.Ilayback,returningonceagaininmydreamstothecaressinglap.And then, for the last time, I heard the ocean’s warning. Its vast and jarringrhythmhammeredatthefortresswithinmeandthreateneditsimposingserenity.

Webecamecoldand left thebeach, fleeing thedisturbingpresencewhichrefused to leave me alone. The sea danced on the small stretch of beach,indifferent to its own eternal law and spawning its own note of caution, itswarning.Butamaninlove(thoughAlbertousedamoreoutrageous,lessrefinedword) is in no condition to listen to such a call fromnature; in the enormousbellyofaBuickthebourgeoissideofmyuniversewasstillunderconstruction.

The first commandment foreverygoodexplorer is that anexpeditionhastwopoints:thepointofdepartureandthepointofarrival.Ifyourintentionistomakethesecondtheoreticalpointcoincidewiththeactualpointofarrival,don’tthink about the means— because the journey is a virtual space that finisheswhen it finishes, and there are asmanymeans as there are different ways of“finishing.”Thatistosay,themeansareendless.

I rememberedAlberto’ssuggestion:“Thebracelet,oryou’renotwhoyouthinkyouare.”

Chichina’shandsdisappearedintothehollowmadebymine.“Chichina, that bracelet… Can I take it to guide me and remind me of

you?”The poor girl! I know the gold didn’tmatter, despite what they say; her

fingersastheyheldthebraceletweremerelyweighingupthelovethatmademeask for it.That is, at least,what I honestly think.Alberto says (with a certainmischievousness, it seems to me), that you don’t need particularly sensitivefingerstoweighupthefull29caratsofmylove.

*MiguelOteroSilva,left-wingVenezuelanpoetandnovelist,bornin1908.

HASTAROMPERELULTIMOVÍNCULO

untilthelasttieisbroken

Weleft,stoppingnext inNecocheawhereanolduniversityfriendofAlberto’shad his practise.We covered the distance easily in amorning, arriving just intimeforasteaklunch,receivingagenialwelcomefromthefriendandanotsogenialwelcomefromhiswifewhospottedthedangerinourresolutelybohemianways.

“Youhaveonlyoneyearleftbeforeyouqualifyasadoctorandyetyou’regoingaway?Youhavenoideawhenyou’llbeback?Butwhy?”

We couldn’t give precise answers to her desperate questions and thishorrifiedher.Shewascourteouswithusbutherhostilitywasclear,despitethefact thatsheknew(at least I thinksheknew)ultimatevictorywashers—herhusbandwasbeyondour“redemption.”

InMardelPlatawehadvisitedadoctorfriendofAlberto’swhohadjoinedthe[Peronist]party,withallitsconsequentprivileges.ThisdoctorinNecochearemainedfaithfultohisown—theRadicals—yetwe,however,wereasremotefrom one as from the other. Support for the Radicals was never a tenablepolitical position forme andwas also losing its significance forAlberto,whohadbeenquitecloseatonetimewithsomeoftheleadersherespected.

Whenweclimbedbackontothebikeagain,afterthankingthecoupleforourthreedaysofthegoodlife,wecontinuedontoBahíaBlanca,feelingalittlemorealonebutagooddealmorefree.Friendswerealsoexpectingusthere,myfriendsthistime,andtheytoooffereduswarmandfriendlyhospitality.Severaldays passed us by in this southern port, as we fixed the bike and wanderedaimlesslyaroundthecity.Thesewerethelastdaysinwhichwedidnothavetothink aboutmoney.Afterwards, a rigid diet ofmeat, polenta and breadwouldhave tobe followed strictly to stretchourmeager finances.The tasteofbreadwasnowtingedwithwarning:“Iwon’tbesoeasytocomebysoon,oldman,”andweswalloweditwithall themoreenthusiasm.Wewanted, likecamels, tobuildourreservesforthejourneythatlayahead.

ThenightbeforeourdepartureIcamedownwithacoughandquiteahightemperature,andconsequentlywewereadaylateleavingBahíaBlanca.Finally,atthreeintheafternoon,weleftunderablazingsunthathadbecomeevenhotterbythetimewereachedthesanddunesaroundMédanos.Thebike,withitsbadly

distributedweight,keptboundingoutofcontrol,thewheelsconstantlyspinningover.Albertofoughtapainfulbattlewiththesandandinsistshewon.Theonlycertainty is thatwe found ourselves resting comfortably in the sand six timesbeforewe finallymade itouton to the flat.Wedid,nevertheless,getout,andthisismycompañero’smainargumentforclaimingvictoryoverMédanos.

FromhereItookoverthecontrols,acceleratingtomakeupforpreciouslosttime.A fine sandcoveredpartof abendand—boom: theworst crashof thewholetrip.Albertoemergedunscathedbutmyfootwastrappedandscorchedbythecylinder, leavingadisagreeablemementowhichlasteda longtimebecausethewoundwouldn’theal.

Aheavydownpourforcedus toseekshelterataranch,but toreachitwehadtoget300metersupamuddytrackandwewentflyingtwicemore.Theirwelcomewasmagnificentbutthesumtotalofourfirstexperienceonunsealedroadswasalarming:ninecrashesinasingleday.Oncampbeds,theonlybedswe’dknowfromnowon,andlyingbesideLaPoderosa,oursnail-likedwelling,we still looked into the futurewith impatient joy.We seemed tobreathemorefreely, a lighter air, an air of adventure. Distant countries, heroic deeds andbeautifulwomenspunaroundandaroundinourturbulentimaginations.

My tired eyes refused to sleep and in themapair of green spots swirled,representingtheworldIhadleftfordeadbehindmeandmockingtheso-calledliberationIsought.Theyharnessedtheirimagetomyextraordinaryflightacrossthelandsandseasoftheworld.

PARALASGRIPES,CAMA

fortheflu,bed

The bike exhaled with boredom along the long accident-free road and weexhaled with fatigue. Driving on a gravel-covered road had transformed apleasant jaunt into a heavy job.Bynightfall, after an entire dayof alternating

turnsatthecontrols,wewereleftwithmoredesiretosleepthantocontinuewiththeefforttoreachChoeleChoel,alargishtownwherewehadachanceatfreelodging. So we stopped in Benjamín Zorrilla, settling down comfortably in aroomattherailroadstation.Weslept,deadtotheworld.

Wewokeearlythenextmorning,butwhenIwenttocollectwaterforourmateaweirdsensationdartedthroughmybody,followedbyalongshiver.TenminuteslaterIwasshakinguncontrollablylikesomeonepossessed.Myquininetabletsmade no difference, my head was like a drum hammering out strangerhythms,bizarrecolorsshiftedshapelesslyacrossthewallsandsomedesperateheavingproducedagreenvomit.Ispent thewholedaylikethis,unabletoeat,until by the evening I feltwell enough to climb on the bike and, sleeping onAlberto’s shoulder, we reached Choele Choel. There we visited Dr. Barrera,director of the little hospital and a member of parliament. He received usamiably,givingusaroomtosleepin.Heprescribedacourseofpenicillinandwithin fourhoursmy temperaturehad lowered, butwheneverwe talked aboutleaving the doctor shook his head and said, “For the flu: bed.” (Thiswas hisdiagnosis,forwantofabetterone.)Sowespentseveraldaysthere,beingcaredforroyally.

Alberto photographed me in my hospital gear. I made an impressivespectacle: gaunt, flushed, enormous eyes and a ridiculous beard whose shapedidn’tchangemuchinallthemonthsIworeit.It’sapitythephotographwasn’tagoodone;itwasanacknowledgmentofourchangedcircumstancesandofthehorizonswewereseeking,freeatlastfrom“civilization.”

Onemorning thedoctordidn’t shakehishead inhisusualway.Thatwasenough.Withinthehourweweregone,headingwesttowardournextdestination— the lakes. The bike struggled, showing signs it was feeling the strain,especially in the bodywork which we constantly had to fix with Alberto’sfavored spare part—wire.He picked up this quote from somewhere, I don’tknowwhere,attributingittoOscarGálvez:*“Whenapieceofwirecanreplaceascrew,givemethewire,it’ssafer.”OurhandsandourpantswereunequivocalproofthatwewerewithGálvez,atleastonthequestionofwire.

Itwasalreadynight,yetweweretryingtoreachhumanhabitation;wehadnoheadlightandspendingthenightintheopendidn’tseemmuchlikeapleasantidea.Weweremovingslowly,usingatorch,whenastrangenoiserangoutfromthebikethatwecouldn’tidentify.Thetorchdidn’tgiveoutenoughlighttofindthecauseandwehadnochoicebuttocampwherewewere.Wesettleddownasbest we could, erecting our tent and crawling into it, hoping to suffocate ourhungerandthirst(fortherewasnowaternearbyandwehadnomeat)withsomeexhaustedsleep.Innotime,however,thelighteveningbreezebecameaviolent

wind, uprooting our tent and exposing us to the elements and the worseningcold.Wehadtotiethebiketoatelephonepoleand,throwingthetentoverthebikeforprotection,welaydownbehindit.Thenearhurricanepreventedusfromusingourcampbeds.Innowaywasitanenjoyablenight,butsleepfinallywonout over the cold, the wind and everything else, and we woke at nine in themorningwiththesunhighaboveourheads.

By the light of day,we discovered that the infamous noise had been thefrontpartofthebikeframebreaking.Wenowhadtofixitasbestwecouldandfinda townwherewecouldweld thebrokenbar.Our friend,wire, solved theproblemprovisionally.Wepackedupandsetoffnotknowingexactlyhowfarwewere fromnearest habitation.Our surprisewas greatwhen, comingout ofonly the secondbend,wesawahouse.They receivedusverywell, appeasingourhungerwithexquisiteroastlamb.Fromtherewewalked20kilometerstoaplacecalledPiedradelÁguilawherewewereabletoweldthepart,butbythenitwassolatewedecidedtospendthenightinthemechanic’shouse.

Except for a couple of minor spills that didn’t do the bike too muchdamage, we continued calmly on toward SanMartín de los Andes.We werealmostthereandIwasdrivingwhenwetookourfirstrealfall inthesouth[ofArgentina]onabeautifulgravelbend,byalittlebubblingstream.ThistimeLaPoderosa’sbodyworkwasdamagedenoughtoforceustostopand,worstofall,wefoundwehadwhatwemostdreaded:apuncturedbacktire.Inordertomendit, we had to take off all the packs, undo the wire “securing” the rack, thenstrugglewiththewheelcoverwhichdefiedourpatheticcrowbar.Changingtheflat (lazily, I admit) lost us two hours. Late in the afternoonwe stopped at aranchwhoseowners,verywelcomingGermans,hadbyrarecoincidenceputupanuncleofmineinthepast,aninveterateoldtravelerwhoseexampleIwasnowemulating.Theyletusfishintheriverflowingthroughtheranch.Albertocasthisline,andbeforeheknewwhatwashappening,hehadjumpingontheendofhis hook an iridescent form glinting in the sunlight. Itwas a rainbow trout, abeautiful, tastyfish(evenmoresowhenbakedandseasonedbyourhunger). IpreparedthefishwhileAlberto,enthusiasticfromthisfirstvictory,casthislineagainandagain.Despitehoursof tryinghedidn’tgeta singlebite.By then itwasdarkandwehadtospendthenightinthefarmlaborers’kitchen.

Atfiveinthemorningthehugestoveoccupyingthemiddleofthiskindofkitchenwaslitandthewholeplacefilledwithsmoke.Thefarmlaborerspassedroundtheirbittermateandcastaspersionsonourown“mateforgirls,”astheydescribe sweetmate in those parts. In general they didn’t try to communicatewith us, as is typical of the subjugatedAraucanian racewhomaintain a deepsuspicionofthewhitemanwhointhepasthasbroughtthemsomuchmisfortune

andnowcontinuestoexploitthem.Theyansweredourquestionsaboutthelandand their work by shrugging their shoulders and saying “don’t know” or“maybe,”quicklyendingtheconversation.

Weweregiventhechancetostuffourselveswithcherries,somuchsothatbythetimeweweretomoveontotheplumsI’dhadenoughandhadtoliedownto digest it all.Alberto ate some so as not to seem rude.Up the treeswe ateavidly,asifwewereracingeachothertofinish.Oneoftheowner’ssonslookedonwithacertainmistrustatthese“doctors,”disgustinglydressedandobviouslyfamished, but he kept his mouth shut and let us eat to our idealistic hearts’content.Itgottothepointwherewehadtowalkslowlytoavoidsteppingonourownstomachs.

Wemended thekick-start andotherminorproblemsandsetoff again forSanMartíndelosAndes,wherewearrivedjustbeforedark.

*AchampionArgentinerallydriver.

SANMARTÍNDELOSANDES

sanmartíndelosandes

Theroadsnakesbetweenthelowfoothillsthatsoundthebeginningofthegreatcordillera of theAndes, then descends steeply until it reaches an unattractive,miserable town, surrounded in sharp contrast bymagnificent, denselywoodedmountains. SanMartín lies on the yellow-green slopes thatmelt into the bluedepths of Lake Lacar, a narrow tongue of water 35 meters wide and 500kilometers long. The day it was “discovered” as a tourist haven the town’sclimateandtransportdifficultiesweresolvedanditssubsistencesecured.

Ourfirstattackonthelocalcliniccompletelyfailedbutweweretoldtotrythe same tactic at the National Parks’ offices. The superintendent of the parkallowedustostayinoneofthetoolsheds.Thenightwatchmanarrived,ahuge,

fatmanweighing140kiloswithafaceashardasnails,buthetreatedusveryamiably, granting us permission to cook in his hut. That first night passedperfectly.Wesleptintheshed,contentandwarmonstraw—certainlynecessaryinthosepartswherethenightsareparticularlycold.

Weboughtsomebeefandsetofftowalkalongtheshoresofthelake.Intheshade of the immense trees,where thewilderness had arrested the advance ofcivilization,wemadeplanstobuildalaboratoryinthisplace,whenwefinishedourtrip.Weimaginedgreatwindowsthatwouldtakeinthewholelake,winterblanketingthegroundinwhite;thedinghywewouldusetotravelfromonesideto the other; catching fish from a little boat; everlasting excursions into thealmostvirginforest.

Althoughoftenonourtravelswelongedtostayintheformidableplaceswevisited,onlytheAmazonjunglecalledouttothatsedentarypartofourselvesasstronglyasdidthisplace.

I now know, by an almost fatalistic conformity with the facts, that mydestiny is to travel, or perhaps it’s better to say that traveling is our destiny,because Alberto feels the same. Still, there are moments when I think withprofoundlongingofthosewonderfulareasinoursouth.Perhapsoneday, tiredofcircling theworld, I’ll return toArgentinaandsettle in theAndeanlakes, ifnotindefinitelythenatleastforapausewhileIshiftfromoneunderstandingoftheworldtoanother.

At dusk we started back and it was dark before we arrived. We werepleasantly surprised to find that Don Pedro Olate, the nightwatchman, hadpreparedawonderfulbarbecuetotreatus.Weboughtwinetoreturnthegestureandatelikelions,justforachange.Wewerediscussinghowtastythemeatwasand how soon we wouldn’t be eating as extravagantly as we had done inArgentina,whenDonPedrotoldushe’dbeenaskedtoorganizeabarbecueforthedriversofamotorracetakingplaceonthelocaltrackthatcomingSunday.Hewanted twohelpersandofferedus the job.“Mindthat Ican’tpayyou,butyoucanstockuponmeatforlater.”

It seemed like a good idea andwe accepted the jobs of first and secondassistantstothe“GranddaddyoftheSouthernArgentineBarbecue.”

BothassistantswaitedforSundaywithakindof religiousenthusiasm.Atsixinthemorningontheday,westartedourfirstjob—loadingwoodontoatruckandtakingittothebarbecuesite—andwedidn’tstopworkuntil11a.m.when the distinctive signal was given and everyone threw themselvesvoraciouslyontothetastyribs.

AverystrangepersonwasgivingorderswhomIaddressedwiththeutmostrespectas“Señora”anytimeIsaidaword,untiloneofmyfellowworkerssaid:

“Heykid,che,don’tpushDonPendóntoofar,he’llgetangry.”“Who’sDonPendón?” I asked,with thekindofgesture someuncultured

kidwouldgive.Theanswer,thatDonPendónwastheSeñora,leftmecold,butnotforlong.

Asalwaysatbarbecues, therewasfar toomuchmeatforeveryone,sowewere given carte blanche to pursue our vocation as camels. We executed,furthermore,acarefullycalculatedplan.Ipretendedtogetdrunkeranddrunkerand,witheveryapparentattackofnausea,Istaggeredofftothestream,abottleof redwinehidden insidemy leather jacket.After fiveattacksof this typewehad the same number of liters ofwine stored beneath the fronds of awillow,keepingcoolinthewater.Wheneverythingwasoverandthemomentcametopackupthetruckandreturntotown,Ikeptupmypart,workingreluctantlyandbickeringconstantlywithDonPendón.TofinishmyperformanceIlaydownflatonmybackinthegrass,utterlyunabletotakeanotherstep.Alberto,actinglikeatrue friend, apologized formybehavior to the boss and stayedbehind to lookaftermeasthetruckleft.Whenthenoiseoftheenginefadedinthedistancewejumpedupandracedoff likecolts to thewinethatwouldguaranteeusseveraldaysofkinglyconsumption.

Alberto made it first and threw himself under the willow: his face wasstraight out of a comic film.Not a single bottle remained.Eithermy drunkenstate hadn’t fooled anyone, or someone had seenme sneak offwith thewine.Thefactwas,wewereasbrokeasever, retracing inourminds thesmiles thathadgreetedmydrunkenantics,tryingtofindsometraceoftheironywithwhichwecouldidentifythethief.Tonoavail.Luggingthechunkofbreadandcheesewe’d received and a few kilos ofmeat for the night,we had towalk back totown.Wewerewell-fedandwell-watered,butwithour tailsbetweenour legs,not somuch for the wine but for the fools they’dmade of us.Words cannotdescribeit.

Thefollowingdaywasrainyandcoldandwethoughttheracewouldn’tgoahead.Wewerewaitingforabreakin therainsowecouldgoandcooksomemeatbythelakewhenweheardovertheloudspeakersthattheracewasstillon.Inourroleasbarbecueassistantswepassedfreeofchargethroughtheentrancegatesand,comfortablyinstalled,watchedthenation’sdriversinafairlygoodcarrace.

Justaswewerethinkingofmovingon,discussingthebestroadtotakeanddrinkingmate in the doorway of our shed, a jeep arrived, carrying some ofAlberto’sfriendsfromthedistantandalmostmythicalVillaConcepcióndelTío.We shared big friendly hugs andwent immediately to celebrate by filling ourgutswithfrothyliquid,asisthedignifiedpractiseonsuchoccasions.

Theyinvitedustovisit theminthetownwheretheywereworking,JuníndelosAndes,andsowewent, lesseningthebike’sloadbyleavingourgearintheNationalParks’shed.

EXPLORACIÓNCIRCUNVALATORIA

circularexploration

Junín de los Andes, less fortunate than its lakeside brother, vegetates in aforgotten corner of civilization, unable to break free of the monotony of itsstagnant life, despite attempts to invigorate the town by building a barrackswhereourfriendswereworking.Isayourfriends,becauseinnotimeatalltheywereminetoo.

Wededicated the firstnight to reminiscingabout thatdistantpast inVillaConcepción,ourmoodenhancedbyseeminglyunlimitedbottlesofredwine.MylackoftrainingmeantIhadtoabandonthematchand,inhonoroftherealbed,Isleptlikealog.

Wespentthenextdayfixingafewofthebike’sproblemsintheworkshopofthecompanywhereourfriendsworked.ThatnighttheygaveusamagnificentfarewellfromArgentina:abeefandlambbarbecue,withbreadandgravyandasuperbsalad.Afterseveraldaysofpartying,weleft,departingwithmanyhugson the road toCarrué, another lake in the region.The road is terrible andourpoorbikesnortedaboutinthesandasItriedtohelpitoutofthedunes.Thefirstfivekilometers tookusanhourandahalf,but later theroadimprovedandwearrived without any other hitches at Carrué Chico, a little blue-green lakesurrounded by wildly forested hills, and then at Carrué Grande, a moreexpansive lake but sadly impossible to ride around on a bike because there isonlyabridlepathusedbylocalsmugglerstocrossovertoChile.

Weleft thebikeat thecabinofaparkrangerwhowasn’thome,andtook

offtoclimbthepeakfacingthelake.Itwasnearinglunchtimeandoursuppliesconsistedonlyofapieceofcheeseandsomepreserves.Aduckpassed, flyinghighoverthelake.Albertocalculatedthedistanceofthebird,theabsenceofthewarden, thepossibilityofa fine,etc.,andfired.Byamasterfulstrokeofgoodluck (though not for the duck), the bird fell into the lake. A discussionimmediately ensued as to who would go and get it. I lost and plunged in. Itseemedthatfingersoficeweregrippingmeallovermybody,almostcompletelyimpedingmymovement.AllergicasIamtothecold,those20metersthereandbackthatIswamtoretrievewhatAlbertohadshotdownmademesufferlikeaBedouin.Justaswellthatroastduck,flavoredasusualwithourhunger,isoneexquisitedish.

Invigorated by lunch,we set offwith enthusiasmon the climb.From thestart,however,wewere joinedby flies thatcircledusceaselessly,bitingwhenthey got the chance. The climb was gruelling because we lacked appropriateequipmentandexperience,butsomewearyhourslaterwereachedthesummit.To our disappointment, there was no panoramic view to admire; neighboringmountainsblockedeverything.Whicheverwaywelookedahigherpeakwasintheway.Aftersomeminutesofjokingaboutinthepatchofsnowcrowningthepeak,we took to the task of descending, spurred on by the fact that darknesswouldsoonbeclosingin.Thefirstpartwaseasy,butthenthestreamthatwasguidingourdescentbegan togrow intoa torrentwith steep, smooth sidesandslippery rocks thatweredifficult towalkon.Wehad topushourway throughwillows on the edge, finally reaching an area of thick, treacherous reeds. Asnight fell itbroughtusa thousandstrangenoisesand thesensationofwalkinginto empty spacewith each step.Alberto lost his goggles andmy pantswerereducedtorags.Wearrived,finally,atthetreelineandfromtherewetookeverystepwith infinitecaution,because thedarknesswassocompleteandour sixthsensesoheightenedthatwesawabysseseverysecondmoment.

After aneternityof trekking throughdeepmudwe recognized the streamflowingout into theCarrué,andalmost immediately the treesdisappearedandwereachedtheflat.Thehugefigureofastagdashedlikeaquickbreathacrossthestreamandhisbody,silverbythelightoftherisingmoon,disappearedintothe undergrowth. This tremor of nature cut straight to our hearts.We walkedslowlysoasnottodisturbthepeaceofthewildsanctuarywithwhichwewerenowcommuning.

Wewadedacrossthethreadofwater,whosetouchagainstouranklesgavemeasharpreminderofthoseicefingersIhatesomuch,andreachedtheshelteroftheranger’scabin.Hewaskindenoughtoofferushotmateandsheepskinstosleepontillthefollowingmorning.Itwas12:35a.m.

Wedrove slowlyon thewayback,passing lakesofonly ahybridbeautycomparedtoCarrué,andfinallyreachedSanMartínwhereDonPendóngaveus10pesoseachforworkingatthebarbecue.Thenwesetofffurthersouth.

QUERIDAVIEJA

dearmama

January1952EnroutetoBariloche

DearMama,

Justasyouhavenotheardfromme,I’vehadnonewsfromyouandI’mworried.Itwoulddefeatthepurposeofthesefewlinestotellyouallthathashappenedtous; I’ll just say that two days after leaving Bahía Blanca I fell ill with atemperature of 40 degrees which kept me in bed for a day. The followingmorning I managed to get up only to end up in the Choele Choel regionalhospital where I was given a dose of a little-known drug, penicillin, andrecoveredfourdayslater…

We reached SanMartín de losAndes, using our usual resourcefulness tosolve the thousandproblems thatplaguedusalong theway.SanMartínde losAndeshasabeautifullakeandiswonderfullysetamidvirginforest.Youmustseeit,I’msureyou’dfinditworthwhile.OurfacesarebeginningtoresemblethetextureofCarborundum.Anyhousewecomeacrossthathasagarden,weseekfood,lodgingandwhateverelseisonoffer.WeendedupattheVonPutnamers’ranch,they’refriendsofJorge’s,particularlyonewho’saPeronist,alwaysdrunk,andthebestofthethree.Iwasabletodiagnoseatumorintheoccipitalzonethatwasprobablyof hydatic origin.We’ll have towait and seewhat happens.Wewill leaveforBariloche in twoor threedaysand intend to travelata leisurely

pace.SendmealetterposterestanteifitcanarrivebyFebruary10or12.Well,Mama,thenextpageI’mwritingisforChichina.SendlotsoflovetoeveryoneandmakesureyoutellmewhetherornotPapiisinthesouth.

Alovinghugfromyourson.

PORELCAMINODELOSSIETELAGOS

onthesevenlakesroad

WedecidedtogotoBarilochebytheSevenLakesRoad,namedforthenumberof lakes the road skirts before reaching the town. We traveled the first fewkilometersatLaPoderosa’severtranquilpace,withoutanyseriousmechanicalupsetsuntil,withnightfallcatchinguponus,wepulledtheoldbrokenheadlighttricksowecouldsleepinaroadlaborer’shut,ahandyrusebecausethecoldthatnightwasuncommonlyharsh.Itwassofiercelycoldthatavisitorsoonappearedasking toborrowsomeblanketsbecauseheandhiswifewerecampingby theedge of lake and they were freezing.We went to share somemate with thisstoicalpairwhoforsometimehadbeenlivingbesidethelakeswithonlyatentandthecontentsoftheirbackpacks.Theyputustoshame.

Wesetoff again,passinggreatlyvarying lakes, all surroundedbyancientforest,thescentofwildernesscaressingournostrils.Butcuriously,thesightofalake and a forest and a single solitary house with a well-tended garden soonbegins to grate. Seeing the landscape at this superficial level only captures itsboring uniformity, not allowing you to immerse yourself in the spirit of theplace;forthatyoumuststopatleastseveraldays.

WefinallyreachedthenorthernendofLakeNahuelHuapíandsleptonitsbanks,fullandcontentaftertheenormousbarbecuewehadeaten.Butwhenwehittheroadagain,wenoticedapunctureinthebacktireandfromthenbeganatediousbattlewiththeinnertube.Eachtimewepatcheduponeside, theothersideof thetubepunctured,untilwewerealloutofpatchesandwereforcedto

spend the night where we were. An Austrian caretaker who had racedmotorbikes as a youngman gave us a place to stay in an empty shed, caughtbetweenhisdesiretohelpfellowbikersinneedandfearofhisboss.

InhisbrokenSpanishhetoldusthatapumawasintheregion.“Andpumasarevicious,they’renotafraidtoattackpeople!Theyhavehugeblondmanes…”

Attemptingtoclosethedoorwefoundthatitwaslikeastabledoor—onlythelowerhalfshut.Iplacedourrevolvernearmyheadincasethepuma,whoseshadowfilledourthoughts,decidedtopayanunannouncedmidnightvisit.ThedaywasjustdawningwhenIawoketothesoundofclawsscratchingatthedoor.Atmyside,Albertolaysilent,fullofdread.Ihadmyhandtensedonthecockedrevolver.Twoluminouseyesstaredatmefromthesilhouettedtrees.Likeacat,the eyes sprang forward and theblackmassof thebodymaterializedover thedoor.

It was pure instinct; the brakes of intelligence failed.My drive for self-preservationpulledthetrigger.Foralongmoment,thethunderbeatagainstandaround the walls, stopping only when a lighted torch in the doorway begandesperately shouting at us. But by that time in our timid silencewe knew, orcould at least guess, the reason for the caretaker’s stentorian shouts and hiswife’shystericalsobsasshethrewherselfoverthedeadbodyofBobby—hernasty,ill-tempereddog.

Albertowent toAngostura to get the tire fixed and I thought I’d have tospendthenightintheopen,beingunabletoaskforabedinahousewherewewereconsideredmurderers.Luckilyourbikewasnearanotherroadlaborer’shutandheletmesleepinthekitchenwithafriendofhis.AtmidnightIwoketothenoise of rain andwas going to get up to cover the bikewith a tarpaulin. Butbeforedoingso,Idecidedtotakeafewpuffsfrommyasthmainhaler,irritatedbythesheepskinIwasusingforapillow.AsIinhaled,mysleepingcompanionwokeup,hearingthepuff.Hemadeasuddenmovement,thenimmediatelyfellsilent. Isensedhisbodygorigidunderhisblankets,clutchingaknife,holdinghis breath.With the experience of the previous night still fresh, I decided toremain where I was for fear of being knifed, just in case mirages werecontagiousinthoseparts.

We reached SanCarlos deBariloche by the evening of the next day andspent the night in the police station waiting for theModesta Victoria to sailtowardtheborderwithChile.

YYASIENTOFLOTARMIGRANRAÍZLIBREYDESNUDA…Y

andnow,Ifeelmygreatrootsunearth,freeand…

Inthekitchenofthepolicestationwewereshelteringfromastormunleashingitstotalfuryoutside.Ireadandrereadtheincredibleletter.Justlikethat,allmydreamsofhome,boundupwith thoseeyes that sawmeoff inMiramar, camecrashingdownforwhatseemedlikenoreason.Agreatexhaustionenvelopedmeand,halfasleep,Ilistenedtothelivelyconversationofaglobetrottingprisonerasheconcoctedathousandexoticbrews,safeintheignoranceofhisaudience.Icould make out his warm, seductive words while the faces surrounding himleanedclosersoasbettertohearhisstoriesunfold.

AsifthroughadistantfogIcouldseeanAmericandoctorwehadmetthereinBarilochenodding:“Ithinkyou’llgetwhereyou’reheading,you’vegotguts.ButIthinkyou’llstayawhileinMexico.It’sawonderfulcountry.”

Isuddenlyfeltmyselfflyingoffwiththesailortofar-offlands,farawaythecurrentdramaofmylife.Afeelingofprofounduneasecameoverme;IfeltthatIwasincapableoffeelinganything.Ibegantofeelafraidformyselfandstartedatearfulletter,butIcouldn’twrite, itwashopelesstotry.Inthehalf-lightthatsurroundedus,phantomsswirledaroundandaroundbut“she”wouldn’tappear.IstillbelievedIlovedheruntilthismoment,whenIrealizedIfeltnothing.

I had to summonherbackwithmymind. I had to fight for her, shewasmine,mine…Islept.

Agentlesunilluminatedthenewday,ourdayofdeparture,ourfarewelltoArgentine soil. Carrying the bike on to theModestaVictoria was not an easytask, but with patience we eventually did it. Getting it off again was equallyhard.Thenwewereinthattinyspotbythelake,pompouslynamedPuertoBlest.

Afewkilometersontheroad,threeorfouratmost,andwewerebackonwater,adirtygreenlakethistime,LakeFrías.

A short voyage before finally reaching customs, then the Chileanimmigration post on the other side of the cordillera — much lower at thislatitude.Therewe crossed yet another lake fed by thewaters of theTronadorRiver thatoriginate in themajesticvolcano sharing the samename.This lake,Esmeralda, in contrast to the Argentine lakes, offered wonderful, temperatewater,makingthetaskofbathingveryenjoyableandmuchmoreenticing.Highin thecordilleraataplacecalledCasaPangue there isa lookout thataffordsabeautifulviewoverChile. It isakindofcrossroads;at least in thatmoment itwasforme.Iwaslookingtothefuture,throughthenarrowbandofChileandtowhatlaybeyond,turningthelinesoftheOteroSilvapoemoverinmymind.

OBJETOSCURIOSOS

objectsofcuriosity

Water leakedfromeveryporeof thebigold tubcarryingourbike.Daydreamstookme soaring awaywhile I maintainedmy rhythm at the pump. A doctor,returning from Peulla in the passenger launch that ran back and forth acrossEsmeralda, passed the hulking great contraption our bike was lashed to andwherewewerepayingforbothourandLaPoderosa’spassagewiththesweatofour brows. A curious expression came across his face as he watched usstruggling to keep the vessel afloat, naked and almost swimming in the oilypump-water.

We hadmet several doctors traveling down therewhowe lectured aboutleprology,embellishingabit,provoking theadmirationofourcolleagues fromtheothersideoftheAndes.Theywereimpressedbecause,sinceleprosyisnotaproblem inChile, theydidn’tknow the first thingabout itor about lepersand

confessedhonestlythatneverintheirliveshadtheyevenseenaleper.TheytoldusaboutthedistantlepercolonyonEasterIslandwhereasmallnumberofleperswereliving;itwasadelightfulisland,theysaid,andourscientificinterestswereexcited.

Thisdoctorgenerouslyofferedusanyhelpwemightneed,giventhe“veryinteresting journey”weweremaking.But in thosehappydays in the southofChile,whenourstomachswerestillfullandwewerenotyettotallybrazen,wemerely askedhim for an introduction to thepresident of theFriendsofEasterIsland,wholivedneartheminValparaíso.Ofcourse,hewasdelighted.

ThelakerouteendedinPetrohuéwherewesaidgoodbyetoeveryone;butnotbeforeposingforsomeblackBraziliangirlswhoplacedusintheirsouveniralbumforsouthernChile,andforanenvironmentalistcouplefromwhoknowswhatEuropeancountry,whonotedouraddressesceremoniously so theycouldsenduscopiesofthephotos.

TherewasacharacterinthelittletownwhowantedastationwagondriventoOsorno,wherewewereheading,andheaskedme if Iwoulddo it.Albertogavemeahigh-speedlessoningearchangesandIwentoffinallsolemnitytoassume my post. Rather cartoon-like, I set off with hops and jerks behindAlberto who was riding the bike. Every corner was a torment: brake, clutch,first, second, help,Mamáaa…The roadwound through beautiful countryside,skirting Lake Osorno, the volcano with the same name a sentinel above us.UnfortunatelyIwasinnopositionalongthataccident-studdedroadtoappreciatethelandscape.Theonlyaccident,however,wassufferedbyalittlepigthatraninfrontofthecarwhilewewerespeedingdownahill,beforeIwasfullypractisedintheartofbrakingandclutching.

WearrivedinOsorno,wescroungedaroundinOsorno,weleftOsornoandcontinued ever northward through the delightful Chilean countryside, dividedinto plots, every bit farmed, in stark contrast to our own arid south. TheChileans,exceedinglyfriendlypeople,werewarmandwelcomingwhereverwewent.FinallywearrivedintheportofValdiviaonaSunday.Amblingaroundthecity,wedroppedintothelocalnewspaper,theCorreodeValdivia,andtheyverykindlywrote an article about us.Valdiviawas celebrating its fourth centenaryand we dedicated our journey to the city in tribute to the great conquistadorwhosenamethecitybears.TheypersuadedustowritealettertoMolinasLuco,themayorofValparaíso,preparinghimforourgreatEasterIslandscam.

Theharbor,overflowingwithgoodsthatwerecompletelyforeigntous,themarketwheretheysolddifferentfoods,thetypicallyChileanwoodenhouses,thespecialclothesoftheguasos,*werenotablydifferentfromwhatweknewbackhome;therewassomethingindigenouslyAmerican,untouchedbytheexoticism

invadingourpampas.ThismaybebecauseAnglo-SaxonimmigrantsinChiledonotmix,thuspreservingthepurityoftheindigenousrace,whichinourcountryispracticallynonexistent.

Butforall thecustomaryandidiomaticdifferencesdistinguishingusfromour thinAndeanbrother, there isonecry that seems international: “Give themwater,” the salutation greeting the sight of my calf-length trousers, not mypersonaltastebutafashioninheritedfromagenerous,ifshort,friend.

*Chileanpeasants.

LOSEXPERTOS

theexperts

Chilean hospitality, as I never tire of saying, is one reason traveling in ourneighboring country is so enjoyable.Andwemade themost of it. Iwoke upgraduallybeneaththesheets,consideringthevalueofagoodbedandcalculatingthecaloriecontentofthepreviousnight’smeal.Ireviewedrecenteventsinmymind: the treacherouspunctureofLaPoderosa’s tire,which leftusstranded intherainandinthemiddleofnowhere;thegeneroushelpofRaúl,ownerofthebedinwhichwewerenowsleeping;andtheinterviewwegavetothepaperElAustral in Temuco. Raúlwas a veterinary student, not particularly studious itseemed,whohadhoistedourpooroldbikeontothetruckheowned,bringingusto this quiet town in themiddle ofChile. To be honest, therewas probably amomentortwowhenourfriendwishedhe’dnevermetus,sincewecausedhimanuncomfortablenight’ssleep,butheonlyhadhimselftoblame,braggingaboutthemoney he spent onwomen and inviting us for a night out at a “cabaret,”which would be at his expense, of course. His invitation was the reason weprolongedour stay in the landofPabloNeruda, andwebecame involved inalively bragging sessionwhich lasted for some time. In the end, of course, he

came clean on that inevitable problem (lack of funds), meaning we had topostpone our visit to that very interesting place of entertainment, though incompensationhegaveusbedandboard.Soatoneinthemorningtherewewere,feeling very self-satisfied and devouring everything on the table, quite a lotreally,plussomemorethatarrivedlater.Thenweappropriatedourhost’sbedashisfatherwasbeingtransferredtoSantiagoandtherewasnotmuchfurnitureleftinthehouse.

Alberto,unmovable,wasresistingthemorningsun’sattempttodisturbhisdeep sleep, while I dressed slowly, a taskwe didn’t find particularly difficultbecause the difference between our night wear and day wear was made up,generally,of shoes.Thenewspaper flauntedagenerousnumberofpages,verymuch in contrast to our poor and stunted dailies, but I wasn’t interested inanythingbesidesonepieceoflocalnewsIfoundinlargetypeinsectiontwo:

TWOARGENTINELEPROSYEXPERTSTOURLATINAMERICABYMOTORCYCLE

Andtheninsmallertype:

THEYAREINTEMUCOANDWANTTOVISITRAPA-NUI*

Thiswas the epitome of our audacity.Us, experts, key figures in the field ofleprology in theAmericas,withvastexperience,having treated3,000patients,familiarwiththemostimportantleprosycentersofthecontinentandresearchersinto the sanitary conditions of those same centers, had consented to visit thispicturesque,melancholy little town.We supposed theywould fully appreciateourrespectforthetown,butwedidn’treallyknow.Soonthewholefamilywasgathered around the article and all other items in the paper becameobjects ofOlympian contempt. And so, like this, basking in their admiration, we saidgoodbyetothosepeopleweremembernothingabout,noteventheirnames.

Wehadaskedpermissiontoleavethebikeinthegarageofamanwholivedontheoutskirtsoftownandwemadeourwaythere,nolongerapairofmoreorlesslikablevagrantswithabikeintow;no,wewerenow“TheExperts,”andwewere treated accordingly.We spent thewhole day fixing and conditioning thebike while every now and then a dark-skinned maid would arrive with littlesnacks.Atfiveo’clock,afteradeliciousafternoonteapreparedbyourhost,wesaidgoodbyetoTemucoandheadednorth.

*EasterIsland.

LASDIFFICULTADESAUMENTAN

thedifficultiesintensify

OurdeparturefromTemucowentasnormaluntil,ontheroadoutof town,wenoticed theback tirewaspuncturedandwehad to stopand fix it.Weworkedenergeticallybutnosoonerhadweputthespareonwesawitwaslosingair;ittoowaspunctured.Itseemedwewouldhavetospendthenightoutintheopenastherewasnoquestionofrepairingitatthattimeofnight.Butweweren’tjustanybodynow,wewereTheExperts;wesoonfoundarailroadworkerwhotookustohishousewhereweweretreatedlikekings.

Earlynextmorningwetooktheinnertubesandtiretothegaragetoremovesome bits ofmetal that had become embedded in them, and to patch the tireagain. It was close to nightfall when we left, but not before accepting aninvitationtoatypicalChileanmeal:tripeandanothersimilardish,allveryspicy,washeddownwithadeliciousroughwine.Asusual,Chileanhospitalitywipedusout.

Of coursewedidn’t getmuch further, and less than80kilometers onwestoppedtosleepinthehouseofaparkrangerwhowashopingforatip.Becauseitneverarrivedherefusedusbreakfast thefollowingday,sowesetoff inbadhumorintendingtolightasmallfireandmakesomemateassoonaswe’ddoneafewkilometers.We’dgonealittlewayandIwaslookingoutforagoodplaceto stop when, with no warning at all, the bike took a sharp twist sidewayssendingusflyingtotheground.AlbertoandI,unharmed,examinedthebike—finding one of the steering columns broken and, most seriously, the gearboxsmashed.Itwasimpossibletogoon.Theonlythingtodowaswaitpatientlyfor

anaccommodatingtrucktotakeusasfarasthenexttown.Acargoing in theoppositedirectionstoppedand itsoccupantsgotout to

see what had happened and offer their services. They told us they would doeverythingpossibletohelp,withwhatevertwoscientistslikeourselvesneeded.

“Doyouknow,Irecognizedyoustraightawayfromthephotointhepaper,”oneofthemsaid.

Butwehadnothingtoaskofthem,exceptforatruckgoingtheotherway.We thanked them and settled down for the usualmate when the owner of anearbyshackcameoverandinvitedusintohishome.Wedownedacoupleoflitersinhiskitchen.Therewemetwithhischarango,amusicalinstrumentmadewiththreeorfourwiressometwometersinlengthstretchedtightlyacrosstwoempty tins fixed toaboard.Themusicianusesakindofmetalknuckle-dusterwithwhichheplucksthewiresproducingasoundlikeatoyguitar.Around12avancamealongwhosedriver,aftermuchpleading,agreedtotakeustothenexttown,Lautaro.

Wefoundaspaceinthebestgarageintheareaandsomeonewhowouldbeabletodothesoldering,ashortandfriendlyboycalledLunawhoonceortwicetookushomeforlunch.Wedividedourtimebetweenworkingonthebikeandscrounging something to eat in the homes of themany curiosity seekers whocametoseeusatthegarage.NextdoorwasaGermanfamily,oroneofGermanorigin,whotreatedushandsomely.Wesleptinthelocalbarracks.

Thebikewasmoreorlessfixedandwehaddecidedtoleavethefollowingday, sowe thoughtwe’d throw caution to thewindwith some new palswhoinvited us for a few drinks. Chilean wine is great and I was drinking itunbelievably quickly, somuch so that by the time wewent on to the villagedanceIfeltreadytotakeontheworld.Theeveningprogressedpleasantlyaswekeptfillingourbelliesandourheadswithwine.Oneoftheparticularlyfriendlymechanicsfromthegarageaskedmetodancewithhiswifebecausehe’dbeenmixinghisdrinksandwasnotfeelingverywell.Hiswifewashotandclearlyinthemoodand,fullofChileanwine,Itookherbythehandandtriedtosteerheroutside.Shefollowedmemeeklybutthennoticedherhusbandwatchingusandtoldmeshewouldstaybehind.Iwasinnostatetolistentoreasonandwebegantoargueinthemiddleofthedancefloor.Istartedpullinghertowardoneofthedoors,while everybodywaswatching, and then she tried tokickme, and as Iwaspullinghershelostherbalanceandfellcrashingtothefloor.

Runningback toward thevillage,pursuedbya furiousswarmofdancers,Albertoloudlymournedthelossofthewineherhusbandmighthaveboughtus.

LAPODEROSAIITERMINASUGIRA

lapoderosaII’sfinaltour

Weroseearlytoput thefinishingtouchesonthebikeandtofleewhatwasnolongeraveryhospitableplaceforus,butonlyafteracceptingafinalinvitationtolunchfromthefamilywholivednexttothegarage.

Duetoapremonition,Albertodidn’twanttodrive,soIsatupfrontthoughweonlydidafewkilometersbeforestoppingtofixthefailinggearbox.Alittlefurtheron,asweroundedatightcurveatagoodspeed,thescrewcameoffthebackbrake,acow’sheadappearedaroundthebend, thenmany,manymoreofthem, and I threw on the hand brakewhich, soldered ineptly, also broke. ForsomemomentsIsawnothingmorethantheblurredshapeofcattleflyingpastuson each side,while poor Poderosa gathered speed down the steep hill. By anabsolutemiraclewemanaged to graze only the legof the last cow, but in thedistanceariverwasscreamingtowarduswithterrifyingefficacy.Iveeredontothesideoftheroadandintheblinkofaneyethebikemountedthetwo-meterbank,embeddingusbetweentworocks,butwewereunhurt.

Everaidedbytheletterofrecommendationfromthe“press,”wewereputupbysomeGermanswhotreatedusverywell.DuringthenightIhadabadcaseof the runsand,beingashamed to leaveasouvenir in thepotundermybed, Iclimbedoutontothewindowledgeandgaveupallofmypaintothenightandblacknessbeyond.ThenextmorningIlookedouttoseetheeffectandsawthattwo meters below lay a big sheet of tin where they were sun-drying theirpeaches;theaddedspectaclewasimpressive.Webeatitfast.

Although at first glance the accident seemed to be of little importance, itquickly became clear we had underestimated the damage. The bike actedstrangelyeverytimeithadtoclimbuphill.OntheascenttoMalleco,wherethereisarailroadbridgeconsideredbyChileanstobethehighestintheAmericas,thebikepackeditinandwewastedthewholedaywaitingforsomecharitablesoul(embodiedintheshapeofatruck)totakeustothetop.Wesleptinthetownof

Cullipulli, after gaining the hoped-for lift, and left early, fearing impendingcatastrophe.Onthefirststeephill,oneofmanyonthatroad,LaPoderosafinallygaveuptheghost.AtrucktookustoLosÁngeleswhereweleftherinthefirestation and slept at the house of a Chilean army lieutenant who seemed verythankfulforthewayhe’dbeentreatedinourcountryArgentinaandcouldn’tdoenough to please us. It was our last day as “motorized bums”; the next stageseemedsettobemoredifficult,as“bumswithoutwheels.”

BOMBEROSVOLUNTARIOS,HOMBRESDETRABAJOYOTRASYERBAS

firefighters,workersandothermatters

AsfarasIknowtherearenonon-volunteerfirebrigadesinChile,butevensoit’saverygoodservicebecausecaptainingabrigadeisasought-afterhonorforthemostablemeninthetownsordistrictswheretheyoperate.Anddon’tthinkit’s only a job in theory: in the south of the country at least, fires occurwithastonishing frequency. I’m not sure what the major contributing factor is,whether it’sbecausemostbuildingsareconstructedwithwood,orbecause theculturallevelofthepeopleisquitelowandtheydonothavemucheducation,orsomeotherfactor,orallofthemputtogether.What’scertainisthatinthethreedayswe stayed at the fire station therewere two big fires and one small one(thoughI’mnotsuggestingthiswasaverage,juststatingthefacts.)

I’ve forgotten to explain that after spending the night at the lieutenant’shouse, we decided to move to the fire station, lured by the charms of thecaretaker’sthreedaughters,exponentsofthegraceofChileanwomenwho,uglyor beautiful, have a certain spontaneity and freshness that captivatesimmediately.ButI’mdriftingfrommypoint…Theygaveusaroomwhereweset up our camp beds and fell into themwith our habitual sleep of the dead,

meaningwedidn’thearthesirens.Thevolunteersondutyhadnoideawewerethereandrushedoffwiththeirfireengineswhilewesleptonuntilmid-morning,when we learned what had happened. We extracted promises from them toincludeusinthepartyforthenextfire.Wehadfoundatruckthatintwodayswould take us and the bike to Santiago for a low price, on condition thatwehelpedthemwiththeloadoffurnituretheyweremoving.

Wemadeaverypopularpair,withourabundantsupplyofconversationforthevolunteersandthecaretaker’sdaughters,andthedaysinLosÁngelesflewby. In my eyes, constantly ordering and pencilling in the past, the symbolicrepresentationofthetownwillalwaysbethefuriousflamesofafire.Itwasthelastdayofourstayandafternumeroustoastsexpressingthebeautifulsentimentsofourgoodbyes,wehadcurledupinourblanketsandgonetosleep.Themuch-awaitedsirentorethroughthenight,callingandwakingthevolunteersonduty,tearingalso throughAlberto’sbedfromwhichhesprangfar tooquickly.Soonwehadtakenourpositionswiththenecessarygravityinthefireengine“Chile-España,”* which left the station at a breakneck speed, the long whine of itsalarmalarmingnobody,heardtoooftentoconstitutemuchofanovelty.

Aseachsurgeofwaterfellontoitsflamingskeleton,thewood-and-adobehouseshook.Theacridsmokeoftheburntwoodstoodfirmagainst thestoicalwork of the firefighters who, between fits of laughter, protected neighboringhouseswithjetsofwaterorbyothermeans.Theflameshadn’treachedasmallpartofthehouseandfromtherecamethewhimperofacatwho,terrorizedbythefire,justmeowedandmeowedandrefusedtoescapethroughthesmallspaceleft.Albertosawthedanger,andmeasuringitwithonequicklook,leaptagilelyoverthe20centimetersofflame,savingthelittleendangeredlifeforitsowners.Receiving effusive congratulations for his unrivalled heroism, his eyes shonewithpleasurefrombeneaththehugehelmethehadborrowed.

Buteverythingcomestoanend,andLosÁngelesgaveusitsfinalgoodbye.LittleCheandBigChe(AlbertoandI)solemnlyshookthelastfriendlyhandsasthetruckbeganitsjourneytoSantiago,carryingonitspowerfulbackthecorpseofLaPoderosaII.

On a Sunday we arrived in Santiago and as our first measure we wentdirectly to theAustingarage.Wehada letterof introduction to theownerbutwere unhappily surprised to find that it was closed. In the end we got thecaretaker to accept the bike, andwent off to pay for part of the tripwith thesweatofourbrows.

Our job as removalists had different stages: the first, particularlyinteresting, consisted of consuming two kilos of grapes each in record time,assisted by the absence of the house owners; the second, their arrival and the

heavyworkwhichfollowed;thethird,Alberto’sdiscoverythatthetruckdriver’scolleaguehadanoveractiveego,especiallywithregardtohisbody—thepoorguywonallthebetswemadewithhimbycarryingmorefurniturethanbothusandtheownercombined(thelatterplayedthefoolwithbarbaricease).

We’d managed to track down our consul who finally turned up at whatservedasanoffice,stone-faced(fairenoughconsideringitwasaSunday),andhe let us sleep on the patio. After a caustic diatribe regarding our duties ascitizens,etc.,he toppedoffhisgenerositybyofferingus200pesoswhichwe,taking righteous offense, refused. If he’d offered it three months later, itwould’vebeenadifferentstory.Whatasave!

SantiagohasmoreorlessthesamefeelasCórdoba.Thoughitsdailypaceismuchfasteranditstrafficconsiderablyheavier,itsbuildings,thenatureofitsstreets, its weather and even the faces of its people, reminded us of our ownMediterraneancity.Wecouldn’tgettoknowthecitywellbecausewewerethereonlyafewdaysandwerepressedfortimewiththemanythingswehadtosortoutbeforeembarkingonceagain.

The Peruvian consul refused to issue us visas without a letter from hisArgentinecounterpart,whichthelatterrefusedtogive,sayingthebikeprobablywouldn’t get us there andwe’d end up asking the embassy for help (the littleangelwasignorantofthefactthatthebikewasalreadyfinished),buthefinallyrelentedandtheygaveusthevisasforPeru,atafeeof400Chileanpesos,alotof cash for us. In those days the Suquía water polo team from Córdoba wasvisiting Santiago.Many of the guyswere friends of ours, sowe paid them acourtesycallwhiletheywereplayingamatchandgotourselvesinvitedtooneofthose Chilean-style meals that go something like: “have some ham, try somecheese,drinka littlemorewine,”andthatyoustandupfrom—ifyoucan—strainingallthethoraxmusclesinyourbody.ThefollowingdayweclimbedupSantaLucía,arockyformationin thecenterof thecitywith itsownparticularhistory,andwerepeacefullyperformingthetaskofphotographingthecitywhenaconvoyofSuquíamembersarrived, ledbysomegood lookers from thehostclub.Thepoorguyswereembarrassedenough—unsureofwhethertointroduceus to these“distinguished ladiesofChileansociety,”as in theend theydid,orplaydumbandpretendnot toknowus (rememberourunorthodoxattire).Buttheymanagedthetightspotasskilfullyaspossibleandwereveryfriendly—asfriendly as people could be fromworlds as different as theirs andours at thatparticularmomentinourlives.

The big day arrived at last and two tears ploughed symbolically downAlberto’s cheeks. With one last goodbye to La Poderosa, left behind in thegarage, we began our journey to Valparaíso. We set off along a magnificent

mountain road, themostbeautifulcivilizationcouldoffercompared to the realnatural wonders (undamaged by human hands, that is), in a truck bearing theheavyweightofusfreeloaders.

*AlmostallChileanfirebrigadeshaveasistercityorcountry,inthiscase,Spain.

LASONRISADELAGIOCONDA

lagioconda’ssmile

We had come to a new phase in our adventure.Wewere used to calling idleattention to ourselves with our strange dress and the prosaic figure of LaPoderosa II,whoseasthmaticwheezingarousedpity inourhosts.Toa certainextent we had been knights of the road; we belonged to that long-standing“wandering aristocracy” and had calling cards with our impeccable andimpressivetitles.Nolonger.Nowwewerejusttwohitchhikerswithbackpacks,andwithallthegrimeoftheroadstucktoouroveralls,shadowsofourformeraristocraticselves.

Thetruckdriverhadleftusattheupperedgeofthecity,atitsentrance,andwith weary steps we dragged our packs down the streets, followed by theamusedor indifferentglancesofonlookers. In thedistance theharbor radiatedwiththetemptingglimmerof itsboats,while thesea,blackandinviting,criedout to us — its gray smell dilating our nostrils. We bought bread— whichseemed so expensive at the time though it became cheaper as we venturedfurther north — and kept walking downhill. Alberto wore his exhaustionobviously, andalthough I triednot to show it Iwas just as tired.Sowhenwefounda truck stopweassaulted theattendantwithour tragic faces, relating infloriddetailthehardshipswehadsufferedonthelonghardroadfromSantiago.Heletussleeponsomewoodenplanks,inthecompanyofsomeparasiteswhose

nameendsinhominis,butatleastwehadaroofoverourheads.We set about sleepingwith determination.News of our arrival, however,

reached theearsofa fellow-countryman installed inacheaprestaurantnext tothe trailerpark,andhewanted tomeetus.Tomeet inChilesignifiesacertainhospitality and neither of uswas in a position to turn down thismanna fromheaven.Our compatriot proved tobeprofoundly imbuedwith the spirit of thesisterlandandconsequentlywasfantasticallydrunk.ItwasalongtimesinceI’deatenfish,andthewinewassodelicious,andourhostsoattentive…Anyway,weatewellandheinvitedustohishousethefollowingday.

LaGiocondathrewopenitsdoorsearlyandwebrewedourmate,chattingwith theownerwhowasvery interested inour journey.After that,wewent toexplorethecity.Valparaísoisverypicturesque,builttotheedgeofthebeachandoverlookingalargebay.Asitgrewitclamberedupthehillsthatsweepdowntotheirdeathsinthesea.Themadhousemuseumbeautyofitsstrangecorrugated-ironarchitecture,arrangedonaseriesoftierslinkedbywindingflightsofstairsand funiculars, is heightened by the contrast of diversely colored housesblendingwiththeleadenblueofthebay.Asifpatientlydissecting,wepryintodirty stairwaysanddark recesses, talking to theswarmsofbeggars;weplumbthe city’s depths, the miasmas draw us in. Our distended nostrils inhale thepovertywithsadisticintensity.

Wevisitedtheshipsdownat thedocks tosee ifanyweregoingtoEasterIslandbut thenewswasdisheartening: itwouldbesixmonthsbeforeanyboatwasgoingthere.Wecollectedsomevaguedetailsaboutflights that leftonceamonth.

Easter Island! The imagination stops in its ascending flight to turnsomersaults at the very thought: “Over there, having awhite ‘boyfriend’ is anhonor”;“Work?Ha! thewomendoeverything—you justeat, sleepandkeepthemcontent.”Thismarvellousplacewhere theweather isperfect, thewomenareperfect,thefoodperfect,theworkperfect(initsbeatificnonexistence).Whatdoes itmatter ifwestay thereayear;whocaresaboutstudying,work, family,etc.Inashopwindowagiantcrayfishwinksatus,andfromhisbedoflettucehiswholebody tellsus,“I’mfromEaster Island,where theweather isperfect,thewomenareperfect…”

In the doorway of La Gioconda we were waiting patiently for ourcompatriottoshowup,whogavenosignofappearing,whentheownerinvitedusinoutofthesunandtreatedustooneofhismagnificentlunchesoffriedfishandwaterysoup.WeneverheardfromtheArgentineagainthroughoutourstayinValparaíso,butwebecamegreatfriendswiththeownerofthebar.Hewasastrange sort of guy, indolent and enormously generous to all the riff raffwho

turnedup, thoughhemadenormalcustomerspaycolossalpricesfor thepaltrycuisinehesoldinhisplace.Wedidn’tpayacentthewholetimewewerethereandhelavishedhospitalityonus.“Todayit’syourturn,tomorrowit’llbemine”washisfavoritesaying;notveryoriginalbutveryeffective.

WetriedtocontactthedoctorsfromPetrohué,butbeingbackatworkwithnotimetospare,theyneveragreedtomeetusformally.Atleastweknewmoreor less where they were. In the afternoon we went our separate ways: whileAlberto followed up the doctors, I went to see an oldwomanwith asthma, acustomer at LaGioconda. The poor thingwas in a pitiful state, breathing theacridsmellofconcentratedsweatanddirtyfeetthatfilledherroom,mixedwiththedustfromacoupleofarmchairs,theonlyluxuryitemsinherhouse.Ontopofherasthma,shehadaheartcondition.Itisattimeslikethis,whenadoctorisconsciousofhiscompletepowerlessness,thathelongsforchange:achangetoprevent the injusticeof a system inwhichonlyamonthago thispoorwomanwasstill earningher livingasawaitress,wheezingandpantingbut facing lifewithdignity. Incircumstances like this, individuals inpoor familieswhocan’tpay their way become surrounded by an atmosphere of barely disguisedacrimony;theystopbeingfather,mother,sisterorbrotherandbecomeapurelynegativefactor in thestrugglefor lifeand,consequently,asourceofbitternessforthehealthymembersofthecommunitywhoresenttheirillnessasifitwereapersonal insult to those who have to support them. It is there, in the finalmoments,forpeoplewhosefarthesthorizonhasalwaysbeentomorrow,thatonecomprehendstheprofoundtragedycircumscribingthelifeoftheproletariattheworldover.Inthosedyingeyesthereisasubmissiveappealforforgivenessandalso,often,adesperatepleaforconsolationwhichislosttothevoid,justastheirbodywill soon be lost in themagnitude of themystery surrounding us. Howlongthispresentorder,basedonanabsurdideaofcaste,will lastisnotwithinmy means to answer, but it’s time that those who govern spent less timepublicizing their own virtues and more money, much more money, fundingsociallyusefulworks.

There isn’t much I can do for the sick woman. I simply advise her toimproveher diet andprescribe a diuretic and some asthmapills. I have a fewDramaminetabletsleftandIgivethemtoher.WhenIleave,Iamfollowedbythefawningwordsoftheoldwomanandthefamily’sindifferentgaze.

Albertohad trackeddown thedoctors.Atnine the followingmorningwehadtobeatthehospital.Meanwhile,inLaGioconda’sfilthyroomwhichservesaskitchen,restaurant,laundry,diningroomandpiss-houseforcatsanddogs,amiscellaneouscollectionofpeopleweremeeting:theowner,withhisbasiclifephilosophy;DoñaCarolina,adeafandhelpfulolddearwholeftourmatekettle

as good as new; a drunk, feeble-minded Mapuche* man who looked like acriminal; twomore or less normal customers; and the queen of the gatheringDoñaRosita,whowasquitecrazy.TheconversationfocusedonamacabreeventRositahadwitnessed; itappearedshealonehadseenamanwitha largeknifestabbingherpoorneighbor.

“Wasyourneighborscreaming,DoñaRosita?”“Ofcourseshewasscreaming,whowouldn’t!Hewasskinningheralive!

That’snotall.Afterwards,he tookherdownto theseaanddraggedher to thewater’sedgeso the seawould takeheraway.Oh, tohear thatwomanscream,señor,scaredthelivingdaylightoutofme,youshouldhaveseenit!”

“Whydidn’tyoutellthepolice,Rosita?”“Oh,whatfor?Don’tyourememberwhenyourcousinwasbeatup?Well,I

went to report it and they toldme Iwas crazy, that if I didn’t stop inventingthingsthey’dlockmeup,imaginethat.No,Iwouldn’ttellthatlotanything!”

The conversation turned to the “messenger fromGod,” a localmanwhousesthepowersGodhasgivenhimtocuredeafness,dumbness,paralysis,etc.,passing the collection plate around afterwards. The business seems no worsethan any other, and though the pamphlets are extraordinary, so is people’sgullibility. But that’s how it is, and they continued tomake fun of the thingsDoñaRositasawwithalltheconvictionintheworld.

The reception from the doctors wasn’t over-friendly, but we gained ourobjective: theygaveusan introduction toMolinasLuco,mayorofValparaíso.Wetookourleavewithalltherequiredformalityandwenttothetownhall.Ourdazedandexhaustedexpressionsdidn’timpactfavorablyonthemanatthedesk,buthe’dreceivedorderstoletusin.

The secretary showed us a copy of a letter written in response to ours,explaining thatourprojectwas impossible since theonly ship toEaster Islandhadleftandthattherewouldn’tbeanothershipleavingwithintheyear.Wewereushered into the sumptuous office of Dr. Molinas Luco, who received usamicably. He gave the impression, however, of acting out a scene in a play,takinga lotof care topronounceeachwordperfectly.Hebecameenthusiasticonlywhen talkingaboutEaster Island,whichhehadwrestedfromtheEnglishbyprovingitbelongedtoChile.Herecommendedwekeepupwitheventsandsaidhewouldtakeusthefollowingyear.“Imaynotbeinthisoffice,butIamstillpresidentoftheFriendsofEasterIslandSociety,”hesaid,atacitconfessionofGonzálezVidela’simpendingelectoraldefeat.Asweleft,themanatthedesktoldustotakeourdogwithus,andtoouramazementshowedusapuppythathaddone itsbusinesson the lobbycarpetandwasgnawingatachair leg.Thedog had probably followed us, attracted by our hobo appearance, and the

doormanimagineditwasjustanotheraccessoryofoureccentricattire.Anyway,thepooranimal,robbedofthebondlinkinghimtous,gotagoodkickuptheassandwas thrownouthowling.Still, itwasalwaysconsoling toknowthatsomelivingthing’swell-beingdependedonourprotection.

BythistimeweweredeterminedthattravelingbyseawecouldavoidthedesertinnorthernChile,andwefronteduptotheshippingcompaniesrequestingfreepassagetoanyofthenorthernports.Thecaptainatoneofthempromisedtotakeusifwecouldarrangepermissionfromthemaritimeauthoritiestoworkforourpassage.Thereply,ofcourse,wasnegativeandwefoundourselvesbackatsquare one. In that split second, Albertomade a heroic decision, which wentsomethinglike this:wewouldsneakonto theboatandhideawayin thehold.Forourbest chancewewouldhave towait until nightfall, try topersuade thesailorondutyandseewhatwouldhappen.Wecollectedourthings,evidentlyfartoomanyforthisparticularplan.Withgreatregretwefarewelledallourfriendsandafterwardscrossedthroughthemaingatesoftheport;burningourbridges,wesetoffonourmaritimeadventure.

*MapuchesareanindigenouspeopleofChile.

POLIZONES

stowaways

Wepassedthroughcustomswithoutanydifficultiesandbravelyheadedtowardour target. The chosen boat, the San Antonio, was at the center of the port’sfeverish activity. Because of its small size it didn’t have to come right upalongside for the cranes to reach it and there was a gap of several metersbetween it and the docks.Wehad no choice but towait until the boatmovedcloserbeforeboarding,andso,philosophically,wesatdownonourbagstowait

for the propitious moment. With the midnight change of shift the boat wasbroughtalongside,buttheharbormaster,anastycharacterwhosefacedisclosedhis ill temper, stood squarely on the gangplank checking the arriving anddepartingworkers.The cranedriver,who in themeantimewehadbefriended,advisedustowaitforabettermomentbecause,hesaid,themasterwasahostilebastard. So we began a long wait which lasted the whole night, warmingourselvesinthecrane,anancientcontraptionthatranonsteam.Thesunrosetoseeusstillwaitingonthedockwithourbags.Ourhopesofboardingbystealthhad almost completely dissipated when the captain turned up with a new,restoredgangplank,andwithit theSanAntoniowasnowinpermanentcontactwithdry land.Well-instructedby the cranedriver,we slippedonboard easily,makingourselvesathome,andlockedourselvesandourbagsinthebathroomoftheofficers’ quarters.From thenon, allwehad to dowas say in a nasal littlevoice “excuseme, can’t come in” or “it’s occupied,” on the half dozen or sotimessomeonetriedtoopenthedoor.

Twelvep.m.camefastandtheboatsailed,butourjoywasfastdisappearingbecause the toilet, apparently blocked for some time, gave off an insufferablesmelland theheatwas intense.By1p.m.,Albertohadvomitedupeverythingthathadbeeninhisstomach,andby5p.m.,dyingofhungerandwiththecoastlongoutofsight,wepresentedourselves to thecaptainasstowaways.Hewassurprisedtoseeusagainandintheseparticularcircumstances,buttoconcealhissurpriseinfrontoftheotherofficers,hewinkedatusflamboyantlywhileaskinginathunderingvoice:“Doyoutwoseriouslybelievethattogotravelingtheonlything you have to do is hide away in the first boat you find? Have you notthoughtthroughtheconsequencesofdoingexactlythat?”

Thetruthiswehadn’tthoughtthroughathing.Hecalled thestewardandchargedhim togiveusworkandsomething to

eat.Wedevouredourrationscontentedly,butwhenIlearnedthatIwouldhaveto clean the famous toilet, the food caught in my throat. As I went below,swearingbehindclosedlipsandfollowedbyAlberto’samusedglance,whowasassigned to peel potatoes, I confess I felt tempted to forget everything everwrittenabout the rulesof friendshipand requestachangeof jobs.There isnojustice!HeaddsagoodportiontotheaccumulatedfilthandIcleanitup!

After conscientiously completing our work, the captain summoned usagain.Herecommendedthatwesaynothingaboutourpreviousmeetingandthathewouldensurenothinghappenedwhenwearrived inAntofagasta, the ship’sdestination.He let us sleep in the cabin of an officer on leave, and that nightinvitedustoplaycanastaandhaveadrinkortwo.Afterarejuvenatingsleepwegot up, participating with full consent in the phrase, “New brooms sweep

cleanly.”Wesettoworkwithgreatdiligence,determinedtoearnthepriceofourpassage,withinterest.Bymidday,however,wefeltwewereoverdoingitandbythe afternoon we became firmly convinced we were the purest pair of bumsaround.Wethoughtweshouldgetagoodsleep,readyforworkthenextday,nottomentionwashing our dirty clothes, but the captain again invited us to playcardsandthatkilledourgoodintentions.

It took the steward, sufficientlyunfriendly,approximatelyonehour togetusuptobeginworking.Myjobwastocleanthedeckswithkerosene,a taskIworkedatalldayandstilldidn’tfinish.Alberto’sstring-pullingfoundhimbackin the kitchen, eating better food andmore of it, not being too discriminatingaboutwhathewaspouringintohisstomach.

Atnight,aftertheexhaustinggamesofcanasta,wewouldlookoutovertheimmensesea,fullofwhite-fleckedandgreenreflections, the twoofus leaningsidebysideontherailing,eachofusfaraway,flyinginhisownaircrafttothestratosphericregionsofhisowndreams.Thereweunderstoodthatourvocation,ourtruevocation,wastomoveforeternityalongtheroadsandseasoftheworld.Alwayscurious,lookingintoeverythingthatcamebeforeoureyes,sniffingouteachcornerbutonlyeverfaintly—notsettingdownrootsinanylandorstayinglongenoughtosee thesubstratumof things; theouter limitswouldsuffice.Asallthesentimentalthemestheseainspirespassedthroughourconversation,thelightsofAntofagastabegantoshineinthedistance,tothenortheast.Itwastheendofouradventureasstowaways,oratleasttheendofthisadventurenowthatourboatwasreturningtoValparaíso.

ESTAVEZ,FRACASO

thistime,disaster

Icanseehimnowclearly,thedrunkcaptain,likeallhisofficersandtheownerof the vessel alongside with his great big mustache, their crude gestures the

resultsofbadwine.Andthewildlaughterastheyrecountedourodyssey.“Heylisten, they’re tigers, they’re on your boat now for sure, you’ll find outwhenyou’reouttosea.”Thecaptainmusthaveletsliptohisfriendandcolleaguethisorsomesimilarphrase.

We didn’t, of course, know any of this; an hour before sailing we werecomfortably installed, totally buried in tons of perfumed melons, stuffingourselvessilly.Weweretalkingaboutthesailors,whowerethebest,sincewiththe complicity of one of them we had been able to get on board and hideourselvesawayinsuchasecurespot.Andthenweheardan iratevoice,andaseeminglyenormousmustacheemergedfromwhoknowswhereandplungedusinto an appalling confusion.A long lineofmelon skins, perfectly peeled,wasfloating away Indian file on the tranquil sea. The rest was ignominious. Thesailor toldusafterwards,“I’dhavegothimoff thescent,boys,buthesawthemelonsanditseemshewentintoa“battendownthehatches,don’tletanyoneescape” routine. And well,” (he was fairly embarrassed) “you shouldn’t haveeatensomanymelons!”

One of our traveling companions from the San Antonio summed up hisbrilliant lifephilosophywithonefinephrase:“Stoparsingaboutyouassholes.Whydon’tyougetoffyourassesandgobacktoyourassholecountry.”Sothat’smoreorlesswhatwedid;wepickedupourbagsandsetoffforChuquicamata,thefamouscoppermine.

Butnotstraightaway.Therewasapauseofonedaywhilewewaitedforpermission from themine’s authorities to visit andmeanwhilewe received anappropriatesend-offfromtheenthusiasticBacchanaliansailors.

Lyingbeneaththemeagershadeoftwolamppostsonthearidroadleadingto themines,wespentagoodpartof thedayyellingthingsateachothernowandagainfromoneposttoanother,untilonthehorizonappearedtheasthmaticoutlineofthelittletruckwhichtookushalfway,toatowncalledBaquedano.

Therewemadefriendswithamarriedcouple,Chileanworkerswhowerecommunists.*By the light of the single candle illuminating us, drinkingmateand eating a piece of bread and cheese, the man’s shrunken figure carried amysterious,tragicair.Inhissimple,expressivelanguageherecountedhisthreemonths in prison, and told us about his starvingwifewho stood by himwithexemplaryloyalty,hischildrenleftinthecareofakindlyneighbor,hisfruitlesspilgrimageinsearchofworkandhiscompañeros,mysteriouslydisappearedandsaidtobesomewhereatthebottomofthesea.

Thecouple,numbwithcold,huddlingagainsteachotherinthedesertnight,werealivingrepresentationoftheproletariatinanypartoftheworld.Theyhadnotonesinglemiserableblankettocoverthemselveswith,sowegavethemone

ofoursandAlbertoandIwrappedtheotheraroundusasbestwecould.Itwasoneofthecoldesttimesinmylife,butalsoonewhichmademefeelalittlemorebrotherlytowardthisstrange,formeatleast,humanspecies.

At eight the next morning we found a truck to take us to the town ofChuquicamata.Weseparatedfromthecouplewhowereheadingforthesulphurminesinthemountainswheretheclimateissobadandthelivingconditionssohardthatyoudon’tneedaworkpermitandnobodyasksyouwhatyourpoliticsare.Theonlythingthatmattersistheenthusiasmwithwhichtheworkerssettoruiningtheirhealth insearchofafewmeagercrumbsthatbarelyprovidetheirsubsistence.

Althoughtheblurredsilhouetteofthecouplewasnearlylostinthedistanceseparating us,we could still see theman’s singularly determined face andwerememberedhisstraightforwardinvitation:“Come,comrades,let’seattogether.I, too, ama tramp,” showinghisunderlyingdisdain for theparasiticnaturehesawinouraimlesstraveling.

It’s a great pity that they repress people like this. Apart from whethercollectivism,the“communistvermin,”isadangertodecentlife,thecommunismgnawingathisentrailswasnomorethananaturallongingforsomethingbetter,a protest against persistent hunger transformed into a love for this strangedoctrine,whoseessencehecouldnevergraspbutwhosetranslation,“breadforthepoor,”wassomethingwhichheunderstoodand,moreimportantly,filledhimwithhope.

Oncethere, thebosses, theblond,efficientandarrogantmanagers, toldusinprimitiveSpanish: “This isn’t a tourist town. I’ll findaguide togiveyouahalf-hourtouraroundthemine’sinstallationsandthendousafavorandleaveusalone, we have a lot of work to do.” A strike was imminent. Yet the guide,faithfuldogoftheYankeebosses,toldus:“Imbecilicgringos,losingthousandsof pesos every day in a strike so as not to give a poor worker a few morecentavos.WhenmyGeneralIbáñezcomestopowerthat’llallbeover.”*Andaforeman-poet:“Thesearethefamousterracesthatenableeveryinchofcoppertobemined.Manypeoplelikeyouaskmetechnicalquestionsbutitisraretheyaskhow many lives it has cost. I can’t answer you, doctors, but thank you forasking.”

Coldefficiencyandimpotentresentmentgohandinhandinthebigmine,linkedinspiteofthehatredbythecommonnecessitytolive,ontheonehand,and tospeculateon theother…wewill seewhetheroneday, someminerwilltakeuphispick inpleasureandgoandpoisonhis lungswithaconscious joy.Theysaythat’swhatit’slikeoverthere,wheretheredblazethatnowlightsuptheworldcomesfrom.Sotheysay.Idon’tknow.

*TheChileanCommunistPartywasbannedandmanymemberspersecutedundertheso-calledLawfortheDefenseofDemocracy(1948–58).

*CarlosIbáñezdelCampowasChileanPresidentfrom1952to1958.Hewasapopulist,whopromisedtolegalizetheCommunistPartyifelected.

CHUQUICAMATA

chuquicamata

Chuquicamata is like a scene from amodern drama. You cannot say that it’slackinginbeauty,butitisabeautywithoutgrace,imposingandglacial.Asyoucomeclose toanypartof themine, thewhole landscapeseemstoconcentrate,givingafeelingofsuffocationacross theplain.There isamomentwhen,after200kilometers, thelightlyshadedgreenof thelittle townofCalamainterruptsthemonotonousgrayandisgreetedwiththejoywhichanauthenticoasisinthedesert richly deserves. And what a desert! The weather observatory atMoctezuma, near “Chuqui,” describes it as the driest in the world. Themountains,where not a single blade of grass can grow in the nitrate soil, aredefenseless against attacks of wind and water. They display their gray spine,prematurelyagedinthebattlewiththeelements,andtheirwrinklesthatdonotcorrespond to their true geological age. And how many of those mountainssurroundingtheirfamousbrotherencloseintheirheavyentrailssimilarriches,astheywaitforthesoullessarmsofthemechanicalshovelstodevourtheirinsides,spicedastheywouldbewiththeinevitablehumanlives—thelivesofthepoor,unsungheroesofthisbattle,whodiemiserablyinoneofthethousandtrapssetbynaturetodefenditstreasures,whenalltheywantistoearntheirdailybread.

Chuquicamata is essentially a great copper mountain with 20-meter-high

terracescut into itsenormoussides, fromwhere theextractedmineral iseasilytransported by rail. The unique formation of the veinmeans that extraction isentirelyopencut,allowinglarge-scaleexploitationoftheorebody,whichgradesonepercentcopperpertonofore.Everymorningthemountainisdynamitedandhugemechanicalshovels load thematerialon to railwagons that take it to thegrinder to be crushed. This crushing occurs over three consecutive passes,turningtherawmaterialintoamedium-finegravel.Itisthenputinasulphuricacidsolutionwhichextractsthecopperintheformofasulphate,alsoformingacopper chloride, which becomes ferrous chloride when it comes into contactwitholdiron.Fromtheretheliquidistakentotheso-called“greenhouse”wherethecoppersulphatesolutionisputintohugebathsandforaweeksubmittedtoacurrentof30volts,bringingabouttheelectrolysisofthesalt:thecopperstickstothe thinsheetsof thesamemetal,whichhavepreviouslybeenformedinotherbathswithstrongersolutions.Afterfiveorsixdays,thesheetsarereadyforthesmelter; the solution has lost eight to 10 grams of sulphate per liter and isenrichedwithnewquantitiesofthegroundmaterial.Thesheetsarethenplacedin furnaces that, after 12 hours smelting at 2,000 degrees centigrade, produce350-poundingots.Everynight45wagonsinconvoytakeover20tonsofcoppereachdowntoAntofagasta,theresultoftheday’swork.

This is a crude summary of themanufacturing process,which employs afloating population of 3,000 souls in Chuquicamata; but this process onlyextractsoxideore.TheChileExplorationCompanyisbuildinganotherplanttoexploitthesulphateore.Thisplant,thebiggestofitskindintheworld,hastwo96-meter-highchimneysandwill takeoveralmost all futureproduction,whiletheoldplantwillbeslowlyphasedoutsincetheoxideoreisabout torunout.Thereisalreadyanenormousstockpileofrawmaterialtofeedthenewsmelteranditwillbegintobeprocessedin1954whentheplantisopened.

Chile produces 20 percent of the world’s copper, and in these uncertaintimesofpotentialconflictcopperhasbecomevitallyimportantbecauseit isanessential component of various types of weapons of destruction. Hence, aneconomic and political battle is being waged in Chile between a coalition ofnationalist and left-wing groupings that advocate nationalizing themines, andthosewho,inthecauseoffreeenterprise,preferawell-runmine(eveninforeignhands) to possibly less efficientmanagement by the state. Serious accusationshave been made in congress against the companies currently exploiting theconcessions, symptomatic of the climate of nationalist aspiration surroundingcopperproduction.

Whatever the outcome of the battle, onewould dowell not to forget thelesson taughtby thegraveyardsof themines,containingonlya small shareof

the immense number of people devoured by cave-ins, silica and the hellishclimateofthemountain.

KILOMETRAJEÁRIDO

aridlandformilesandmiles

Nowthatwe’dlostourwaterbottle,theproblemofcrossingthedesertbyfootbecameevenworse.Still,without apprehensionwe setoff, leavingbehind thebarriermarkingthelimitsofthetownofChuquicamata.Ourpacewasincrediblyathleticwhilewithinsightofthetown’sinhabitants,butlaterthevastsolitudeofthe bare Andes, the sun that fell harshly across our necks and the badlydistributedweightofourbackpacksbroughtusbacktoreality.Untilwhatpointouractionswere“heroic,”asonepolicemanputit,we’renotsure,butwebeganto suspect, I think with good reason, that the definitive adjective wasapproximatingsomethingmorelike“stupid.”

Aftertwohours’walking,10kilometersat themost,weplantedourselvesdownintheshadeofasignsayingI’venoideawhat,theonlythingcapableofofferingustheslightestshelterfromtheraysofthesun.Andtherewestayedallday,shiftingaroundtogetthepost’sshadeinoureyesatleast.

Werapidlyconsumedtheliterofwaterwehadbroughtwithusandbylateafternoon,withgargantuan thirst,wesetoffback toward thesentrypostat thetown’slimits,totallydefeated.

We spent the night there, seeking refuge inside the little room, where abright fire maintained the pleasant temperature despite the cold outside. Thenightwatchman,withproverbialChileanhospitality, sharedhis foodwithus, apatheticfeastafterawholedayoffasting,butbetterthannothing.

Atdawnthenextdaythetruckofacigarettecompanypassedandtookuscloser to our destination; but while continuing directly on to the port ofTocopilla,wewerethinkingofheadingnorthtoIlave,soitdroppeduswheretheroadscrossed.Westartedwalkingenthusiasticallytowardahouseweknewwas

eight kilometers up the road, but only halfway there we became tired andresolvedtohavealittlenap.Wehungoneofourblanketsbetweenatelegraphpostandadistancemarkerandgotunderit—aTurkishbathforourbodiesandasunbathforourfeet.

Twoorthreehourslater,whenwe’dlostaboutthreelitersofwatereach,asmall Ford passed by containing three noble citizens, all roaring drunk andsingingcuecas*at fullblast.Theywerestrikingworkers fromtheminecalledMagdalena,celebratingthevictoryofthepeople’scausealittleprematurelybygettinghappilyplastered.Thedrunks tookusas farasa local railroadstation.Thereweencounteredagroupoflaborerspractisingforafootballmatchwitharivalteam.Albertotookapairofrunningshoesoutofhisbackpackandstartedtosoundoff.Theresultwasspectacular.WeweresignedupforthematchonthefollowingSunday;inreturn:food,boardandtransporttoIquique.

TwodayslaterSundayarrived,markedbyasplendidvictoryforourteamandabarbecueofgoatpreparedbyAlberto,astoundingtheassembledgatheringwiththeartofArgentinecooking.Thosetwodayswededicatedtovisitingsomeofthemanynitrate-purifyingplantsinthatareaofChile.

It really isn’t very difficult for mining companies to extract the mineralwealthofthispartoftheworld.There’snothingmoretodobesidesscrapingoffthetoplayercontainingthemineralandtransportingittohugebathswhereit’ssubmitted to a fairly uncomplicated separating process to extract the nitrates,saltpeter andmud.Apparently theGermanshad the first concessions but theirplantswereexpropriatedandtheyarenowlargelyBritish-owned.Workersatthetwobiggestminesintermsofbothproductionandworkforcewereatthetimeonstrikeandtheminesweresouthofwherewewereheading,sowedecidednottovisit them.Wewent instead to quite a big plant,LaVictoria,which has at itsentrance a plaque marking the place where Hector Supicci Sedes died, thebrilliantUruguayanrallydriverwhowashitbyanotherdriverashecameoutofarefuellingpitstop.

AsuccessionoftruckstookusallovertheregionuntilwefinallyreachedIquiquewarmlywrappedinblanketsofalfalfa,thecargoofthetruckthattookusthe last leg.Our arrival,with the sun rising behind us, casting our reflectionsagainst the purest blue of the morning sea, seemed like something out of AThousand and One Nights. As if it were a magic carpet the truck appeared,flutteringontheclifffacesabovetheport,andasfirstgearslowedourwindingand groaning flight downwardwe saw from our vantage point thewhole cityrisingtomeetus.

InIquiquetherewasn’tasingleboat,Argentineoranyotherkind,soitwasuseless staying in theport andwedecided to scroungea lift on the first truck

leavingforArica.

*Chileanfolksongs.

ACABACHILE

theendofchile

ThelongkilometersstretchingbetweenIquiqueandAricaclimbanddescendthewhole way.We were carried from arid tablelands to valleys with only slighttricklesofwaterrunningthroughthem,barelysufficientforafewsmall,stuntedtrees to grow at their edges. These utterly desolatepampas emit a sultry heatduring the day, though aswith all desert climates it is considerably cooler bynight.ThethoughtthatValdiviacamethroughthiswaywithhishandfulofmen,traveling50or60kilometersadaywithoutdiscoveringadropofwaterorevensome shrub to shelter from the hottest hours, leaves a strong impression.Knowledge of the terrain actually crossed by the conquistadors automaticallyelevates Valdivia’s feat to one of the most notable of Spanish colonization,withoutdoubtsuperiortothethosethatendureinthehistoryofAmericabecausemore fortunate explorers found wealthy kingdoms at the end of theiradventurouswars,turningthesweatoftheirconquestintogold.

Valdivia’sactionssymbolizeman’sindefatigablethirsttotakecontrolofaplacewhere he can exercise total authority. That phrase, attributed to Caesar,proclaiminghewouldratherbefirst-in-commandinsomehumbleAlpinevillagethan second-in-command in Rome, is repeated less pompously, but no lesseffectively,intheepiccampaignthatistheconquestofChile.If,inthemomentthe conquistador was facing death at the hands of that invincible AraucanianCaupolicán,hehadnotbeenoverwhelmedwithfury,likeahuntedanimal,Idonot doubt that judging his life, Valdivia would have felt his death was fully

justified.Hebelongedtothatspecialclassofmenthespeciesproduceseverysooften,inwhomacravingforlimitlesspowerissoextremethatanysufferingtoachieve it seemsnatural,andhehadbecome theomnipotent rulerofawarriornation.

Aricaisasweetlittleportwhichhasn’tyetlostthememoryofitspreviousowners, the Peruvians, and it forms a kind ofmeeting point between the twocountries, so different in spite of their geographical proximity and commonancestry. The promontory, pride of the town, rises 100meters in an imposingmassofsheerrockface.Thepalmtrees,theheat,thesubtropicalfruitsoldinthemarkets,alllendittheuniquephysiognomyofaCaribbeantown,orsomethinglikethat,completelydifferentfromitspeersfurthersouth.

Adoctor,whoshowedusasmuchdisrespectasanestablished,financiallysecure bourgeois can show to a couple of hobos (even hobos with titles),permitted us to sleep in the town’s hospital. Early the next day we fled theunwelcomingplace,headingstraightfortheborderwithPeru.ButfirstwebadefarewelltothePacificwithonelastswim(soapandeverything)anditservedtoawakenadormantyearninginAlberto:toeatseafood.Webeganapatientsearchforclamsandotherseafoodonthebeachbysomecliffs.Weatesomethingsaltyandslimy,butitdidn’tdistractusfromourhungerorsatisfyAlberto’scraving,in fact itwouldn’t evenhavemade aprisonerhappy.The slimewas repulsiveand,withnothingtoseasonit,worse.

Wesetoffatourusualtime,aftereatingatthepolicestation,markingoutourtrackalongthecoastuntiltheborder.Avan,however,pickedusupandwereachedtheborderpostinstalledincomfort.Wemetacustomsofficerwhohadworked on the Argentine border, and acknowledging and appreciating ourpassionformatehegaveushotwater,cookiesand,bestofall,foundusaridetoTacna. The police chief welcomed us amiably at the border with severalpretentious inanities about Argentines in Peru and with a handshake, we saidgoodbyetothathospitableChileanland.

CHILE,OJEADADELEJOS

chile,avisionfromafar

When Imade these travel notes, hot and freshwith enthusiasm, Iwrote somethingsthatwereperhapsalittleflashyandsomewhatremovedfromtheintendedspirit of scientific inquiry.And it’sprobablynot appropriatenow,more thanayear afterwriting them, togivemycurrentopinionsaboutChile; I’dprefer toreviewwhatIwrotethen.

Beginningwithourareaofexpertise,medicine:thepanoramaofhealthcareinChileleavesalottobedesired(althoughIrealizedlateritwasbyfarsuperiortothatinothercountriesIgottoknow).Free,publichospitalsareextremelyrareand even in those, posters announcing the following appear: “Why do youcomplainaboutyourtreatmentifyouarenotcontributingtothemaintenanceofthis hospital?” Generally speaking, medical attention in the north is free, buthospitalaccommodationhastobepaidfor,andpricesrangefrompettysumstovirtual monuments to legalized theft. Sick or injured workers at theChuquicamata mine receive medical attention and hospital treatment for fiveChileanescudosaday,butsomeonenotworkingattheminewouldpaybetween300and500escudos a day.Hospitals have nomoney and they lackmedicineandadequatefacilities.Wehaveseenfilthyoperatingroomswithpitifullighting,not just in small towns but even in Valparaíso. There aren’t enough surgicalinstruments. The bathrooms are dirty. Awareness of hygiene is poor. It’s aChileancustom(afterwardsIsawitacrosspracticallyallofSouthAmerica)notto throw used toilet paper in the toilet but on to the floor or in the boxesprovided.

The standardof living inChile is lower than inArgentina.On topof thevery low wages paid in the south, unemployment is high and the authoritiesaffordworkersverylittleprotection(althoughit’sbetterthanwhatisprovidedinthenorthofthecontinent).VeritablewavesofChileansaredrivenbyallthisintoemigratingtoArgentina, insearchofthelegendarycityofgoldwhichcunningpoliticalpropagandahasofferedthosewholivetothewestoftheAndes.Inthenorth,workersinthecopper,nitrate,goldandsulphurminesarebetterpaid,butlifeismuchmoreexpensive,andingeneraltheylackmanyessentialconsumeritemsandthemountainclimateiscruel.Itbringstomindthemeaningfulshrugwith which a manager at Chuquicamata answered my questions regardingcompensationpaidtothefamiliesofthe10,000ormoreworkersinterredinthelocalcemetery.

The political scene is confusing (this was written before the elections in

which Ibáñez triumphed). There are four presidential candidates, of whomCarlos Ibáñez del Campo seems most likely to win. A retired soldier withdictatorial tendencies and political ambitions similar to those of Perón, heinspireshispeoplewithalltheenthusiasmofacaudillo.HisbaseofpoweristhePopularSocialistParty,behindwhichvariousminorfactionsareunited.Secondin line, as far as I can see, is PedroEnriqueAlfonso, the official governmentcandidate, who is politically ambiguous; he seems to be friendly with theAmericansandcourtsalmostalltheotherparties.ThechampionoftherightisthetycoonArturoMatteLarraín,theson-in-lawofthelatePresidentAlessandriwhoenjoysthesupportofallthereactionarysectorsofthepopulation.Lastonthe list is thePopularFrontcandidateSalvadorAllende,*who is supportedbythe communists even though they have seen their voting power reduced by40,000,thenumberofpeopledeniedtherighttovotebecauseoftheiraffiliationtotheCommunistParty.

It’s likely that Ibáñez will observe a politics of Latin Americanism,manipulating hatred for theUnited States to gain popularity; nationalizing thecopper mines and others (although the fact that the United States owns hugePeruvian mineral deposits and is practically ready to begin exploiting themdoesn’t greatly increase my confidence that nationalization of these Chileanmines will be feasible, at least in the short term); continue nationalizing therailroadsandsubstantiallyenlargeArgentine–Chileantrade.

Chileasanationofferseconomicpromisetoanypersondisposedtoworkforit,solongastheydon’tbelongtotheproletariat:thatis,anyonewhohasacertaindoseofeducationandtechnicalknowledge.Thelandhasthecapacitytosustain enough livestock (especially sheep) and cereals to provide for itspopulation. There are the necessary mineral resources to transform it into apowerful industrialcountry: iron,copper,coal, tin,gold,silver,manganeseandnitrates. The biggest effort Chile should make is to shake its uncomfortableYankee friend from its back, a task that for themoment at least isHerculean,given the quantity of dollars theUnited States has invested and the easewithwhichitflexesitseconomicmusclewheneveritsinterestsappearthreatened.

*In1970,AllendewaselectedasChileanPresident.In1973,aU.S.-backedcoupinstalledGeneralAugustoPinochet’sdictatorship,whichlasted17years.

TARATA,ELMUNDONUEVO

tarata,thenewworld

ScarcelyafewmetersseparatedusfromtheCivilGuardpostmarkingthelimitsof the town,but alreadyourbackpacks felt a hundred timesheavier than theywere.Thesunstungusbutasalwayswewerewrappedintoomanyclothesforthehouroftheday,thoughlaterwe’dgetverycold.Theroadclimbedquicklyandinnotimewehadpassedthepyramidwe’dseenfromthevillage,built inhomage to those Peruvians who died in the war with Chile.* We decided itwouldbeagoodplacetomakeourfirststopandtestourluckwiththepassingtrucks.Allwecouldseeinthedirectionoftheroadwasabarrenhillside,withbarelyanyvegetation;placidTacna,withitslittledirtstreetsandterracottaroofs,waitedsofar in thedistance itseemedalmostdaunting.Thefirst truck topasscaused us great turmoil; we stuck our thumbs out apprehensively and to oursurprise the driver stopped just ahead of us. Alberto took command of theoperation,explaininginwordsthatbynowwereveryfamiliartomethepurposeof our journey and asking him for a lift; the driver gave an affirmative nod,indicatingweshouldclimbintheback,withawholebandofIndians.

Collecting our bags and crazywith gratitude,wewere about to climb upwhenhecalledouttous:“FivesolestoTarata,youknowthat,right?”Alberto,furious,askedwhyhe’dsaidnothingearlier,whenwe’daskedtobetakenfreeofcharge.Thedriverwasn’tsureexactlywhat“freeofcharge”meant,buttoTarataitwasfivesoles…

“And every one of them will be like that,” Alberto said angrily, in thatsimplephrasedirectingallofhisfrustrationtowardme,whohadsuggestedtheideainthefirstplaceofwalkingoutoftowntohitchalift,ratherthanwaittherelikehewantedtodo.Themomentbecamedecisive.Wecouldgoback,inwhichcasewe’d be admitting defeat, orwe could continue on foot, lettingwhateverwouldhappen,happen.Wedecidedonthesecondcourseandstartedwalking.Itsoonbecameapparentthatourchoicewasnotaltogetherwise:thesunwasabouttosetandallaroundtherewasatotalabsenceoflife.Still,wesupposedthatsoclose to thevillage therewouldbe some shackorother and, sustainedby thisillusion,wecarriedon.

It was soon pitch dark and we hadn’t encountered a single sign of

habitation.Evenworse,wehadnowaterwithwhichtocookorbrewmate.Thecold intensified; the desert climate and the altitudewehad reached turned thescrew. Our exhaustion was unbelievable. We resolved simply to lay out ourblankets over the ground and sleep until dawn. There was no moon, and thenight was very dark, so we felt our way around spreading our blankets andwrapedourselvesupaswellaswecould.

After fiveminutesAlberto informedmehewas frozen solid; I respondedthat my poor body was even colder. But this wasn’t a competition inrefrigeration,sowedecidedtotacklethesituationandsearchforsometwigstomake a small fire and to occupy our hands. The result was unsurprisinglypathetic. Between us we managed a handful of sticks, making a timid fireincapableofheatinganythingatall.Thehungerwasgratingbutthecoldmuchmoreso,tothepointwherewecouldnolongerlietherejustwatchingthefourembersofourfire.Wehadtopackupcampandwalkoninthedark.Atfirst,togetwarm,wesetafastpaceandinnotimeweweredesperateforbreath.UndermyjacketIfeltthesweatrunningoffme,butmyfeetwerenumbwithcoldandthesharpwindcutourfaceslikeaknife.Aftertwohourswewereexhaustedandmywatchsaidonly12:30a.m.Ahopefulestimategaveusatleastfivehoursofnight togo.Furtherdebate and another shot at sleepingbetweenourblankets.Afterfiveminuteswewereonourwayagain.Thenightwasstillyoungwhenwesawheadlightsinthedistance;itwasn’tsomethingtogettooexcitedabout—thechancesofgettingaridewerebad—butatleasttheroadwaslitup.Andthat’showitwent, the truckpassedusby, indifferent in thefaceofourfranticshouts, and its lights exposed a desertedwasteland; no trees, no houses.Thenconfusion descended, every minute was slower than the one before untileventually theminutes becamehours.Twoor three times a distant dog’s barkgaveussomehope,butthepitchblacknightdisclosednothingandthedogsfellsilentormovedoffinotherdirections.

Atsixinthemorningwesawtwohutsbytheedgeoftheroad,illuminatedintheclear,graylightofdawn.Thelastfewmeterswetraveledinaflash,asifwe had no weight at all on our backs. It seemed that we had never beenwelcomedwithsuchfriendliness,thatwehadnevereatenbreadandcheeselikethey sold us, or had such revitalizingmate. We were like demigods to thesesimple people: Alberto brandished his doctor’s certificate for them, andmoreover we had come from that wonderful country Argentina, where PerónlivedwithhiswifeEvita,wherethepoorhaveasmuchastherichandtheIndianisn’t exploited or treated as severely as he is in this country. We answeredthousandsofquestionsaboutourcountryanditswayoflife.Withthenightchillstill deeply embedded in our bones, our rose-colored imagery transformed

Argentina into an alluring vision of the past. Our spirits lifted by the timidkindnessofthecholos,*wemadeforanearbydryriverbed,inwhichwespreadourblanketsandslept,caressedbytherisingsun.

At 12 we set off again, much happier, the previous night’s sufferingforgotten,followingoldVizcacha’sadvice.**Theroadwaslongthoughandweweresoonpausingwithnotable frequency.Westoppedfora restat five in theafternoon,apatheticallyobservingtheapproachingoutlineofatruck.Asusualitwastransportingacargoofhumanlivestock,themostprofitablebusinessofallinthatarea.Buttooursurprise, thetruckstoppedandwesawtheCivilGuardfromTacnawavinghappilytousandinvitingustoclimbon;theinvitation,ofcourse,didnotneedtoberepeated.TheAymaraIndiansinthebacklookedatuscuriouslybutdidn’tdareaskanything.Albertotriedtostartaconversationwithsome of them, though their Spanish was bad. The truck continued to climbthrough an absolutely desolate landscape where only a few struggling thornbushesgaveanyappearanceofbeingalive.Then,suddenly,thegrumblingwithwhichthetruckmadeitswayhighergavewaytoasighofreliefasweleveledout on to the plateau. We entered the town of Estaque and the view wasincredible; our ecstatic eyes fixed themselves momentarily on the landscapeextendingaroundusandthenwehadtofindoutthenamesandexplanationsforall the things we saw. The Aymaras could barely understand us but the fewindicationstheygave,inconfusedSpanish,onlyincreasedtheemotionalimpactof thesurroundings.Wewere ina legendaryvalley,whoseevolutionhadbeensuspended several hundred years ago, andwehappy20th-centurymortals hadtodaybeengiventhegoodfortunetoseeit.Theirrigationchannels—builtbytheIncasforthewell-beingoftheirsubjects—flowedfromthemountainintothevalley,formingathousandlittlewaterfallsandrunningbackandforthacrossthe road as it spiralled down. Ahead of us, low clouds hid the tops of themountains,butinsomeoftheclearspacesyoucouldjustmakeoutsnowfallingon the highest peaks, gradually turning them white. The different cropscultivated by the Indians, carefully grown in terraced beds, allowed us topenetrateanewrealmofbotanicalscience:oca,quinua,canihua,rocoto,maize.We saw people wearing the same dress as the Indians in the truck, in theirnatural surroundings. They wore short, sadly colored woollen ponchos, tightcalf-length pants, and sandals made from rope or old car tires. Absorbingeverything we saw, we continued down the valley to Tarata. In the Aymaralanguagethismeanstheapex,orplaceofconfluence,andit’sbeenwellnamedsince it stands within a great V formed by the mountain chains that are thetown’s guardians. It is an ancient, gentle village where life continues on thecourse it has traveled for centuries. The colonial church must be an

archaeological gem because, even more than its age, it marks the union ofimportedEuropeanartwiththespiritofthelocalIndians.Inthenarrowlanesofthetown,itshugelyunevenstreetspavedinlocalstone,theIndianwomenwiththeirchildrenontheirbacks…inshort, ineverytypicalscene, thetown’sverybreathevokesthetimebeforeSpanishcolonization.ButthepeoplebeforeusarenotthesameproudracethatrepeatedlyroseupagainstIncarule,forcingthemtomaintain a permanent armyon their borders; thesepeoplewhowatchuswalkthroughthestreetsofthetownareadefeatedrace.Theirstaresaretame,almostfearful, and completely indifferent to the outside world. Some give theimpression they go on living only because it’s a habit they cannot shake.TheCivilGuardtookustothepolicestationwheretheygaveusboardandsomeoftheofficersinvitedustoeat.Wewalkedaroundtownandthenrestedforawhile,sinceatthreeinthemorningwewereheadingofftoPunoonapassengertruck.ThankstotheCivilGuard,weweretravelingforfree.

*Chileannexedthemineral-richAtacarnadesertintheso-called“NitrateWars”of1879–83.*Indiansormestizos.**Acharacterfrom“MartínFierro,”anepicpoemofgaucholifebytheArgentineJoséHernández.

ENLOSDOMINIOSDELAPACHAMAMA

inthedominionsofpachamama

By three in themorning, theblanketsof thePeruvianpolicehaddemonstratedtheir value, swathing us in restorative warmth. The policeman on guard thenshook us awake — there was a truck heading for Ilave — and we foundourselves in the sad situation of having to leave them behind. The night wasmagnificent,ifterriblycold,andweweregrantedtheprivilegeofsomeplankstositon,separatingusfromthefoul-smelling,flea-riddenhumanflockbelowus,

theirpotentbutwarmstinkavirtuallasso.Onlyasthevehiclebeganitsascentdidwerealizethemagnitudeoftheconcession:nothingofthesmellcamecloseanditwouldhavebeendifficultforasingle,athleticfleatospringontousforrefuge. The wind lashed liberally against our bodies, however, and withinminuteswewere literally frozen.The truckcontinued toclimbandwitheveryminute the cold becamemore intense.To stop ourselves falling offwe had tokeepourhandsoutside themoreor lessprotectiveblankets; itwasdifficult toshiftpositionevenslightlywithoutcomingclosetohead-firstflightintothebackof the truck.Close todawn,somecarburetorproblemwhichafflictsenginesatthisaltitudecaused the truck tostop;wewerenearing thehighestpointof theroad,almost5,000meters.Insomecornersoftheskythesunwasrisingandavague light replaced the total darkness accompanying us until then. Thepsychological effect of the sun is strange: it had not yet appeared over thehorizonandwealreadyfeltcomforted,justimaginingtheheatitwouldbring.

On one side of the road huge, semi-spherical fungiwere growing— theonlyvegetationintheregion—andweusedthemtomakeapatheticfirewhichservedtoheatwaterfromalittlebitofsnow.ThespectacleofferedbythetwoofusdrinkingourstrangebrewmusthaveseemedasinterestingtotheIndiansastheirtraditionaldressseemedtous,becausenotamomentpassedwithoutoneofthemapproachingtoaskinbrokenSpanishjustwhywewerepouringwaterintothatstrangeartefact.Thetruckcategoricallyrefusedtotakeusanyfurther,soallofushadtowalkabout threekilometers in thesnow.Itwasremarkable toseetheIndians treading through thesnow, theirbarecallousedfeetnotseeming toworry them,whilewefeltour toesfreeze in the intensecolddespiteourbootsand woolly socks. At a weary, steady pace, they trotted along like llamas insinglefile.

Savedfromthatroughpatch,thetruckcontinuedwithrenewedpassionandwe sooncleared thehighestpass,where therewas a strangepyramidmadeofirregular-sized stones and crowned with a cross. As the truck passed, almosteveryonespatandoneortwocrossedthemselves.Intrigued,weaskedwhatthesignificanceofthisstrangeritualwasbutonlythemostcompleteofsilencesmetus.

Thesunwaswarmingupandthetemperaturebecamemoreagreeableaswedescended, always following the course of a river we had seen begin at thesummitofthemountainandgrowtoafairsize.Snowcappedpeakslookeddownon us from all sides and herds of llamas and alpacas looked on withoutexpression as the truck drove past, while several uncivilized vicuñas fled thedisturbance.

At one of the many stops we made along the road, an Indian timidly

approached uswith his sonwho spoke goodSpanish, and began to ask us allabout the wonderful “land of Perón.” Our imaginations ignited by thespectacular grandeur we were traveling through, it was easy for us to paintextraordinary events, embellishing to our hearts’ desire the capo’s exploits,fillingthemindsofourlistenerswithstoriesoftheidyllic,beautifullifeinourcountry. Through his son, the man asked us for a copy of the Argentineconstitution with its declaration of the rights of the elderly, and weenthusiasticallypromised to sendhimone.Whenwe resumed the trip, theoldIndiantookanappetizingcorncobfrombeneathhisclothesandofferedittous.Wefinisheditoffquickly,democraticallydividingthekernelsbetweenus.

In themiddleof theafternoon,with theheavy,grayskybearingdownonus,wepassedaninterestingplacewhereerosionhadwornthehugebouldersonthe roadside into feudal castles. They had battlements, gargoyles observing usdisconcertingly, and a host of fabulous monsters that seemed to be standingguard, protecting the tranquillity for the mythical characters who surelyinhabited the place. The slight drizzle which for some time had brushed ourfacesbecamestrongerandturnedintoaheavydownpour.Thedrivercalledoutto the “Argentinedoctors,” invitingus intohis cabin, theheightof comfort inthose parts. We immediately made friends with a schoolteacher from Puno,whom the government had sacked for being a member of APRA [AmericanPopular RevolutionaryAlliance]. Theman,who clearly had indigenous bloodandwhomoreoverwasan“Aprista”—whichmeantnothingtous—hadmanyincredible storiesof Indiancustomsandculture,delightinguswitha thousandanecdotesandmemoriesofhislifeasateacher.FollowingthecallofhisIndianblood, he had sidedwith theAymaras in the never-ending debates among theexperts on the region against the Coyas, whom he qualified as cowardlyladinos.*

He also gave us the key to the strange ritual observed by our travelingcompanionsearlierintheday.ArrivingatthehighestpointofthemountaintheIndiangiftsallofhissadnesstoPachamama,MotherEarth,inthesymbolicformofastone.Thesegraduallyamasstoshapethepyramidswehadseen.WhentheSpaniardsarrived toconquer theregion they immediately tried todestroysuchbeliefs and abolish such rituals, but without success. So the Spanish monksdecidedtoaccepttheinevitable,placingasinglecrossatopeachpileofstones.All this took place four centuries ago (as told byGarcilaso de laVega*) andjudgingbythenumberofIndianswhomadethesignofthecross,thereligiousdidn’tmakealotofprogress.Theriseofmoderntransporthasmeantthefaithfulnowspitoutchewedcocaleavesinsteadofplacingstones,andthiscarriestheirtroublestorestwithPachamama.

The inspiredvoiceof the teacher rose to a resoundingpitchwheneverhespokeabouthisIndians,theoncerebelliousAymararacewhohadheldtheIncaarmies in check, and it fell to a vacant depth when he spoke of the Indians’presentcondition,brutalizedbymoderncivilizationandbytheircompañeros,hisbitter enemies themestizos,who revenge themselveson theAymaras for theirownpositionhalfwaybetweentwoworlds.Hespokeoftheneedtobuildschoolsthatwould orient individualswithin their ownworld, enabling them to play ausefulrolewithinit;oftheneedtochangefundamentallythepresentsystemofeducation,which,ontherareoccasionitdoesofferIndianseducation(accordingonly to white man’s criteria), simply fills them with shame and resentment,renderingthemunabletohelptheirfellowIndiansandattheseveredisadvantageofhaving to fightwithinahostilewhite societywhich refuses toaccept them.The destiny of those unhappy individuals is to stagnate in some minorbureaucratic position and die hoping that one of their children, thanks to themiraculouspowersofadropofcolonizingbloodintheirveins,mightsomehowachievethegoaltheyaspiretountiltheirlastdays.Intheconvulsiveclenchingof his fist one could perceive the confession of aman tormented by his ownmisfortune, and also the very desire he attributed to his hypothetical example.Wasn’theinfactatypicalproductofan“education”whichdamagesthepersonreceivingitsfavor,aconcessiontothemagicpowerofthatsingle“drop,”evenifit came from some poormestizo woman sold to a local cacique* or was theresultofanIndianmaid’srapebyherdrunkenSpanishmaster?

Butourjourneywasalmostoverandtheteacherfellsilent.Theroadcurvedandwecrossedabridgeoverthesameriverwehadfirstseenearlythatmorningasatinystream.Ilavewasontheotherside.

*Spanish-speakingLatinAmericans,oftenusedtorefertoIndianswhoadoptSpanishways.*TheIncaGarcilaso,sonofanIncaprincessandaconquistador,wasoneofthechroniclersoftheconquest.*Alocalpoliticalboss.

ELLAGODELSOL

lakeofthesun

Thesacredlakerevealedonlyasmallpartofitsgrandeur.ThenarrowtongueoflandsurroundingthebayPunoisbuiltonhiditfromview.Reedcanoesbobbedhereandthereinthetranquilwaterandafewfishingboatsfiledoutthroughthelake’sentrance.Thewindwasverycoldandthesmothering,leadenskyseemedtoreplicateourstateofmind.Althoughwehadcomedirectly toPunowithoutstopping in Ilave, and had secured temporary lodging and a goodmeal at thelocalbarracks,ourluckseemedtohaverunout.Verypolitelythecommandingofficerhadshownus thedoor,explaining thatas thiswasabordercheckpointforeigncivilianswerestrictlyforbiddenfromstayingovernight.

Wedidn’twanttogowithoutexploringthelake,sowewenttothepiertoseeifanyonewouldtakeusoutinaboat,wherewecouldadmirethelakeinallitsmagnitude.Weusedaninterpretertoadvancetheoperationbecausenoneofthefishermen,allpureAymara,knewanySpanishatall.Foramodestsumoffivesoles,wemanaged to get them to takebothof us and the intrusiveguidewhowassticking tous.Weconsideredswimming in the lake,butafter testingthetemperaturewiththetipsofourlittlefingerswethoughtbetterofit(Albertomadeabigshowoftakingoffhisclothesandboots,onlytoputthembackonagain,ofcourse).

Like tiny pinpoints dispersed across the vast, gray surface of the lake, agroupof islandsemergedin thedistance.Ourinterpreterdescribedthelivesofthefishermenthere,someofwhomhavebarelyeverseenawhiteman,andwholiveaccordingtotheoldways,eatingthesamefood,fishingwith500-year-oldtechniquesandkeepingtheircostumes,ritualsandtraditionsalive.

Whenwereturnedtotheport,wewalkedovertooneoftheboatsrunningbetweenPunoandaBolivianporttotryandgetsomemate,whichwewerelowon.ButtheydrinkalmostnomateinthenorthofBolivia,infactthey’dhardlyheardof it,andwecouldn’tevengetahalf-kilo.Weexamined theboatwhichhad been designed in England and built here; its lavishness clashed with thegeneralpovertyofthewholeregion.

OurproblemoflodgingfounditssolutionattheCivilGuardpost,whereaveryfriendlylieutenantletusstayintheinfirmary,thetwoofusinonebedbutatleastwewerecosyandwarm.Afteraprettyinterestingvisittothecathedralthefollowingday,wefoundatruckheadingforCuzco.ThedoctorinPunohadgivenusletterofintroductionforDr.Hermosa—anex-leprologistnowlivinginCuzco.

ErnestoGuevaraandLaPoderosaII,1951.

“Andsuddenly,slippinginasifpartofourfantasy,thequestionarose:‘Whydon’twegotoNorthAmerica?’

‘NorthAmerica?Buthow?’‘OnLaPoderosa,man’.”

Allphotoscopyright©CheGuevaraStudiesCenter,Havana

ErnestoGuevaraandfriend.

“Mymostimportantmissionbeforeleavingwastotakeexamsinasmanysubjectsaspossible;Alberto’stopreparethebikeforthelongjourney,andtostudyandplanourroute.”

Self-Portrait,byErnestoGuevara,Argentina,1951.

ErnestoGuevaraandafriendinBuenosAires,Argentina,1951.

ErnestoGuevarainBuenosAires,Argentina,1951.

AlbertoGranado(frontleft),ErnestoGuevara(centerwithcap)andfriends,withLaPoderosaII,1951,whenErnestoandAlbertohadjustbeguntheiradventure.

AlbertoGranadoattemptingtoscaletheArgentineAndes,nearSanMartíndelosAndes.PhotographbyErnestoGuevara,January1952.

“Aftersomeminutesofjokingaboutinthepatchofsnowcrowningthepeak,wetooktothetaskofdescending…Albertolosthisgogglesandmypantswerereducedtorags.”

AlbertoGranadoonboardtheModestaVictoria,crossingintoChile.PhotographtakenbyErnestoGuevarafromLakeNahuelHuapí,February1952.

“Agentlesunilluminatedthenewday,ourdayofdeparture,ourfarewelltoArgentinesoil.CarryingthebikeontotheModestaVictoriawasnotaneasytask,butwithpatienceweeventuallydidit.”

AlbertoGranado(center)withtwofriendsfromCórdoba,climbingSantaLucíainSantiagodeChile.PhotographtakenbyErnestoGuevara,March1952.

“ThefollowingdayweclimbedupSantaLucía,arockyformationinthecenterofthecitywithitsownparticularhistory,andwerepeacefullyperformingthetaskofphotographingthecitywhenaconvoyof

Suquíamembersarrived…”

OntheroadfromTaratátoPuno,Peru.(Ernestothirdfromleft).PhotographtakenbyAlbertoGranado,March25,1952.

“ThespectacleofferedbythetwoofusdrinkingourstrangebrewmusthaveseemedasinterestingtotheIndiansastheirtraditionaldressseemedtous,becausenotamomentpassedwithoutoneofthemapproachingtoaskinbrokenSpanishjustwhywewerepouringwaterintothatstrangeartefact.”

TheviewofCuzcofromthefortressSascahuáman.PhotographtakenbyAlbertoorErnesto,April1952.

“HighabovethecityanotherCuzcocanbeseen,displacingthedestroyedfortress:aCuzcowithcolored-tileroofs…andasthecityfallsawayitshowsusonlyitsnarrowstreetsanditsnativeinhabitantsdressedin

typicalcostume,allthelocalcolors.”

DetailoftheChurchofSantoDomingo,erectedovertheruinsoftheTempleoftheSun.PhotographbyAlbertoorErnesto,April1952.

“ThetemplestoIntiwererazedtotheirfoundationsortheirwallsweremadetoservetheascentofthechurchesofthenewreligion:thecathedralwaserectedovertheremainsofagrandpalace,andabovethewallsoftheTempleoftheSunrosetheChurchofSantoDomingo,bothlessonandpunishmentfromthe

proudconqueror.”

Pisac,avillageinthePeruvianAndes.PhotographtakenbyAlbertoorErnesto,April1952.

“AftertrekkingfortwolonghoursalongaroughpathwereachedthepeakofPisac;alsoarrivingthere,thoughlongbeforeus,weretheswordsoftheSpanishsoldiers,destroyingPisac’sdefenders,defensesand

evenitstemple.”

ThefortressofOllantaytambo.PhotographstakenbyErnestoGuevara,April1952.

“TracingthecourseoftheVilcanotaandpassingbysomerelativelyunimportantsites,wereachedOllantaytambo,avastfortresswhereMancoIIroseupinarmsagainsttheSpaniards,resistingHernando

Pizarro’stroopsandfoundingtheminordynastyoftheFourIncas.”

MachuPicchuandHuaynaPicchu.PhotographtakenbyAlbertoorErnesto,April5,1952.

“Themostimportantandirrefutablething,however,isthatherewefoundthepureexpressionofthemostpowerfulindigenousraceintheAmericas—untouchedbyaconqueringcivilizationandfullofimmensely

evocativetreasures…Thespectacularlandscapecirclingthefortresssuppliesanessentialbackdrop,inspiringdreamerstowanderitsruinsforthesakeofit.”

TheMaríaAngolaCathedral.PhotographtakenbyErnestoorAlberto,April1952.

“Thecostofrestoringthecathedralbelltowers,destroyedbytheearthquakein1950,hadbeenmetbyGeneralFranco’sgovernment,andasagestureofgratitudethebandwasorderedtoplaytheSpanish

nationalanthem…Icouldn’tsaywhetherwithgoodintentionsorbad,thebandhad[instead]struckuptheSpanishrepublicananthem.”

TheCathedralofCuzco.PhotographtakenbyErnestoorAlberto,April1952.

“Theglitzofitsbrilliantinteriorreflectsagloriouspast…Golddoesn’thavethegentledignityofsilverwhichbecomesmorecharmingasitages,andsothecathedralseemstobedecoratedlikeanoldwomanwithtoomuchmakeup.Thereisrealartistryinthechoirstalls,madefromwoodbyIndianormestizo

craftsmen.Intheircarvedscenesofthelivesofthesaints,theyhaveinfusedthecedarwiththespiritoftheCatholicChurchandtheenigmaticsoulofthetrueAndeanpeoples.”

AlbertoGranado(secondfromleft)withtheCambalachebrothersinPucallpa,Peru.PhotographtakenbyErnestoGuevara,May1952.

“Weleftinahurrythenextmorning,beforethewomanwhoownedtheplacewokeup,becausewehadn’tpaidthebillandtheCambabrotherswereshortoncashbecauseofrepairstotheaxle.”

AlbertoGranadofishingwithstafffromtheSanPablolepercolony.PhotographtakenbyErnestoGuevara,June1952.

“Thursdayisadayofrestforthecolonysowechangedourroutine,notvisitingthecompound.Wetriedtofish,withoutsuccess,inthemorning.Intheafternoonweplayedfootballandmyperformanceingoalwas

lessatrocious.”

AfamilyofYaguaIndianswithAlbertoGranado(holdingchild)andDr.Bresciani(left),thedirectoroftheSanPablolepercolony.Photographtakenby

ErnestoGuevara,June1952.

“OnSundaymorningwevisitedatribeofYaguas,theIndiansoftheredstraw…Theirwayoflivingwasfascinating—outside,beneathwoodenplanksandwithtiny,hermeticpalmfrondhutstoshelterinatnight

fromthemosquitoesthatattackincloseformation.”

AnIndianmanwithAlbertoGranado(left)andDr.Bresciani.PhotographtakenbyErnestoGuevara,June1952.

“Thekidshavedistendedbelliesandareratherscrawnybuttheolderpeopleshownosignsofvitamindeficiency,incontrastwithitsrateamongmoredevelopedpeoplelivinginthejungle.Theirdietconsistsof

yucca,bananasandpalmfruit,mixedwiththeanimalstheyhuntwithrifles.”

ErnestoGuevaraandAlbertoGranadoaboardtheMambo-Tango,June1952.

“Theraftwasalmostready,onlyneedingoars.Thatnightanassemblyofthecolony’spatientsgaveusafarewellserenade,withlotsoflocalsongssungbyablindman.Theorchestrawasmadeupofaflute

player,aguitaristandanaccordionplayerwithalmostnofingers,anda‘healthy’contingenthelpingoutwithasaxophone,aguitarandsomepercussion.”

ErnestoGuevaraandAlbertoGranadoaboardtheMambo-Tango,sailingdowntheAmazonRiver,June1952.

“Werowedatfullstrengthandjustwhenitseemedweweredefinitelyonourway,we’dturnahalfcircleandheadbackintomidstream.Wewatchedwithgrowingdesperationasthelightsdriftedintothedistance.Exhausted,wedecidedthatatleastwecouldwinthefightagainstthemosquitoesandsleeppeacefullyuntil

dawn.”

“AfterreceivingmydegreeIbegantotravelthroughLatinAmerica.ExceptforHaitiandtheDominicanRepublic,Ihavevisited—inonewayoranother—allthecountriesofLatinAmerica.InthewayI

traveled,firstasastudentandafterwardasadoctor,Ibegantocomeintoclosecontactwithpoverty,withhunger,withdisease,withtheinabilitytocureachildbecauseofalackofresources…AndIbegantoseetherewassomethingthat,atthattime,seemedtomealmostasimportantasbeingafamousresearcheror

makingsomesubstantialcontributiontomedicalscience,andthiswashelpingthosepeople.”

(fromAppendix:“AChildofmyEnvironment,”1960)

HACIAELOMBLIGODELMUNDO

towardthenaveloftheworld

Thefirstlegofthejourneywasn’ttoolongasthetruckdriverleftusinJuliaca,wherewehadtofindanothertrucktotakeusfurther(evernorthward).Wewent,of course, on the recommendationofPuno’sCivilGuard, to thepolice stationwherewefoundaverydrunksergeant.Hetookalikingtousandinvitedusforadrink, ordering beers that were downed in one, all except for mine whichremainedfullonthetable.

“What’sthematter,myArgentinefriend,don’tyoudrink?”“No, it’snot that; inmycountrywedon’tnormallydrink like this.Don’t

feelbad,it’sjustthatweonlydrinkifwe’reeatingatthesametime.”“But, cheee,” he said, his nasal voice accentuating our country’s

onomatopoeicnickname,“Whydidn’tyousayso?”Withaclapofhishandsheordered some great cheese sandwiches— and Iwas fairly satisfiedwith that.Then he swept himself away into euphoric descriptions of his various heroicdeeds,boastingaboutthefearandrespect thepeopleof theregionheldhiminbecauseofhisfabulousmarksmanship.ToproveithepulledouthisgunandsaidtoAlberto:“Look,cheee,stand20metersawaywithacigaretteinyourmouthandifIcan’tlightitwiththefirstbullet,I’llgiveyou50soles.”Albertodoesn’tlikemoneythatmuchandhewasn’tabout tomovefromhischair,at leastnotfor50soles.“Comeon,cheee,I’llmakeit100.”Albertodidn’tmoveamuscle.

Whenhegotto200soles—laidoutonthetable—Alberto’seyesbegantoflicker, but his instinct for self-preservation was stronger and he still didn’tmove.Sothesergeanttookoffhiscapand,watchingthroughamirror,tosseditbehindhimandfired.Thecapwasstill inperfectcondition,ofcourse,but thewallwasn’tandtheownerofthebarflewintoafury,stormingofftothepolicestationtocomplain.

Withinminutesanofficershowedup to findoutwhat thescandalwasallabout, hauling the sergeant into a corner to give him a talking to.When theyrejoined our group the sergeant launched into a tirade against my travelingbuddy,alsomakingfacesathimsohe’dgetthepoint:“Listenup,Argentine,gotanymorefirecrackerslikethatoneyoujustletoff?”Albertocaughtonquicklyandsaid,hisfacethepictureofinnocence,thathehadrunout.Theofficergavehimawarningabout lettingofffireworks inpublicplaces, thentold theownerthat the incidentwasover; he could seeno signon thewall that anygunhadbeenfired.Thewomanwenttoaskthesergeanttoshiftafewcentimetersfromwhere he was located, standing rigidly against the wall, but a quick mental

calculationoftheprosandconswasenoughforhertokeephermouthshutonthatscoreandgiveAlbertoanextra tonguelashing instead.“TheseArgentinesthink theyowneverything,”shesaid,plusa fewmore insults thatwere lost inthedistanceaswefled,oneofusthinkingwistfullyofthebeer,theotherofthelostsandwiches.

We foundanother truck to ride in, travelingwitha coupleofyoungguysfromLima.Thewhole time they tried to showushowmuchbetter theywerethan the silent Indians,whoendured their taunts and showedno signofbeingbothered.At firstwe looked theotherway,paying themnoattention,butaftersome hours the tedious journey across an interminable plain forced us toexchangeafewwordswiththeonlyotherwhitepeopleonboard,theonlyoneswecouldchatwithsincethewaryIndiansbarelydignifiedourquestionswitharesponse,offeringonlymonosyllabicreplies.IntruththeseboysfromLimawerenormal enough, they just needed tomake the differences between themselvesandtheIndiansclear.Aswechewedvigorouslyonthecocaleavesournewfoundfriends had diligently obtained for us, a flood of tangos engulfed ourunsuspectingcompanions.

We arrived at last light in a village calledAyaviry,wherewe stayed in ahotelpaidforbytheheadoftheCivilGuard.“Excuseme,”heresponded,toourfeeble protest against his startling gesture. “Two Argentine doctors sleepingroughbecausetheyhavenomoney?Itcan’tbe.”Butinspiteofthewarmbed,we could barely keep our eyes closed: throughout the night, the coca we’dingestedrevengedourbravadoinfloodsofnausea,colicandsevereheadache.

WeleftveryearlyforSicuaniinthesametruckthenextmorning,wherewearrivedinthemiddleoftheafternoonoverwhelmedbytoomuchcold,rainandhunger.AsalwayswespentthenightattheCivilGuardpost,andasalwaystheylooked after uswell.Amiserable little river called theVilcanota runs throughSicuani,andwewouldbefollowingthecourseofitswater,anoceanofmud,forawhile.

In the Sicuani market we were pondering the whole range of colorsoverflowingfromthestalls, tanglingwith thevendors’monotonecriesand themonotonebuzzofthecrowd,whenwenoticedagatheringofpeopleonacornerandwenttoinvestigate.

Surroundedbyadense,silentmultitudeaprocessionadvanced,attheheadofwhichwere a dozenmonkswearing colored habits, followed by a train ofserious-lookingnotableswearingblackdressandcarryingacoffin.Theymarkedthe end of the formal funeral party and a teeming mass of people followed,without order or direction. The procession halted and one of the black-suitedindividualsappearedonabalcony—papersinhand:“Itisourduty,aswesay

farewell to this great and worthy man, somebody or other…” etc. After hisinterminablebabbling,theprocessionmovedablockfurtherandanotherdarklydressedcharactermaterializedonabalcony.“Somebodyorotherisdead,butthememoryofhisgooddeedsandhisunblemished integrity…”etc.Andso,pooroldsomebodyorothercrossedtohisfinalrestingplacelikethis,pursuedbythehatredofhisfellowvillagerswhooneverystreetcornerunburdenedthemselvesofhiminfloodingwords.

Another day’s traveling inmuch the samemanner as previous days, andfinally:CUZCO!

ELOMBLIGO

thenavel

The word that most perfectly describes the city of Cuzco is “evocative.”Intangible dust of another era settles on its streets, rising like the disturbedsedimentofamuddylakewhenyoutouchitsbottom.ButtherearetwoorthreeCuzcos,orit’sbettertosay,twoorthreewaysthecitycanbesummoned.WhenMamaOcllodroppedhergoldenwedgeintothesoilanditsankeffortlessly,thefirst Incasknew thiswas theplace selectedbyViracocha tobe thepermanenthomeforhischosenones,whohad leftbehind theirnomadic lives tocomeasconquistadors to their promised land. With nostrils flaring zealously for newhorizons,theywatchedastheirformidableempiregrew,alwayslookingbeyondthe feeble barrier of the surroundingmountains. The converted nomads set toexpandingTahuantinsuyo,fortifyingastheydidsothecenteroftheirconqueredterritory— the navel of theworld—Cuzco.*And here grew, as a necessarydefensefortheempire,theimposingSacsahuamán,dominatingthecityfromitsheightsandprotectingthepalacesandtemplesfromthewrathoftheenemiesofthe empire. The vision of this Cuzco emerges mournfully from the fortressdestroyedbythestupidityofilliterateSpanishconquistadors,fromtheviolated

ruinsofthetemples,fromthesackedpalaces,fromthefacesofabrutalizedrace.ThisistheCuzcoinvitingyoutobecomeawarriorandtodefend,clubinhand,thefreedomandthelifeoftheInca.

High above the city anotherCuzco can be seen, displacing the destroyedfortress:aCuzcowithcolored-tileroofs,itsgentleuniformityinterruptedbythecuppola of a baroque church; and as the city falls away it shows us only itsnarrowstreetsanditsnativeinhabitantsdressedintypicalcostume,allthelocalcolors. This Cuzco invites you to be a hesitant tourist, to pass over thingssuperficiallyandrelaxintothebeautybeneathaleadenwintersky.

And there is yet another Cuzco, a vibrant city whose monuments bearwitness to theformidablecourageof thewarriorswhoconqueredtheregioninthe name of Spain, the Cuzco to be found in museums and libraries, in thechurch facades and in the clear, sharp features of the white chiefs who eventoday feelpride in theconquest.This is theCuzcoaskingyou topullonyourarmor and, mounted on the ample back of a powerful horse, cleave a paththrough the defenseless flesh of a naked Indian flock whose human wallcollapsesanddisappearsbeneaththefourhoovesofthegallopingbeast.

Eachoneof theseCuzcoscanbeadmired separately, and toeachonewededicatedapartofourstay.

*MamaOcllowasthesister/wifeofMancoCapac,thefirstIncaEmperor.Accordingtothelegend,thetwowerebornsimultaneously,risingupfromLakeTiticaca,symbolizingtheunityandequalityofthemasculineandfeminineaspects.ViracochawastheIncaCreatorGod.Tahuantinsuyo(fourquarters)wastheIncaworld,ofwhichCuzcowasthecenter.

LATIERRADELINCA

thelandoftheincas

Cuzcoiscompletelysurroundedbymountainsthatsignifiedlessadefensethana

danger for its Inca inhabitants, who, in order to defend themselves, built theimmensemass of a fortress, Sacsahuamán. This version of the story, at least,satisfies the superficial inquirer, a versionwhich for obvious reasons I cannotdiscount.It’spossible,however,thatthefortressconstitutedtheinitialnucleusofthegreatcity.Intheperiodimmediatelyafterabandoningnomadiclife,whentheIncas were barely more than an ambitious tribe and defense against anumericallysuperioradversarywasbasedaroundcloselyprotecting thesettledpopulation,thewallsofSacsahuamánofferedanidealsite.Thisdoublefunctionofcityandfortressexplainssomeofthereasoningbehinditsconstruction,whichdoesn’tmakesense if itspurposewas simply to repelan invadingenemy,andmuch less soconsideringCuzco laydefenselessoneveryotherperiphery. It isworthnotingthatthefortressisbuiltinsuchawaythatitcontrolsthetwosteepvalleysleadingtothecity.Theserratedwallsmeanthatwhenenemiesattackedtheycouldbeheldhostageonthreeflanks,andiftheypenetratedthesedefenses,theycameupagainstasecond,similarwallandthenathird.Thedefendershadroomtomaneuver,enablingthemtoconcentrateontheircounterattack.

Allthis,andthesubsequentgloryofthecity,createstheimpressionthattheQuechuawarriors were undefeated in the defense of their fortress against thepoundingenemies.Eventhoughthefortificationsaretheexpressionofahighlyinventivepeople,intuitiveinmathematics,theyseemtobelong—inmyview,atleast—tothepre-Incastageoftheircivilization,aperiodbeforetheylearnedtoappreciatethecomfortsofamateriallife;beingasoberracetheQuechuasdidn’tachievealevelofculturalsplendor,buttheydidmakeconsiderableadvancesinthe fields of architecture and the arts. The continued success of the QuechuawarriorsdroveenemytribesfurtherfromCuzco.Leavingthesecureconfinesofthefortress,thatinanycasecouldnolongercontaintheirmultiplyingrace,theyspreaddown theneighboringvalley along the streamwhosewaters theyused.Highly conscious of their present glory, they turned their eyes to the past insearchofanexplanationfortheirsuperiority.Inhonorofthememoryofagodwhoseomnipotencehadallowedthemtorisetodominance,theycreatedtemplesandthepriestcaste.Inthisway,expressingtheirgreatnessinstone,animposingCuzcogrewintothecityeventuallyconqueredbytheSpaniards.

Eventoday,whenthebestialrageoftheconqueringrabblecanbeseenineachoftheactsdesignedtoeternalizetheconquest,andtheIncacastehaslongsince vanished as a dominant power, their stone blocks stand enigmatically,impervioustotheravagesoftime.Thewhitetroopssackedthealreadydefeatedcity,attackingtheIncatempleswithunbridledfury.Theyunifiedtheirgreedforthegold thatcovered thewalls, inperfect representationsof Inti theSunGod,with thesadisticpleasureofexchanging the joyfuland life-givingsymbolofa

grievingpeopleforthebereavedidolofajoyfulpeople.ThetemplestoIntiwererazed to their foundations or theirwallsweremade to serve the ascent of thechurches of the new religion: the cathedralwas erected over the remains of agrandpalace,andabovethewallsoftheTempleoftheSunrosetheChurchofSantoDomingo,bothlessonandpunishmentfromtheproudconqueror.Andyetevery so often the heart of America, shuddering with indignation, sends anervous spasm through the gentle back of the Andes, and tumultuous shockwaves assault the surfaceof the land.Three times the cuppolaofproudSantoDomingo has collapsed from on high, to the rhythm of broken bones, and itsworn walls have opened and fallen too. But the foundations they rest on areunmoved, thegreat blocksof theTempleof theSun indifferently exhibit theirgraystone;howevercolossal thedisasterbefalling itsoppressor,notoneof itshugerocksshiftsfromitsplace.

ButKon’srevengeismeagerinthefaceofthemagnitudeoftheinsult.Thegray stones have grown tired of pleading with their protector gods for thedestruction of the abhorrent conquering race, and now they simply show aninanimateexhaustion—usefulonlyforprovokingtheadmiringgruntsofsometourist or other.What usewas thepatient labor of the Indians, builders of theInca Roca Palace, subtle sculptors of angular stone, when faced with theimpetuousactionsofthewhiteconquistadorsandtheirknowledgeofbrickwork,vaultingandroundedarches?

Theanguished Indian,waiting for the terriblevengeanceofhisgods, sawinsteadacloudofchurchesrise,erasingeventhepossibilityofaproudpast.Thesix-meterwallsof theIncaRocaPalace,consideredbytheconquistadors tobeuseful only asweight bearers for their colonial palace, reflect in their perfectstonestructuresthecryofthedefeatedwarrior.

But the race that created Ollantay* left something more than theconglomerationofCuzcoasamonumenttoitsgrandpast.AlongtheVilcanotaorUrubambaRivers,overmorethanahundredkilometers,thesignsoftheIncapastarescattered.Themostimportantofthemarealwaysintheheightsofthemountains, where their fortresses were impenetrable and secure from surpriseattack.Aftertrekkingfortwolonghoursalongaroughpathwereachedthepeakof Pisac; also arriving there, though long before us, were the swords of theSpanish soldiers, destroying Pisac’s defenders, defenses and even its temple.Among the dispersedmass of disorganized stone you can perceive that itwasonce a defensive construction, the dwellings of the priests; the place whereIntiwatanastayedandwherehecaughtand tiedup themiddaysun.So little isleft!

Tracing the course of the Vilcanota and passing by some relatively

unimportant sites,we reachedOllantaytambo, avast fortresswhereManco II*roseup inarmsagainst theSpaniards, resistingHernandoPizarro’s troopsandfounding theminordynastyof theFour Incas.Thisdynastycoexistedwith theSpanish Empire until its last effeminate representative was assassinated inCuzco’smainsquare,ontheordersofViceroyToledo.

Arockyhillnolessthan100metershighplungessuddenlytotheVilcanotaRiver.The fortress restson topand its singlevulnerable side, connected to itsmountain neighbors by narrow paths, is guarded by stone defenses that easilyimpedetheaccessofanyattackingforcesimilarinstrengthtothedefenders.Thelowerpartoftheconstructionhasapurelydefensivepurpose,itslesssteepareassplit into some 20 easily defendable levels, making an attacker vulnerable tocounterattackoneachside.Theupperpartofthefortresscontainedthesoldiers’quarters, and is crowned by a templewhich probably housed their loot in theformofpreciousmetalobjects.Butofallthatnotevenamemoryremains,andeventhemassivestoneblocksthatmadeupthetemplehavebeenremovedfromtheirrestingplace.

NearSacsahuamán,ontheroadreturningtoCuzco, there’sanexampleoftypicalIncaconstructionwhich,inourguide’sopinion,wasabathingplacefortheIncas.Thisseemedalittlestrangetome,giventhedistancebetweenthesiteandCuzco,unlessitwasaritualbathingplaceforthemonarchonly.TheancientIncaemperors(ifthisversioniscorrect)musthavehadeventougherskinsthantheir descendants because the water, though wonderful to drink, is extremelycold.The site, crownedwith three deep trapezoidal recesses (whose form andpurposeareunclear),iscalledTambomachayandisattheentranceoftheValleyoftheIncas.

Butthesitewhosearchaeologicaland“touristic”significanceoverwhelmsall others in the region is Machu Picchu, which in the indigenous languagemeans Old Mountain. The name is completely divorced from the settlementwhichshelteredwithinitsholdthelastmembersofafreepeople.ForBingham,the [U.S.] archaeologist who discovered the ruins, the placewasmore than arefugeagainstinvaders,butwastheoriginalsettlementofthedominantQuechuaraceandasacredsitefor them.Later, in theperiodof theSpanishconquest, italso became a hideout for the defeated army.At first glance there are severalindicationsthattheabove-mentionedarchaeologistwasright.InOllantaytambo,forexample,themostimportantdefensiveconstructionsfaceawayfromMachuPicchu, even though the slope behind is not steep enough to ensure effectivedefense against attack from there, possibly suggesting that their backs werecoveredinthatdirection.Afurtherindicationistheirpreoccupationwithkeepingtheareahiddenfromoutsiders,evenafterall resistancehadbeencrushed.The

last Inca himselfwas captured far fromMachuPicchu,whereBingham foundskeletons that were almost all female. He identified them as being those ofvirginsoftheTempleoftheSun,areligiousorderwhosememberstheSpaniardsnever managed to flush out. As is customary in constructions like this, theTempleoftheSunwithitsfamousIntiwatanacrownsthecity.Itiscarvedfromthe rock which also serves as its pedestal, and close by a series of carefullypolished stones suggest that this is avery importantplace.Lookingoutacrossthe riverare three trapezoidalwindows typicalofQuechuaarchitecture,whichBingham identified as thewindows throughwhich theAyllus brothers in Incamythologycametotheoutsideworldtoshowthechosenpeoplethepathtotheirpromised land. To my understanding the argument is a little strained. Theinterpretation has, of course, been contested by a great many prestigiousresearchers.ThereisalsovoluminousdebateaboutthefunctionoftheTempleofthe Sun whose discoverer, Bingham, maintained it was a circular enclosure,similartothetemplededicatedtothesamesungodinCuzco.Whateverthecase,theformandcutof thestonessuggest itwasofprincipal importance,and it isthoughtthatbeneaththehugestonesthatformthetemple’sbaseliesthetomboftheIncas.

Here you can easily appreciate the difference between the various socialclassesofthevillage,eachofthemoccupyingadistinctplaceaccordingtotheirgrouping, and remaining more or less independent from the rest of thecommunity. It’s a pity they knew no other roofingmatter besides straw; nowtherearenoexamplesofroofingleft,evenonthemostluxurioussites.Butforarchitectswhohadnoknowledgeofvaultingorarchsupports,itmusthavebeenverydifficulttoresolvethisproblem.Inthebuildingsreservedforthewarriors,wewereshowncavitiesinthestonewalls,likesmallchambers;oneithersideofthemholesjustbigenoughforaman’sarmtopassthroughhadbeenhollowedout.Thiswasapparentlyaplaceofphysicalpunishment;thevictimwasforcedtoplacebotharmsthroughtherespectiveholesandwasthenpushedbackwardsuntil his bones broke. I was unconvinced about the effectiveness of theprocedureandintroducedmylimbsinthemannerindicated.Albertopushedmeslowly: the slight pressureprovoked excruciatingpain and the sensation that Iwouldbetornapartcompletelyifhecontinuedtopressmychest.

Butyoucan really appreciate the imposingmagnitudeof the city-fortressfrom the view at Huayna Picchu (Young Mountain), rising some 200 metershigher.Theplacemusthavebeenusedasakindoflookoutpointratherthanashousing or as fortifications because the ruins are only of minor importance.MachuPicchuisimpregnableontwoofitssides,defendedbyanabyssdroppingasheer300meters to theriverandanarrowgorgelinkingupwiththe“young

mountain”;itsmostvulnerablesideisdefensiblefromasuccessionofterraces,makinganyattackagainst it extremelydifficult,while towardMachuPicchu’sface,lookingapproximatelysouth,vastfortificationsandthenaturalnarrowingofthehilltopmakeadifficultpassthroughwhichtoattack.IfyourememberalsothatthetorrentialVilcanotarushesaroundthebaseofthemountain,youcanseethatthefirstinhabitantsofMachuPicchuwerewiseintheirchoice.

In reality it hardlymatterswhat the primitive origins of the city are. It’sbest,inanycase,toleavediscussionofthesubjecttoarchaeologists.Themostimportant and irrefutable thing, however, is that here we found the pureexpressionofthemostpowerfulindigenousraceintheAmericas—untouchedbyaconqueringcivilizationandfullofimmenselyevocativetreasuresbetweenits walls. The walls themselves have died from the tedium of having no lifebetween them. The spectacular landscape circling the fortress supplies anessential backdrop, inspiring dreamers to wander its ruins for the sake of it;NorthAmerican tourists, constrainedby theirpracticalworldview,areable toplace those members of the disintegrating tribes they may have seen in theirtravelsamongtheseonce-livingwalls,unawareofthemoraldistanceseparatingthem,sinceonlythesemi-indigenousspiritoftheSouthAmericancangraspthesubtledifferences.

*AnepicdramaoftheIncaGeneralOllanta,puttodeathforfallinginlovewithanIncaprincess.*PutontheIncathronebyHernandoPizarroafterhelpingtounseatAtahualpa,MancoIIinturnfoughttheSpaniards.HisfirstrebellionwascrushedatOllantaytamboin1536.

ELSEÑORDELOSTEMBLORES

ourlordoftheearthquakes

From the cathedral, the peals of theMaríaAngola rung out for the first time

since theearthquake.Legendhas it that this famousbell, among the largest intheworld,contains27kilogramsofgold. Itwassupposedlydonatedbya ladycalledMaríaAngulo,butthenameofthebellitselfwaschangedduetoaslightproblemwithrhymingslang.*

Thecostofrestoringthecathedralbelltowers,destroyedbytheearthquakeof1950,hadbeenmetbyGeneralFranco’sgovernment,**andasagestureofgratitudethebandwasorderedtoplaytheSpanishnationalanthem.Asthefirstchords sounded, the bishop’s red headdress locked itself into position as hemoved his arms about like a puppet. “Stop, stop, there’s been amistake,” hewhispered,whiletheindignantvoiceofaSpaniardcouldbeheard,“Twoyears’work, and they play this!” I couldn’t say whether with good intentions orotherwise,thebandhadstruckuptheSpanishRepublicananthem.

Intheafternoonheleaveshisstatelyhomeinthecathedral,OurLordoftheEarthquakes,whoisnomorethanadarkbrownimageofChrist.Heisparadedthroughout the city and his pilgrimage stops at all the main churches. As hepasses,acrowdoflayaboutscompeteswitheachothertothrowhandfulsofthelittleflowersthatgrowabundantlyontheslopesofthenearbymountains,namedbythenativesnucchu.Theviolentredoftheflowers,theintensebronzeoftheLord of the Earthquakes and the silver altar they carry him on lend theprocessiontheimpressionthatit’sapaganfestival.Thisfeelingisintensifiedbythemany-colored clothes of the Indians,whowear for the occasion their besttraditionalcostumesinexpressionofacultureorwayoflifewhichstillholdsontolivingvalues.Incontrast,aclusterofIndiansinEuropeanclothesmarchattheheadoftheprocession,carryingbanners.Theirtired,affectedfacesresembleanimage of those Quechuas who refused to heed Manco II’s call, pledgingthemselvestoPizarroandinthedegradationoftheirdefeatsmotheringtheprideofanindependentrace.

StandingoverthesmallframesoftheIndiansgatheredtoseetheprocessionpass, theblondheadofaNorthAmericancanoccasionallybeglimpsed.Withhis camera and sports shirt, he seems to be (and, in fact, actually is) acorrespondentfromanotherworldlostamidtheisolationoftheIncaEmpire.

*Becauseitrhymedwithculo(assinSpanish).**GeneralFrancowasmilitarydictatorinSpainfrom1936untilhisdeathin1975.

ELSOLARDELVENCEDOR

homelandforthevictor

What was once the lavish capital of the Inca Empire conserved much of itsbrillianceformanyyearsoutofsimpleinertia.Therewerenewmenflauntingitsriches, but they were the same riches. For a time they were not merelymaintainedbutaugmented,with theproductsof thegoldandsilvermines thatconvergedontheregion;thesoledifferencebeingthatCuzconolongerborethetitle“naveloftheworld”butwasjustanotherpointonitsperiphery.Itstreasuresemigratedtothenewmetropolisacrosstheseatofeedtheopulenceofanotherimperialcourt.The Indiansno longerworkedwithdeterminationat thebarrensoil; yet the conquistadors had not come to fight dailywith the land for theirsustenance, but to gain easy fortunes through heroic deeds or simple greed.SlowlyCuzco languished,pushed to themargins, lost in thecordillera.On thePacific coast a new rival emerged, Lima, growingwith the fruits of the taxeslevied by clever intermediaries on the wealth flowing out of Peru. Althoughtherewasnocataclysmbywhichtomarkthetransition,thebrilliantIncacapitalpassed into itscurrentstate,a relicof timesgoneby.Onlyrecentlyhasoneorothermodernbuildingarisentoclashwiththeexistingcollection,butotherwiseallthemonumentsofcolonialsplendorstillremain.

Thecathedralisgroundedfirmlyinthecenterofthecity.Itssolidity,typicalto its era, makes it look more like a fortress than a church. The glitz of itsbrilliant interior reflects a glorious past; the giant paintings reposing on thelateral walls do not measure up to riches scattered through the sanctuary butsomehowtheydonotseemoutofplace,andaSt.Christopheremergingfromthewaterseemed,atleasttome,afinepiece.Theearthquakewreakedhavocthereas well: the frames of the paintings are broken and the paintings themselvesscratchedandcreased.Theeffectcreatedby thegolden framesand thegoldendoors to the sidealtars all fallingoff theirhinges isvery strange, as if they’rerevealingthelesionsofage.Golddoesn’thavethegentledignityofsilverwhich

becomesmorecharmingas itages,andsothecathedralseemstobedecoratedlike an old womanwith toomuchmakeup. There is real artistry in the choirstalls,madefromwoodbyIndianormestizocraftsmen.Intheircarvedscenesofthelivesofthesaints,theyhaveinfusedthecedarwiththespiritoftheCatholicChurchandtheenigmaticsoulofthetrueAndeanpeoples.

OneofCuzco’sjewels,worthyofthevisitsbyeachandeverytourist,isthepulpitoftheBasilicaofSanBlas.Ithasnothingmoretoshowforitselfexceptthefinecarving,beforewhichyoupause,enraptured,andlikethechoirstallsofthe cathedral it expresses the fusion of two hostile but somehow almostcomplementary races. Thewhole city is an immense gallery: the churches, ofcourse,buteveneveryhouse,everybalconylookingoutovereverystreet,islikeamediumwithwhichtoevoketimespast.Eachofthosedoesnothavethesamemerit,ofcourse.ButasIwriteinthismoment,sofarfromthere,whenmynotesbeforemeseemfadedandartificial,I’munabletosaywhichimpressedmethemost.AmidthemagmaofchurcheswevisitedIrememberthepitifulimageofthe bell towers of the Church of Belén, toppled by the earthquake, lying likedismemberedanimalsonthehillside.

Aftercarefulanalysis, thereareveryfewworksofartcapableofstandingupunderclose inspection;Cuzco isnotacity tovisit for thisor thatpainting.Rather, it’s thewhole of the city togetherwhich creates the impression of thepeaceful, if sometimes disquieting, center of a civilization that has long sincepassed.

CUZCOASECAS

cuzcostraight

IfeverythingthatgoestomakeupCuzcowereerasedfromthefaceoftheearthandinitsplacealittle,history-lessvillageappeared,therewouldstillalwaysbe

somethingtosayaboutit.Asifmixingcocktails,wethrewallourimpressionstogether.Ourlifeinthosetwoweeksneverlostthehobocharacterwhichmarkedourwholejourney.TheletterofintroductionwehadforDr.Hermosaturnedoutto be fairly useful, although in actual fact he was not the type of man whoneededsuchaformalpresentationtolendahand.ItwasenoughforhimtoknowAlbertohadworkedwithDr.Fernández,oneofthemosteminentleprologistsinthe Americas, and Alberto brandished the card with his customary skill.Extensive discussion with Dr. Hermosa gave us an approximate picture ofPeruvianlifeandtheopportunitytomakeatriparoundtheentireValleyoftheIncasinhiscar.HewasverykindtousandhewasalsotheonewhofoundustrainticketstoMachuPicchu.

The average speed of the regional trains is about 10 to 20 kilometers anhour— such consumptive conditions achieved by being constantly affrontedwithconsiderableclimbsanddescents.Inorderthattrainsmightwinagainstthedifficultascentastheyleavethecity,thetrackshadtobeconstructedinsuchaway that the trainmoves forward for awhile, then slipsbackwards to anothertrack from where it begins a new climb, and this back and forth is repeatedseveraltimesuntilitreachestothetopandbeginsitsdescentalongthecourseofariverwhicheventuallyflowsintotheVilcanota.OnthetraintripwemetapairofChileanswindlers,sellingherbsandtellingfortunes.Theywereveryfriendlytowardus, sharing their foodafterwehad invited them todrinkourmate.Onreachingtheruins,westumbledacrossagroupoffootballersandwereinvitedtoplay. Ihad theopportunity toshowoffa fewimpressivesaves,beforehumblyadmittingthatI’dplayedpremierleaguefootballinBuenosAireswithAlberto,whodemonstratedhisskill inmidfieldonapitch the localscallapampa.Ourrelativelyspectacularflairgainedus theattentionof theownerof theballwhowasalsothemanagerofthehotel.Heinvitedustostayacoupleofdaysthere,until the next gang of North Americans were shipped in on their special railcoaches.SeñorSoto, aswell asbeingawonderful individual,was also averylearnedperson,andafterexhaustinghisfavoritetopicofsportwewereabletospeakatlengthaboutIncaculture,aboutwhichheknewagreatdeal.

Wefeltprettysadwhenthetimecametoleave.WedrankthelastexquisitecoffeepreparedbySeñoraSotoandboarded the little train for its12-hour tripbacktoCuzco.Inthesetypesoftrainstherearethird-classcarriages“reserved”for the local Indians: they’re like the cattle transportationwagons they use inArgentina, except that the smell of cow shit is ever more pleasant than thehumanversion.Thesomewhatanimal-likeconcept the indigenouspeoplehaveofmodestyandhygienemeans that irrespectiveofgenderorage theydo theirbusinessby the roadside, thewomencleaning themselveswith their skirts, the

mennotbotheringatall,andthencarryonasbefore.TheunderskirtsofIndianwomenwhohavekidsareliterallywarehousesofexcrement,aconsequenceofthewaytheywipetherascalseverytimeoneofthempasseswind.Ofcourse,thetouriststravelingintheircomfortablerailcoachescouldonlygleanthevaguestidea of the conditions in which the Indians live, from the fast glimpses theycatchastheyspeedpastourtrain,whichhasstoppedtoletthempass.Thefactthat it was the U.S. archaeologist Bingham who discovered the ruins, andexpoundedhisfindingsineasilyaccessiblearticlesforthegeneralpublic,meansthatMachuPicchu isbynowveryfamous in thatcountry to thenorthand themajorityofNorthAmericansvisitingPerucomehere.(IngeneraltheyflydirecttoLima,tourCuzco,visittheruinsandreturnstraighthome,notbelievingthatanythingelseisworthseeing.)

ThearchaeologicalmuseuminCuzco isprettypoor.When theauthoritiesopenedtheireyestothemountainoftreasurebeingsmuggledoutofthevarioussites, itwas already too late.Treasurehunters, tourists, foreign archaeologists,anyone at all with any interest in the subject, had systematically looted theregion and they were able to collect for the museum only what remained:virtually the scraps. Even so, for people like us,withoutmuch archaeologicaleducation and with only muddled and recently acquired knowledge of Incacivilization, there was enough to see, and we saw it over several days. Themestizocuratorwasveryknowledgeable,withabreathtakingenthusiasmfortheracewhosebloodflowedinhisveins.Hespoketousofthesplendidpastandthepresentmisery,oftheurgentneedtoeducatetheIndians,asafirststeptowardtotal rehabilitation.He insisted that immediately raising the economic level ofIndian familieswas the onlyway tomitigate the soporific effects of coca anddrink. He talked of fostering a fuller and more exact understanding of theQuechuapeoplesothatindividualsofthatracecouldlookattheirpastandfeelpride, rather than, lookingat theirpresent, feelonlyshameatbelonging to theIndianormestizoclass.AtthattimethecocaproblemwasbeingdebatedintheUnited Nations and we told him about our experience with the drug and itseffects. He replied that the same had happened to him, and exploded with astringofabuseagainstthosewhomakeprofitsfrompoisoninglargenumbersofpeople.TheCollaandQuechuaracesarethemajorityinPeruandaretheonlyoneswhoconsumecoca.Thesemi-indigenous featuresof thecurator,hiseyesshiningwithenthusiasmandhisfaithinthefuture,constitutedonemoretreasureofthemuseum,butalivingmuseum,proofofaracestillfightingforitsidentity.

HUAMBO

huambo

Our source of doorbells dried up and followingGardel’s advicewe turned tofacethenorth.*AbancaywasaforcedstopbecausefromtherethetrucksleftforHuancarama, the last town before the leper colony at Huambo.Our preferredmethodofsolicitingbedandboarddidn’tchangeatallfrombefore(CivilGuardandhospital),neitherdidthatoftransportation—hitchingalift—exceptthatforthelatterwehadtowaittwodaysbecausenotrucksdepartedduringEaster.We wandered aimlessly around the little village, finding nothing particularlyinteresting, not enough to forget our hunger, with the hospital food being soscarce.Lyinginafieldnexttoastream,welookedattheskyasitchangedwithevening, dreaming upmemories of past loves, or picturing in every cloud thetemptingimageofordinaryfood.

Returningtothepolicestationforsomesleep,wetookashortcutandlostour way completely. We made our way through fields and over fences,eventually coming to rest on the porch of a house.We had already climbed astone wall when we saw a dog and his owner, illuminated by the full moon,looking likeghosts!Butwedidn’t realize thatour figures,outlinedagainst thenight,wouldhavebeenmuchmore terrifying. In response tomypolite “goodevening” we heard only unintelligible noise — I think I caught the word“Viracocha!”* — and then man and dog fled into the house ignoring ourapologies and friendlycalls.We left, calmly,by the frontgate leadingon to apathwhichseemedmoreliketherightway.

Inoneof thosemomentsofboredomwewent to the church towatchupclosealittlelocalceremony.Thepoorpriestwasattemptingathree-hoursermonbut by then— an hour and a half into it — he had exhausted his stock ofmaxims. He looked over the congregation, his eyes pleading, while with hishandshepointeddesperately todifferent partsof the church. “Look, look, theLordhas come to us, theLord is amongus andHis spirit guides us.”After a

moment’struce,thepriestsetoffonanothertangentandjustwhenitseemedhewouldholdhissilence—amomentofhighdrama—hesenthimselfoffagaininto similar nonsense. The fifth or sixth time that a patient Christ wasintroduced,wegotanattackofhystericsandlefthurriedly.

WhatexactlybroughtonanasthmaattackIcan’tsay(thoughIcanguessone of the faithful does), but by the time we arrived in Huancarama I couldhardlystandonmyfeet.Ihadnoadrenalinandmyasthmaworsened.Wrappedin a police blanket, I watched the rain and smoked one black cigarette afteranother,whichhelped to relieve the fatigue somewhat.Sometimeneardawn Imanagedtofallasleep,leaningagainstapillarinthehallway.BythemorningIfelt a little better and Alberto found some adrenalin, which along with someaspirinleftmefeelingasgoodasnew.

Wenotifiedthelieutenantgovernor,asortofvillagemayor,ofourpresenceand askedhim for a coupleofhorses to takeus to the leper colony.Theveryfriendlymanattended toushappily,promising that in fiveminuteswe’dhavehorseswaiting for us at the police station. Aswewaited for the animals, westopped to watch a motley group of guys exercising to the domineeringcommandsofthesoldierwho’dbeensokindtousjustthedaybefore.Onseeingusarrive,hesaluteduswithgreatdeference,thencontinueddeliveringhisordersfor every typeofdrill to theclowns inhis charge.Onlyoneoutof every fiveyoungmenof eligible age completesmilitary service inPeru, but the rest aresubmitted to drills each Sunday and thesewere the soldier’s victimswewerewitnessing. In fact, theywere all victims: the conscripts suffered thewrath oftheir instructor, andhehispupils’ sluggishness.NotunderstandingmostofhisSpanish;notgraspingthefundamentalimportanceofturningthisway,thenthat;nor ofmarching then stopping at thewhim of their boss, they did everythinghalfheartedlyandwereenoughtomakeanyonegetangry.

Thehorses arrived and the soldier allottedus a guidewho spokenothingbutQuechua.Theroutebeganwithamountainoustrackwhichnootherhorseswould have been able to cross, preceded by the guide on foot who took thehorses’ bridles in difficult sections. We’d covered about two-thirds of thedistancewhenanoldwomanandaboyappeared.Theygrabbedour reinsandlaunched into a lengthy tirade of which we recognized a word sounding like“horse.” We thought at first they were selling cane baskets because the oldwomanwascarryingagoodmany.“Menowantbuy,menowant,”Ikeptsayingtoher,andwouldhavecontinuedinthatveinifAlbertohadn’tremindedmethatourinterlocutorswereQuechua,notrelativesofTarzanandtheapes.Wefinallyfound a person coming from the opposite direction who spoke Spanish, whoexplainedtousthattheseIndiansweretheownersofthehorses;thattheywere

ridingpastthefrontofthelieutenantgovernor’shousewhenhehadtakentheirhorsesandpresentedthemtous.Oneoftheconscripts,theownerofmyhorse,hadcomesevenleaguestocomplywithhismilitaryduty,andthepoor,elderlywomanlivedintheoppositedirectiontowherewewereheading.Wedidwhatany decent personwould do— dismounted, and continued along the road onfoot,theguideaheadofushaulingallourthingsonhisback.Wecompletedthelast stretch to the leper colony like this, wherewe gave our guide one sol inrecompense.Hethankedusprofusely,despiteitbeingsuchapatheticamount.

Theheadoftheclinic,SeñorMontejo,receivedus,andthoughhecouldn’tputusuphesaidhe’dsendus to thehomeofoneof the region’s landowners,whichisexactlywhathedid.Theranchergaveusaroomwithbedsandfood,allthatweneeded.Thefollowingmorningwewenttopayavisittothepatientsinthe littlehospital.Thepeoplewhoare inchargedoagreat job,even if itgoesunnoticed.Thegeneralstateoftheplaceisdisastrous;two-thirdsofasmallarea—thesizeoflessthanhalfablock—isdesignatedasa“sickzone,”andinitthe entire lives of the 31 condemned take place.They pass the timewatchingindifferentlyfordeathtoarrive(atleastthat’swhatIthink).Sanitaryconditionsareappalling,andthoughthismightcausenoadverseeffectsontheIndiansfromthe mountains, people coming from other parts, even if only slightly moreeducated, find it enormously distressing.The thought of having to spend theirwhole livesbetween four adobewalls, surroundedbypeople speakinganotherlanguage,withonly fourorderlieswhomake just shortvisits eachday, causesnervousbreakdowns.

Wewentintoaroomwithastrawroof,itsceilingslattedwithcaneandanearthfloorwhereawhitegirlwasreadingCousinBasiliobyQueirós.Nosoonerhadwebeguntotalkwhenthegirlbrokedown,cryinginconsolably,describingherlifeasa“calvary,”alivinghell.Thepoorgirl,fromtheAmazonianregions,hadgonetoCuzcowheretheygaveherthebadnews,andsaidtheywouldsendher to a much better place to be cured. The hospital in Cuzco, by no meansperfect,didhaveacertain levelofcomfort. Ibelieveherexpression, thewordcalvary,wastheonlyjustexpressionforthegirl’ssituation.Theonlyacceptablethinginthishospitalwasthedrugtreatment,therestcouldhavebeenborneonlybythesuffering,fatalisticspiritofthePeruvianmountainIndians.

The imbecility of the neighboring locals only heightened the isolation ofbothpatientsandmedicalstaff.Oneofthemtoldusthattheheadsurgeonattheclinicneededtoperformamoreorlessseriousoperation,impossibleatanyratetoexecuteonakitchentableandlackingtheappropriatesurgicalequipment.Sohe asked for a place, even if it was the morgue, in a nearby hospital atAndahuaylas.Theanswerwasnegative,andthepatientdiedwithouttreatment.

SeñorMontejotoldusthatwhenthisleprosytreatmentcenterwasfounded,onthe initiative of the renowned leprologist Dr. Pesce, he himself had beenresponsible, fromthecenter’s inception, fororganizingnewservices.WhenhearrivedinthetownHuancarama,notoneofthehostelsorhotelswouldlethimaroomfor thenight; theoneor twofriendshehad in townrefused togivehimshelterandinlightofthefactthatrainwaslooming,hehadbeenforcedtoseekrefugeinapigsty,wherehepassedthenight.ThepatientIspokeofearlierhadtowalk to the lepercolonybecause therewasnoonewhowould lendherandhercompanionhorses—thiswasyearsafterthecolonyhadbeenfounded.

Afterwelcomingusingreatstyle,theytookustoseeanewhospitalgoingup a few kilometers from the old one. As they asked for our opinions, theorderlies’ eyes shone proudly, as if the buildingwas their own creation, builtadobebrickbyadobebrickthroughtheirownsweat.Itseemedalittleheartlessto emphasize our criticisms. But the new leper colony has the samedisadvantagesastheold:itlacksalaboratory,itlackssurgicalfacilitiesand,toexacerbatematters, it’ssituatedinanareainfestedbymosquitoes,representingpuretortureforanyonewhohastospendawholedaythere.Yes,it’scapableofhousing 250 patients, a resident doctor and it has made some advances inhygiene,butthereisstillalottodo.

Aftertwodays’stayintheregion,duringwhichmyasthmaworsened,wedecidedtoleaveandtrytogetsomepropertreatmentfurtheron.

Withhorsesprovidedbytherancherwhohadgivenuslodging,wesetoffonthereturnjourney,accompaniedbythesamelaconicQuechua-speakingguidewho carried our bags at the landowner’s insistence. In the mentality of thedistrict’srichpeopleit’sperfectlynaturalthattheservant,althoughtravelingonfoot,shouldcarryall theweightanddiscomfort.Wewaiteduntil thefirstbenderasedus from sight and tookourbags fromourguide,whose enigmatic facerevealednothingofwhetherornotheappreciatedthegesture.

WeagainstayedwiththeCivilGuardbackinHuancarama,untilfindingatrucktotakeusfurtherinourdeterminednorthwarddirection,whichwesecuredthenextday.Afteranexhaustingdayoftravel,wefinallyarrivedinthetownofAndahuaylas,andIwentstraighttothehospitaltorecover.

*CarlosGardelwasafamousArgentineactorandsinger/composeroftangos.*IncaCreatorGod.ThetermissometimesalsousedbyIndiansforwhitepeople.

SIEMPREALNORTE

evernorthward

After resting for twodays in thehospital,andpartly recovered,weabandonedthatrefugetoonceagainacceptthecharityofourgreatfriendstheCivilGuard,whoreceiveduswithgoodhumorasusual.Weweresoshortonmoneywewerealmost scared to eat;wedidn’twant toworkuntil reachingLimawhere therewasthereasonablehopewe’dfindbetterpaidworkandsaveenoughtocontinueontheroad,sincetherewasstillnotalkofturningback.

Thefirstnight’swaitpassedwellenoughbecause the lieutenant inchargeofthepost,anaccommodatingtype,invitedustoeat,andweateenoughtostoreup forwhatever layahead.Onlyhunger,however,bynowadailycompanion,markedthefollowingtwodays,andboredom;itwasimpossibletogoveryfarfromthecheckpointsincethetruckdriversinevitablyhadtogotheretogettheirpaperschecked,beforebeginningorcontinuingtheirjourneys.

Attheendofthethirdday,ourfifthinAndahuaylas,wefoundwhatwe’dbeenwaiting for in the form of a truck heading toAyacucho. Just in time, itturnedout,becauseAlbertohadreactedviolentlyonseeingCivilGuardsoldiersinsulting an Indian woman who had come to bring food to her imprisonedhusband. His reaction must have seemed completely alien to people whoconsideredtheIndianswerenomorethanobjects,whodeservetolivebutonlyjust.Afterthat,wefelloutoffavor.

With night falling,we left the village inwhose obligatory hiatuswe hadbeenprisonersforseveraldays.Thetrucknowhadtoclimbtothepeakof themountains guarding the northerly exit fromAndahuaylas, and it got colder bytheminute. To top it off,wewere completely drenched by one of the violentregional rainstormsand this timewehadnodefenseagainst it, installedaswewereinthetrayofatrucktaking10youngbullstoLimaandchargedwiththeircare,togetherwithanIndianboywhowasalsothedriver’shelper.Weallspentthe night in a town named Chincheros. As for ourselves, so cold we had

forgottenwewerealsopariahs,withoutmoney,weateaverymodestmealandaskedforonebedforbothofus.Ourrequestwasaccompanied,needlesstosay,bymanytearsandlamentationsthatmusthavemovedtheownersomewhat:fivesolesforeverything.Wespentthewholenextdaypassingfromdeepravinestothepampas,astheycallthetablelandsontopofthemountainchainsthroughoutPeru.Thecountry’sirregulartopographyknowsalmostnoplainsatall,saveforthe forested regions of the Amazon. Our job increased in difficulty with thepassingofthehours,sincetheanimals,havinglostthelayerofsawdusttheyhadbeenstandingon,andgrowntiredofwaitinginthesamepositionabsorbingthejolts of the truck, started falling over.We had to get them back on their feet,becauseofthedangerthatananimaltrampledbytheothersmightdie.

AtoneparticularmomentAlbertothoughtthatthehornofoneanimalwasscraping the eye of another and told the young Indian who was close to theaction.Withashrugofhisshoulders, intowhichhepouredthewholespiritofhis race, he said, “Why,when all it’ll ever see is shit,” and quietly continuedtyingaknot,thetaskhe’dbeendedicatedtobeforebeinginterrupted.

Wefinallyarrived inAyacucho,famous inLatinAmericanhistoryfor thedecisivebattleBolívarwonontheplainscircumscribingthetown.TheterriblestreetlightingplaguingthewholeofthePeruviansierrareacheditsworstthere;theelectric lightsemitonly theslightestorangeglowwhichshines throughoutthenight.Agentleman,whosehobbyitwastocollectforeignfriends,invitedustosleepathishouseandthenextdayfoundatruckheadingnorthforus,sowecouldonly visit oneor twoof the 33 churches the little townholdswithin itsurbanboundaries.WesaidfarewelltoourgoodfriendandsetoffagainforLima.

PORELCENTROPERUANO

throughthecenterofperu

Our journey continued inmuch the sameway, eating now and thenwhenever

somegenerous soul tookpityonour indigence.Still,wenever ate verymuchand thedeficit becameevengraverwhenwewere told that evening therehadbeenalandslidefurtheraheadandwecouldn’tpass;wewouldhavetospendthenightinalittlevillagecalledAnco.Earlythenextdaywesetoffagain,mountedonourtruck,butonlyalittlewayuptheroadwereachedthelandslideandhadto spend the day there, starving and curious, observing the workers setexplosives to thehugeboulders thathad fallenon the road.For every laborer,therewereno less than fivebossysupervisors, shoutingout theiropinionsandhindering the work of the dynamiters, who were not exactly model workersthemselves.

Wetried tofoolourhungerbygoingdowntoswimin the torrential riverrunningthroughthegullybelow,butthewaterwastooicytostayinforlongandneitherofusisparticularlyresistanttothecold,asI’vesaidbefore.Intheend,afteroneofourstockstoriesofwoe,oneofthemengaveussomecorncobsandanotheracow’sheartandsomeoffal.

Awomanloanedusherpotandwebegantoorganizeourmeal,buthalfwaythroughthetaskthedynamitersfreedtheroadandthetroupeoftrucksbegantomove.Thewomantookbackherpotandwehadtoeatthecornuncookedandputawaytherawmeat.Tocapoffourmisery,nightwasclosinginandaterriblerainstorm transformed the road intoadangerous riverofmud.Therewasonlyroom for one truck at a time, so those on the far side of the landslide camethroughfirst,followedbythoseonourside.Wewereamongthefirstinalongline,butthedifferentialontheveryfirsttruckbrokewhenpushedtooviolentlyby the tractor assisting in the hard crossings, andwewere all blocked again.Finally,ajeepwithapulleyonthefrontcamedownfromtheothersideofthehill,haulingthetrucktothesideoftheroad,allowingtherestofustocontinueon our way. The vehicle drove through the night and as usual wewent frommoreorlessshelteredvalleysontothosefrigidPeruvianpampaswherewewerestabbed by the ice and driving rain. Our teeth chattered, Alberto’s and mine,fromthechillcausedbysittinginthesameposition,andwetookturnstostretchourlegstostopthemcramping.Ourhungerwasalikeastrangeanimal,livingnotjustinoneparticularpartbutalloverourbodies,makingusnervousandbadtempered.

WearrivedinHuancallowithfirstlightbreakingandwalkedthe15blocksfromwherethetruckdroppedus to theCivilGuardpost,ourregularstopover.Weboughtsomebread,mademateandwerebeginningtotakeoutourfamousrawheartandoffalbuthadnotevenstokeduptheembersofarecentlymadefirewhenatruckheadingtoOxapampaofferedusaride.OurinterestingoingtotheplacestemmedfromthefactthatthemotherofoneofourArgentinecompañeros

livedthere,atleastwethoughtshedid.Wewereholdingontothehopethatshemighthelpkillourhungerforafewdaysandperhapsevenadornuswithasolor two.Sowe leftHuancalloalmostwithout seeing it,motivatedby theeagercriesofourexhaustedstomachs.

Thefirstpartof theroadwaswonderful,passingthrougha littlegroupoftowns, but by six in the evening we had begun a perilous descent down anextremely narrow road, wide enough for only one vehicle at a time. It wasgenerallythecasethatonlytrafficcomingfromonedirectionwaspermittedtopassonanygivenday,butforsomeunknownreasontheyhadmadethisdayanexception, and the trucks negotiated their crossings, shouting profusely andtightlymaneuvering;theirrearwheelsinchingoutovertheprecipitousedges—notexactlyacalmingspectacle.

AlbertoandIcrouchedineachcornerofthetruck,readytojumpforsolidground at the first sign of any accident, but our Indian traveling companionsdidn’tmoveamuscle.Ourfearswerebasedinfact,however,sinceagoodmanycrossespunctuatingthispartofthemountainouscoastmarkthemishapsoflessfortunatecolleaguesamongthedriversusingtheroute.Andeverytruckthatranofftheroadtookitstremendoushumancargowithit,downthe200-meterabysstotheseethingriverbelow—layingwastetoanyhopeofsurvival.Everysingleaccident, according to regional accounts, had left every single person dead—notasoleinjuredsurvivor.

Thistime,luckily,nothingunpleasanthappenedandatabout10atnightwereachedavillagebythenameofLaMerced.Itrestedinalowlying,tropicalareaandhadthetypicallookofanyjunglevillage.Anothercharitablesoulcededusabedforthenightandahugemeal.Themealswereincludedatthelastmomentwhenthemancametoseeifwewereokayandwehadnotimetohidethepeelofsomeorangeswehadpickedfromsometreetotryandcalmourhunger.

Inthetown’sCivilGuardpostwelearnedunhappilythattrucksdidn’thaveto stop to register, making it very hard to hitch any rides. While there, wewitnessed the reporting of a murder, by the victim’s son and an ostentatiousmulatto who said he was an intimate friend of the dead man. The act hadmysteriouslyoccurred somedays earlier, and theprime suspectwas an Indianwhosephotothetwomenhadbroughtwiththem.Thesergeantshowedittous,saying, “Look, doctors, the classic image of a murderer.” We noddedenthusiastically,butonleavingthestationIaskedAlberto,“Whichoneexactlyis themurderer?”Andhis thinkingwasmuch the sameasmine, that thedarkguyhadamuchmoremurderousaspectthantheIndian.

Inthelonghourswaitingforourride,wemadefriendswithsomeonewhosaidhecouldarrangeeverythingand that itwouldcostusnothing.True tohis

word, he spokewith a truck driverwho agreed to take us. It turned out later,however,thathehadmerelyorganizedthateachofuswouldpayfivesoleslessthan the 20 per head the driver usually charged. We pleaded that we werecompletely broke,whichwas only a few cents away frombeing the truth.Hepromisedtomeetthedebt,andthishedid,takingushomeforthenightaswell,afterwearrived.

Theroadwasfairlynarrow,thoughnotnearlyasbadasthepreviousone,andpretty,windingthroughforestortropicalfruitplantations:bananas,papayasandothers. It climbedupanddown thewholeway toOxapampa, some1,000metersabovesealevel,whichwasourdestinationandtheendofthehighway.

Until thispointwehadbeen traveling in the same truckas theblackguywhohadreportedthemurder.Atoneofthestopsalongtheroadheboughtusameal and throughout it, lectureduson coffee, papaya and theblack slaves, ofwhomhisgrandfatherhadbeenone.Hesaidthisquiteopenlybutityoucoulddetectanoteofshameinhisvoice.Inanycase,AlbertoandIagreedtoabsolvehimofanyguiltinthemurderofhisfriend.

ESPERANZAFALLIDA

shatteredhopes

Withgreatdisgustwe learned the followingmorning thatourArgentine friendhadgivenusbadinformationandhismotherhadn’tlivedinOxapampaforquitealongtime.Abrother-in-lawlivedthereinstead,sohehadtodealwithourdeadweight.Thereceptionwasmagnificentandwehadabig,improvisedmeal,butwe soon realized that as guests we were only welcome out of traditionalPeruvian courtesy.We decided to ignore everything besides expressmarchingorders,seeingaswewerecompletelyoutofmoneyandhadbuiltupseveraldaysworth of hunger, and we could eat only consistently in the home of ourdisinclinedfriends.

Wehadwhatforuswasawonderfulday;swimmingintheriver,lettingallofourworriesdisappear,eatingalotofgoodfoodanddrinkingexquisitecoffee.Butallgoodthingssadlycometoanendandbynightfallofthesecondday,theengineer (our “host” was an engineer) came up with a formula for his ownsalvation which was not only effective but particularly cheap: some roadsinspectorhadofferedtotakeusallthewaytoLima.Itseemedlikeagreatideatousaswewereacutelyfeelingtherestrictedhorizonsandwantedtogettothecapitaltotryandimproveourluck.Inotherwords,wefellforit,hook,lineandsinker.

That night we boarded the back of a pickup truck which, after we hadenduredaviolentdownpoursoakingus toourbones,droppedusat two in themorninginSanRamón,muchless thanevenhalfwaytoLima.Thedriversaidweshouldwaitwhilehechangedvehiclesandtocalmanysuspicionshelefthiscompanionwithus.After10minutesthatguywentofftobuycigarettes,andatfive in themorning this pair ofArgentinewise guys breakfasted on the bitterrealizationthatwehadbeentakenforonelongride.

All I hope is that the driver getswhat he deserves, and that, if itwasn’tanotheroneofhislies,thedriver-come-toreadormeetsdeathonthehornsofoneof his bulls… (In the pit ofmy stomach I knew somethingwaswrongbut heseemedlikesuchanicepersonwebelievedeverything…eventhewholevehicleswap.)

Shortly before dawn, we came across a couple of drunks and did ourbrilliant“anniversary”routine.Thetechniqueisasfollows:

1.Saysomethingloudly,immediatelyidentifiableasArgentine,somethingwithacheinitandotherbitsofslanganddrawl.Thecandidatetakesthe bait, immediately asking where we’re from; we strike up aconversation.

2. Begintospeakofthehardshipsbutdon’tmaketoomuchofthem,allthewhilemaintainingagazefixedinthedistance.

3.Iinterveneandaskforthedate;someoneprovidesitandAlbertosighs,saying: “Imagine the coincidence, it was a year ago today.” Thecandidateasks,ayearagosincewhat;werespondthatitwaswhenwebeganourjourney.

4.Alberto,muchbolderthanIam,letsoutagiganticsigh,saying,“Suchapitywe’reinthesedirecircumstances,wearen’tabletocelebrate”(he

says this quietly, as if confiding inme). The candidate immediatelyofferstopay;wepretendtorefuseforawhile,admittingitwouldbeimpossible for us to ever pay him back, etc., and then finally, weaccepttheoffer.

5.Afterthefirstdrink,IsteadfastlyrefusetoacceptanotherandAlbertomakesafaceatme.Ourhostbecomesalittleangryandinsists,butIrefuse,withoutgivingreasons.ThemanasksandasksuntilIconfess,fullofembarrassment,thatourcustominArgentinaistoeatwhenwedrink.Justhowmuchweeatdependsonhowwejudgethecandidate’sface.Allinall,thisisahighlyrefinedtechnique.

In San Ramón we tried it again and, as always, were able to concretize theenormous amount we had to drink with some solid food. In the morning werested on the shores of the river— a very pretty landscape even though itsbeauty escaped our aesthetic attentions somewhat, transforming itself intoterrifyingmirages of all types of edible delicacies.Nearby, peeking through afence,theplumpformsoforangesmaterialized.Ourfeastwasfierceandsad;inoneminute our stomachs felt full and acidy and in the next the stabbing of aseverehungerresumed.

Famished,wedecidedtocastoffthelittleshamethatstubbornlyremained,andtosortourselvesoutatthelocalhospital.ThistimeitwasAlbertowhowasovercomewithastrangetimidity,andIhadtofindtherightwordstointonethefollowingdiplomaticspeech:

“Doctor”—wefoundoneinthehospital—“Iamamedicalstudent,mycompanionisabiochemist.WearebothfromArgentinaandwearehungry.Wewould like to eat.” In such a surprise frontal attack, the poor doctor could donothingbutagreetobuyusamealfromtherestaurantwherehehimselfate.Weweresobrazen.

Albertowassoashamedhedidn’teventhankhim,andwesetaboutfishingforanothertruck,whichweeventuallycaught.WewerenowheadingtoLima,comfortably installed in the driver’s cabin, who now and then even paid forcoffee.

Wewereclimbingtheextremelynarrowmountainroadwhichhadinspiredsuchfearonthewayin.Thedriverwashappilyrelatingthehistoryofeachandeverycrossliningtheway,whensuddenlyhehitahugeholeinthemiddleoftheroad,visibletoanyfool.Ourdreadthatthemandidn’tknowhowtodrivecreptsteadily higher, but elementary logic told us this wasn’t possible, that on thisroad anyone but the most experienced of drivers would have driven over the

edgelongago.Tactfullyandwithpatience,Albertoextractedtherealstory.Themanhadbeeninanaccidentwhich,accordingtohim,hadlefthiseyesightverypoor,explainingwhyhehitsomanypotholes.Wetriedtomakehimunderstandthedangers—forhim,andforthepeopletravelingwithhim.Butthedriverwasunyielding:thiswashisjob,andhewaspaidverywellbyabosswhodidn’taskhow he arrived, only if he arrived. Besides, his driving license had been veryexpensive,consideringthedecentbribehe’dhadtopaytogetit.

Theownerofthetruckclimbedonboardalittlefurtherdowntheroad.HeseemedhappytotakeustoLimabutonlyifI,ridinguptop,wouldhideawaywhenwecametopolicecheckpointsbecausetakingpassengersonfreighttruckslike this onewas prohibited. The owner also turned out to be a good person,givingus food all theway to the capital.Wepassed throughLaOroyabeforethat,however, amining townwedearlywanted to see,butweweren’t able tostop.LaOroya is at an altitude of some 4,000meters, and from its unrefinedappearanceyoucanpicturethehardshipinaminer’slife.Itstallchimneysthrowup black smoke, impregnating everything with soot, and the miners’ faces asthey traveled the streets were also imbued with that ancient melancholy ofsmoke,unifyingeverythingwith itsgrayishmonotone,aperfectcouplingwiththegraymountaindays.Wecrossedthehighestpointontheroadwhile itwasstilllight,at4,853metersabovesealevel.Thoughitwasstilldaytime,thecoldwasintense.Tuckedupinmytravelingblanket,staringoutattheviewextendingoneveryside,Imutteredallsortsofverses,lulledbytheroarofthetruck.

Thatnightwesleptjustoutsidethecity,andthefollowingdaywemadeitearlytoLima.

LACIUDADDELOSVIRREYES

thecityoftheviceroys

Wewereattheendofoneofthemostimportantstagesofourjourney,withoutacentormuchchanceintheshorttermofmakinganymoney,butwewerehappy.

Lima isaprettycity,whichhasalreadysuppressed itscolonialpast (afterseeingCuzcoitseemsmoreso)beneathnewhouses.Itsfameasapreciousjewelofacityisunjustified,butitsresidentialsuburbsareconnectedbywideavenuesto the extremely agreeable resorts close to the sea.The people ofLima travelfrom the city to the port of Callao along various wide arterials in just a fewminutes.Theporthasnospecialattraction(constructionofallportsseemstobecompletelystandardized)savethefort,thesceneofmanybattles.AlongsideitsenormouswallswestoodinwonderatLordCochrane’sextraordinaryfeatwhen,leadinghisLatinAmericansailors,heattackedandseizedthisbastioninoneofthemostcelebratedepisodesinthehistoryofLatinAmerica’sliberation.

The part of Lima really worth describing is the city center around itswonderfulcathedral, sodifferent from thatheavymonstrosity inCuzco,wherethe conquistadors crudelyglorified themselves.There inLima, the art ismorestylized, with an almost effeminate touch: the cathedral towers are tall andgraceful,maybe themost slenderof all thecathedrals in theSpanishcolonies.ThelavishnessofthewoodworkinCuzcohasbeenleftbehindandtakenuphereingold.Thenavesarelightandairy,contrastingwiththosedark,hostilecavernsof the Inca city. The paintings are also bright, almost joyous, and of schoolsmorerecentthanthehermeticmestizos,whopaintedtheirsaintswithadarkandcaptivefury.Allofthechurchesconveyintheirfacadesandaltarsthefullscopeof Churrigueresque gold-embellished art.* This vast wealth enabled thearistocracytoresisttheliberatingarmiesofAmericauntilthelastmoment.Limais the perfect example of a Peru which has not developed beyond the feudalcondition of a colony. It still waits for the blood of a truly emancipatingrevolution.

Butthereisacorneroftheregalcitywhichismostdeartous,andwewenttherefrequentlytoreliveourmemoriesofMachuPicchu;thiswastheMuseumofArchaeologyandAnthropology.DonJulioTellowasitscreator,apurebloodIndian scholar. It contains extremely valuable collections, synthesizing entirecultures.

Lima is quite unlikeCórdoba, but it has that same look of a colonial, orrather provincial, city.We visited the consulate,where letters awaited us and,after reading them,went toseewhatwecoulddowithan introductionwehadforabureaucratat theForeignOffice,who,ofcourse,didn’twanttoknowus.Weroamedfromonepolicestationtothenext—untilatoneofthemwegotaplate of rice — and in the afternoon we visited Dr. Hugo Pesce, the expertleprologist,whowelcomed uswith extraordinary kindness for someone at the

headofsuchawell-respectedmedicalunit.Hesecureduslodgingintheleprosyhospital and that night invited us to eat at his house. He turned out to be afascinatingconversationalist.Itwasverylatewhenwegottobed.

It was also very late when we got up and had breakfast. There wasapparentlyno“order”tofeedus,sowedecidedtogodowntoCallaoandvisittheport.ThegoingwasveryslowbecauseitwasMay1andtherewasnopublictransport;wehadtodothewhole14kilometersonfoot.TherewasnothinginparticulartoseeinCallao,muchlessanyArgentineboats.Morebald-facedthanever,wepresentedourselvesat apolice stationandbeggedabitof food, thenbeataspeedyretreatbacktoLima.WeagainateatDr.Pesce’s,whotoldusofhisexperienceswithdifferenttypesofleprosy.

InthemorningwewenttotheMuseumofArchaeologyandAnthropology.Incredible,butalackoftimemeantwecouldn’tseeeverything.Theafternoonwededicatedtobecomingfamiliarwiththeleprosyhospital,*withaguidedtourby Dr. Molina, who, as well as being a good leprologist, is apparently anexcellent thoracic surgeon.Aswas our customby then,wewent to eat atDr.Pesce’s.

WelostthewholeofSaturdaymorninginthecitycentertryingtochange50Swedishcrowns;we succeeded finallyafter abitofhustling.Wespent theafternoonexploringthelaboratory,whichdidn’thavemuchworthenvyingand,in fact, left a lot to be desired. The bibliographic records, however, wereformidable in their clarity and method of organization and also in theircomprehensivedetail.Atnight,ofcourse,wewereofftoDr.Pesce’sfordinner,andasalwaysheprovedhisskillinanimatedconversation.

Sunday,animportantdayforus.Ourfirstbullfight,anddespitethefactthatit went by the name of a novillada, a fight with lesser standard bulls andtoreadors,wewerehugelyexcited;somuchsothatIalmostcouldn’tconcentrateononeofTello’sbooksIwasreadinginthelibrarythatmorning.Wearrivedasthebullfightwasstartingandjustasweentered,anovitiatewaskillingthebull,but not in the normal way, by a coup de grâce.* As a result the bull wassuffering,laidoutontheground,whilethetoreadortriedtofinishitoffandthepublic shouted. For the third bull there was considerable excitement when itspectacularlyhookedthetoreadorandthrewhimtotheair,butthatwasit.Thefiestaclosedwiththealmostunnoticeddeathof thesixthbull.Art,Iseenone;courage,acertainlevel;skill,notmuch;excitement,relative.Insummary,italldependswhatthereistodoonaSunday.

OnMondaymorningweagainwenttothemuseum.Intheevening,toDr.Pesce’s house, where we met a professor of psychiatry, Dr. Valenza, anothergoodtalkerwhotolduswaranecdotesandothersmuchlikethefollowing:“The

otherdayIwenttoourlocalcinematoseeafilmwithCantinflas.**EveryonelaughedbutIunderstoodnothing.Thiswasnotsostrange;therestofthepeoplecouldn’tunderstandanythingeither.So,whyweretheylaughing?Inreality,theylaugh at themselves, each one of themwas laughing at a part of themselves.We’re a young country, without tradition or culture, we’ve barely beendiscovered.Andsotheylaughatalltheblightsourinfantilecivilizationhasnotbeenable to fix…Butnowthen,hasNorthAmerica fullymatured,despite itsskyscrapers, its cars, its good fortune? Has it left its youth behind? No, thedifferencesareinformonly,theyarenotfundamental;allAmericaisasisterinthis.WatchingCantinflas,IunderstoodPan-Americanism!”

Tuesdaysawnochange—intermsofmuseumvisits—butatthreeintheafternoonwemetwithDr. PescewhogaveAlberto awhite suit andmyself ajacketofthesamecolor.Everyoneconcurs—wealmostlookhuman.Therestofthedaywasofnorealimportance.

Severaldayshavepassedandwehaveone foot in thestirrup,but remainuncertainas towhenwewillbe leaving.Weweresupposed to leave twodaysago,butthetruckthatistotakeushasn’tleftyet.Themanypartsthatmakeupour journey are going well. In terms of furthering our knowledge, we visitmuseumsandlibraries.But theonlyonethatreallymatters is theArchaeologyandAnthropologyMuseum,foundedbyDr.Tello.Fromascientificperspective,leprosy that is,wehavemetDr.Pesce; theothersaremerelyhisdisciplesandhavealongwaytogobeforeproducinganythingworthwhile.Becausethereareno biochemists in Peru, the lab is run by specialist doctors and Alberto hasspokenwithsomeofthem,puttingthemintouchwithpeopleinBuenosAires.Hegotonwellwithtwoofthembutthethirdperson…Well,Albertointroducedhimself as Dr. Granado, specialist in leprosy, etc., and they took him to be amedicaldoctor.Sothissillyguyhequestioned,respondedwith:“No,therearenobiochemistshere.Justasthere’salawprohibitingdoctorsfromestablishingpharmacies,wedon’tletpharmacistsinterfereinthingstheydon’tunderstand.”AlbertowasreadytogetviolentsoIgavehimagentlenudgeandthisdissuadedhim.

In spite of its simplicity, one of the things which left a very strongimpressiononusinLimawasthewaythehospitalpatientsfarewelledus.Theyhad all chipped in 100½ soles, which they gave to us alongwith an effusiveletter.Afterwards some of them came to say goodbye to us personally and inmore thanonecase tearswere shedas they thankedus for the littlebitof lifewe’dgiventhem.Weshooktheirhands,acceptedtheirgifts,andsatwiththemlisteningtofootballontheradio.Ifthere’sanythingthatwillmakeusseriouslydedicateourselvestoleprosy,itwillbetheaffectionshowntousbyallthesick

we’vemetalongtheway.Limaasacitydoesnotliveuptoitslongtraditionasaviceregalseat,but

itsresidentialsuburbsareveryprettyandspaciousandsoareitsnewstreets.Aninteresting factwas thenumberofpolicesurrounding theColombianembassy.There were no less than 50 uniformed and plainclothes policemen doingpermanentguarddutyaroundtheentireblock.

Thefirstday’sjourneyoutofLimawasunremarkable.WesawtheroaduptoLaOroyaandtherestwetraveledduringthenight,arrivingatCerrodePascoat dawn.We traveled in the company of theBecerra brothers,whowe calledCambalache* or Camba for short. They turned out to be very good people,especially the older one.We continued driving all day, descending into morepleasantplaces,andtheheadacheandgeneralfeelingofill-healthI’dhadsinceTiclio,at4,853metersthehighestpointabovesealevel,startedtoimprove.AswepassedHuánucoandapproachedTingoMaría, thefrontleftaxlebroke,butluckily thewheel became stuck in themudguard sowe didn’t turn over. Thatnightwehadtostayput.Ineededtogivemyselfaninjection,butasluckwouldhaveit,thesyringebroke.

Thenext daywas uneventful and asthmatic, but that night fortune turnedourwaywhenAlbertomentionedinamelancholicvoicethattoday,May20,wasthesix-monthanniversaryofourdeparture.Thatwasthepretextforthepiscotoflow.Bythethirdbottle,Albertostumbledtohisfeet,abandonedalittlemonkeyhe’d been holding in his arms, and disappeared from the scene. The youngerCambacontinuedforanotherhalfabottle,andcrashedonthespot.

We left in a hurry the next morning, before the woman who owned theplacewoke up, becausewe hadn’t paid the bill and theCamba brotherswereshortoncashbecauseofrepairstotheaxle.Wedrovethewholedayuntilendingupstuckatoneofthoseroadbarriersthearmyputsuptostoppeopletravelingwhenitsrainingheavily.

Offagainthenextdayandweweredetainedoncemoreatabarrier.Onlyintheeveningdidtheyletusmoveon,yetwewerestoppedagainatasmalltowncalledNescuilla,ourfinalstopfortheday.

Theroadwasstillclosedthenextday,sowewenttothearmyposttogetsome food. We left in the afternoon, taking with us a wounded soldier whowould get us through the army roadblocks. The strategy worked: a fewkilometersdowntheroad,whentherestofthetruckswerebeingstopped,ourswasallowedthroughtoPucallpawherewearrivedafternightfall.TheyoungerCambapaidforourmealandtosaygoodbyewedrankfourbottlesofwinethatmadehimsentimentalandpromiseushiseternallove.Hethenpaidforahotelroomforustosleepin.

Themain taskathandwasgetting to Iquitos, soweconcentratedon that.Thefirstpersonwehitonwasthemayor,someonecalledCohen;wehadheardalotabouthim,thathewasJewishasfarasmoneywasconcernedbutagoodsort.Therewasnodoubthewastightfisted;theproblemwaswhetherhewasagoodsort.Hepalmedusofftotheshippingagents,whointurnsentustospeakwiththecaptain,whowaskindlyenough,promisingthehugeconcessionofchargingusthird-classfaresandlettingustravelinfirst.Weweren’thappywiththis,andwent to see the headof the garrisonwho said he couldn’t do anything for us.Then the second-in-command, after interrogating us (and in doing sodemonstratinghisstupidity),promisedtohelp.

WewentforaswimthatafternoonintheUcayaliRiverwhichlooksalotliketheUpperParaná.Wecameacrossthedeputy,whosaidhe’dsecuredagreatdealforus:asaspecialfavortohim,thecaptainhadagreedtochargeusthird-classfaresandletustravelinfirst.Bigdeal.

There was a very rare pair of fish where we swam, called by the localsbufeo.Legendhasitthattheyeatmen,rapewomenandcommitathousandotheracts of violence. Apparently it’s a river dolphin, which among other strangecharacteristics,hasgenitalssimilartothoseofawoman.So,theIndiansuseitasasubstitute,but theymustkill theanimaloncethey’vefinishedcoitusbecausethegenitalareacontractsandthepeniscannotcomeout.Thatnightwetookontheeverarduoustaskoffacingourcolleaguesatthehospitaltoaskforlodging.As expected, they greeted us coldly, andwould have turned us away had ourequanimitynotwonthemoverandweweregiventwobedswherewecouldrestourwearybones.

*Spanishbaroquearchitecture,characterizedbyelaboratesurfacedecoration.*TheHospitaldeGuía.*InSpanish,descabellar:toseverthebull’sspinalcordwithadagger.**CantinflaswasaprolificMexicancomicactor—aMexicanCharlieChaplin.*Spanishforbricabrac,orjunkstore.

UCAYALIABAJO

downtheucayali

Carryingourpacks,lookinglikeexplorers,weboardedthelittleboatLaCenepajustbeforeitleft.Asagreed,thecaptainletusintofirstclasswherewequicklymingledwithalltheprivilegedpassengers.Afterafewwhistles,theboatpulledaway from shore and so began the second stage in our journey to San Pablo.WhenwecouldnolongerseethehousesofPucallpaandallthatremainedwasasteady panorama of unbroken jungle, people began to leave the rails andgatheredaround thegambling tables.Weapproachedwith cautionbutAlbertowasstruckwithmomentaryinspirationandwon90solesatacardgamecalled“21,”verymuchlikeour“7½.”Thisvictorybroughtuponustheloathingoftheothergamblers,becausehehadplayedwithaninitialstakeofjustonesolofthenationalcurrency.

Onthatfirstdaywedidn’thavemanyopportunitiesforfriendlyexchangeswith the other passengers and we kept somewhat to ourselves, not gettinginvolved in thegeneral conversation.The foodwas scarce andpoor.Theboatdidn’t sail at night because the river was too low. There were hardly anymosquitoes, and even though we were told this was normal we didn’t reallybelieve it, because by now we were used to the exaggerations (andunderstatements)peoplemakewhentryingtodealwithdifficultsituations.

Earlythenextmorning,wewereoff.Thedaypasseduneventfully,exceptformakingfriendswithagirlwhoseemedrathereasy;maybeshe thoughtwehad a few pesos despite the diligent tears we wept whenever there was anymentionofmoney.Towardevening,whentheboatdockedbytheriverbank,themosquitoes came out in hordes to prove the tangible truth of their existence,attacking us in swarms throughout the night. Alberto covered his facewith apieceofnetandwrappedinhissleepingbagwasabletogetsomesleep,butIbegan to feel the symptoms of an asthma attack, so between that and themosquitoes, I didn’t closemy eyes until themorning. That night has escapedfrommymemory,butIdostill rememberfeelingtheskinonmybutt thathadtakenongiganticproportionsfromsomanybites.Iwassleepythewholenextdayandstayedinsomecornerorother,tryingtosnatchafewwinksinborrowedhammocks.MyasthmashowednosignofabatingandIhadtotakethedrasticmeasure of getting asthmamedicine by the banal method of paying for it. Itrelievedtheattackslightly.Welookedoutdreamilybeyondtheriveredgetothejungle, its inviting greenery so mysterious. My asthma and the mosquitoesrestrainedmesomewhat,butvirginforestsaresocompellingforspiritslikeours

that physical impediments and all the nascent forces of nature only served tostimulatemydesire.

Thedayspassedwithgreatmonotony.Theonlyformofentertainmentwasthegamewecouldn’tenjoyfullybecauseofoureconomicsituation.Twomoredayswentbyuneventfully.Thistripwouldnormallytakefourdaysbuttheriverwasso lowwehad tostopeverynight; thisdelayed the journeyand turnedusinto promising targets for themosquitoes. Although the food is better in firstclassandthethreatfrommosquitoeslessvicious,I’mnotsurewhatwewoninthebargain.Wearedrawnmoretothesimplesailors thantothatsmallmiddleclasswhich,whetherrichornot,istooattachedtothememoryofwhatitoncewastoallowthemselvestheluxuryofassociatingwithtwopennilesstravelers.Theyhave the same crass ignorance as anyotherman, but the small victoriestheyhaveachievedinlifehavegonetotheirheads,andtheirdullopinionsaredelivered with even more arrogance simply because they themselves havetenderedthem.Myasthmaworsened,thoughIwasfollowingmydietstrictly.

Acarelesscaressfromthateasygirlwhoshowedsympathyformypatheticphysical statepenetrated thedormantmemoriesofmypreadventurer life.Thatnight as I was kept awake by the mosquitoes, I thought of Chichina, now adistant,intoxicatingdream;thoughthedream’sending,unusualforthiskindofnaivereminiscing,leavesmorehoneythanbitternessinmymemory.Isentherasoft andunhurriedkiss, thatof anold friendwhoknowsandunderstandsher;thenmymind took a road toMalagueño, that great hall of somany sleeplessnights, where at that very moment she would probably be whispering herstrange,composedphrasestosomenewsuitor.

My eyes traced the immense vault of heaven; the starry sky twinkledhappilyaboveme,asifansweringintheaffirmativetothequestionrisingdeepwithinme:“Isallofthisworthit?”

Twomore days: nothing changed.The confluenceof theUcayali and theMarañonthatgivesbirthtotheearth’smightiestriverhasnothingtranscendentaboutit:itissimplytwomassesofmuddywaterthatunitetoformone—abitwider,maybe a bit deeper, but nothing else. I had nomore adrenalin andmyasthmawasgettingworse;Icouldeatonlyahandfulofriceanddrinkmate.Onthelastday,closetoarriving,weranintoaseverestormwhichmeantwehadtostoptheboat.Themosquitoesswarmedaroundusinclouds,worsethanever,asiftakingtheirrevengeonusforthefactwewouldsoonbeoutoftheirreach.Itfeltlikeanightwithoutend,filledwithfranticslapsandedgyyelps,endlesscardgames like narcotics and with random phrases tossed out to maintain anyconversation and pass the time more quickly. In the morning, the fever ofdisembarkingleavesonehammocklyingemptyandIliedown.Asifenchanted,

I felt as though a coiled spring was unwinding inside me, taking me to newheights,orintoanabyss,Idon’tknowwhich…Albertowokemewitharoughshake.“Pelao,*we’vearrived.”Theriverhadbroadenedtorevealinfrontofusalowlyingtownwithsometallerbuildings,surroundedbyjungleandreddenedbytheearthbeneaththem.

ItwasaSunday,andthedayofourarrival inIquitos.Wedockedearlyatthe pier and went directly to speak with the head of the InternationalCooperationService.WedidhaveanintroductiontoDr.ChávezPastor,buthewasnotinIquitos.Theywerekindtousanyway,puttingusupinthewardforyellowfeverandgivingushospitalfood.MyasthmawasstillbadandIcouldn’tget on top of my miserable wheezing, even with up to four injections ofadrenalinaday.

The next day I felt no better and I spent it passed out in bed, or rather“adrenalizingmyself.”

ThefollowingdayIresolvedtofollowastrictmorningdietandamoreorlessstrictoneatnight,cuttingoutrice.Iimprovedalittle,thoughnotmuch.Atnight, we watched “Stromboli” with Ingrid Bergman, and Rossellini as thedirector.Youcannotgiveitanyotherratingbesidesbad.

Wednesday marked a distinctly important date for us with theannouncement that we would be leaving the next day. The news made ussignificantlyhappier,sinceIhadbeenunabletomovebecauseofmyasthmaandwespentdayscollapsedinbed.

Veryearlythenextdaywebegantopreparepsychologicallytoleave.Theday passed, however, and we were still anchored; it was announced thatdeparturewouldbethefollowingafternoon.

Confident that the owners’ inertia could have us leaving later but neverbeforetime,wesleptsoundly.Aftertakingawalkwewenttothelibrary,wheretheassistant,extremelyagitated,rushedintotellusthatElCisnewassailingat11:30a.m. Itwasalready11:05.Wegatheredour things togetherquicklyand,because Iwas still suffering fromasthma, tooka taxiwhichchargedushalf aPeruvian libra for Iquitos’eightblocks.Wereached theboatanddiscovered itwasn’t leaving until three, though it was required that we board by one.Weweren’tbraveenoughtodisobeyandgotoeatatthehospitaland,atanyrate,itwasmoreconvenientnotto,becausenowwecould“forget”thesyringetheyhadloanedus.Weate terrible andexpensive foodwithan Indianbelonging to theYaguatribe,strangelyattiredinaredstrawskirtandafewnecklacesofthesamestraw;hisnamewasBenjamínbuthespokealmostnoSpanish.Justabovehisleftshoulderbladehehadascarfromabulletshotatalmostpoint-blankrange,becauseof“vinganza,”*accordingtohim.

Thenightwasbrimmingwithmosquitoes fightingover our almost virginflesh.Therewasan importantaddition toourpsychologicalperspective in thattripwhenwelearneditwaspossibletogetfromManaostoVenezuelabyriver.The next day passed calmly, andwe slept asmuch as possible to recover thesleep lost to thehordingmosquitoes.Thatnight,atabout1a.m., IwaswokenjustsecondsafterI’dfallenasleepandtoldwehadarrivedinSanPablo.Theyadvised thecolony’smedicaldirector,Dr.Bresciani,whowasverywelcomingandfacilitatedaroomforthenight.

*Slangfor“baldy.”*AmixofSpanishandPortuguesefortheword,“revenge.”

QUERIDOPAPI

dearpapi

IquitosJune4,1952

The great riverbanks are full of settlements. To find savage tribes you mustfollow the tributariesdeep into the interior—and, this timeat least,wedon’tintend to make that journey. Infectious diseases have disappeared, but just incase, we’ve been vaccinated against typhoid and yellow fever and have goodsuppliesofatebrineandquinine.

Therearemanydiseasescausedbymetabolicdisorders:thefoodavailablein the jungle is nutritionally inadequate, but you only become seriously ill bygoingwithoutvitaminsforoveraweek,andevenifwewentbyriverthat’sthelongest period of timewewould bewithout proper food.We’re still not sureabout thisandhavebeen looking into thepossibilityof flying toBogotá,oratleasttoLeguisamo,astheroadsaregoodfromthereon.It’snotthatwethinkit

mightbedangerous to travel by river, butwecan savemoney,which later onmightbeimportantforme.

Awayfromthescientificcenterswhereweriskbeingexposed,ourjourneybecomes something of an event for the staff of the leprosy hospitals and theyshoweruswith the respectdue to twovisiting researchers. I’vebecome reallyinterestedinleprology,butIdon’tknowhowlongitwilllast.ThepatientsintheLima hospital farewelled us so wonderfully wewere encouraged to carry on;theygaveusagascampingstoveandmanagedtocollect100soles,whichforthemintheireconomicsituationcountsasafortune.Someofthemhadtearsintheireyeswhentheysaidgoodbye.Theirappreciationsprangfromthefactthatweneverworeoverallsorgloves,thatweshooktheirhandsaswewouldshakeanybody’s,thatwesatwiththem,talkingaboutallsortsofthings,thatweplayedfootballwiththem.Itmayallseemlikepointlessbravado,butthepsychologicallift it gives to these poor people — treating them as normal human beingsinstead of animals, as they are used to — is incalculable and the risk to usextremelylow.UntiltodaytheonlystafftohavebecomeinfectedareamedicalorderlyinIndochinawholivedwithhispatients,andanoverlyzealousmonkIwouldnotliketovouchfor.

LACOLONIADESANPABLO

thesanpablolepercolony

Thefollowingday,Sunday,wewereupandreadytovisitthecolony,buttogetthereyouhavetogobyriverand,asitwasn’taworkingday,wecouldn’tgo.Sowe visited the administrator of the colony, a butch-looking nun called SisterAlberto,thenplayedagameoffootballinwhichthetwoofusperformedverybadly.Myasthmabegantorecede.

OnMondaywe sent agoodproportionofour clothes tobewashed, then

went to the colony to visit the patients’ compound.There are 600 sick peoplelivingindependentlyintypicaljunglehuts,doingwhatevertheychoose,lookingafterthemselves,inanorganizationwhichhasdevelopedarhythmandstyleofits own. There is a local official, a judge, a policeman, etc. The respect Dr.Bresciani commands is considerable and he clearly coordinates the wholecolony,bothprotectingandsortingoutdisputesthatarisebetweenthedifferentgroups.

OnTuesdaywevisitedthecolonyagain,joiningDr.Brescianiashemadehisrounds,examiningthepatients’nervoussystems.Heispreparingadetailedstudyofnervousformsofleprosybasedon400cases.Itreallyisveryinterestingwork because many of the cases of leprosy in this region attack the nervoussystem. Actually, I didn’t see a single patient who wasn’t presenting suchsymptoms.BrescianitoldusthatDr.SouzaLimawasinterestedinearlysignsofnervousdisorderamongthechildrenlivinginthecolony.

Wewenttothepartofthecolonyreservedforthehealthy,where70orsopeoplelive.Itislackingbasicamenitiesthataresupposedlybeinginstalled,likeelectricityduringtheday,arefrigeratorandevenalaboratory.Theyareinneedofagoodmicroscope,amicrotome,a technician—at themomentthispost isoccupied byMotherMargarita, nice but not very knowledgeable— and theyneedasurgeontooperateonnerves,eyes,etc.Aninterestingthingisthatasidefromthewidespreadnervousproblems,thereareveryfewblindpeople,perhapsleadingtotheconclusionthat[indecipherableword]hassomethingtodowithit,seeingthatmostreceivenotreatmentatall.

We repeated our rounds onWednesday, passing the daywith fishing andswimminginbetween.IplayedchesswithDr.Brescianiatnight,orwechatted.Dr. Alfaro, the dentist, is a wonderful person — relaxed and very friendly.Thursdayisadayofrestforthecolonysowechangedourroutine,notvisitingthecompound.Wetriedtofish,withoutsuccess,inthemorning.Intheafternoonweplayedfootballandmyperformanceingoalwaslessatrocious.OnFridayIreturned to the compound, but Alberto stayed to do bacilloscopes in thecompany of that sweet nun,MotherMargarita. I caught two species of sumbifish,calledmota,andgaveoneofthemtoDr.Montoyatoenjoy.

ELDÍADESANGUEVARA

saintguevara’sday

On Saturday, June 14, 1952, I, just a lad, turned 24, on the cusp of thattranscendental quarter century, silver wedding of a life, which, all thingsconsidered,hasnottreatedmesobadly.EarlyinthemorningIwenttotheriver,totrymyluckagainwiththefish,butthatsportislikegambling:onestartsoutwinningandendsuplosing.IntheafternoonweplayedfootballandIoccupiedmy usual place in goal, with better results than on earlier occasions. In theevening,afterpassingbyDr.Bresciani’shouseforadelightful,hugemeal,theythrewapartyforusinthediningroomofthecolony,withalotofthePeruviannational drink,pisco. Alberto is quite experienced regarding its effects on thecentral nervous system.With everyone slightly drunk and in high spirits, thecolony’s director toasted uswarmly, and I, “piscoed,” replied with somethingelaborate,likethefollowing:

Well, it’s my duty to respond to the toast offered by Dr. Bresciani with something more than aconventionalgesture.Inourpresentlyprecariousstateastravelers,weonlyhaverecoursetowordsandIwouldnowliketousethemtoexpressmythanks,andthoseofmytravelingcompañero,toallofthestaffofthecolonywho,almostwithoutknowingus,havegivenusthisbeautifuldemonstrationoftheiraffection,celebratingmybirthdayasifitwereanintimatecelebrationforoneofyourown.Butthereissomethingmore.WithinafewdayswewillbeleavingPeruvianterritory,sothesewordshave thesecondary intentionofbeingafarewell,andIwould like tostressourgratitude toall thepeople of this country,who have unfailingly shownus theirwarmest hospitality sincewe enteredPeruviaTacna.

Iwould also like to say something else, unrelated to the theme of this toast.Although ourinsignificancemeanswe can’t be spokespeople for such a noble cause,we believe, and after thisjourneymorefirmlythanever,thatthedivisionof[Latin]Americaintounstableandillusorynationsis completely fictional.We constitute a singlemestizo race, which fromMexico to theMagellanStraitsbearsnotableethnographicalsimilarities.Andso,inanattempttoridmyselfoftheweightofsmall-mindedprovincialism,IproposeatoasttoPeruandtoaUnitedLatinAmerica.

Myoratoryofferingwas receivedwithgreatapplause.Theparty,consisting inthesepartsofdrinkingasmuchalcoholaspossible,continueduntilthreeinthemorning,whenwefinallycalleditaday.

On Sundaymorningwe visited a tribe of Yaguas, the Indians of the redstraw. After a 30-minute walk along a path, disproving all rumors of dense,impenetrablejungle,wereachedagroupofhutswhereafamilylived.Theirway

of living was fascinating — outside, beneath wooden planks and with tiny,hermeticpalmfrondhutstoshelterinatnightfromthemosquitoesthatattackinclose formation. The women had abandoned traditional costume for ordinaryclothes soyoucouldn’t admire their jugs.Thekidshavedistendedbellies andareratherscrawnybuttheolderpeopleshownosignsofvitamindeficiency,incontrastwith its rateamongmoredevelopedpeople living in the jungle.Theirbasicdietconsistsofyucca,bananasandpalmfruit,mixedwiththeanimalstheyhuntwithrifles.Theirteetharetotallyrotten.TheyspeaktheirowndialectbutsomeofthemunderstandSpanish.

In theafternoonweplayed football and though Iplayedbetter theygotasneakygoalpastme.ThatnightAlbertowokemewithanacutestomachpain,which later was located in the right iliac cavity; I was too exhausted topreoccupymyselfwithsomeoneelse’sstrangeachessoIadvisedhimtoresignhimselftothepain,turnedoverandsleptthroughtillthenextday.

Monday,thedaymedicineisdistributedthroughoutthecompound.Alberto,wellcaredforbyhisdearMotherMargarita,wasreceivingpenicillinreligiouslyeveryfourhours.Dr.Brescianitoldmehewaswaitingforarafttoarrivewithsomeanimals,andthatwecouldtakesomeplanksandmakeasmallraftofourown.TheideainspiredusandwestartedmakingplanstogotoManaos,etc. Ihadaninfectedfoot,soImissedtheafternoongameandinsteadchattedwithDr.Brescianiabouteverythingimaginableandfellintobedverylate.

Tuesdaymorning,withAlbertofullyrecovered,wewenttothecompoundwhereDr.Montoyahadoperatedontheulnaina leprousnervoussystemwithapparentlybrilliant results,although the technique leftmuch tobedesired.Wewenttofishintheafternooninanearbylagoon,andcaughtnothing,ofcourse;butonthewaybackIdeterminedtoswimacrosstheAmazon.IttookmenearlytwohourstothegreatdespairofDr.Montoyawhohadnodesiretowaitsolong.That night therewas a jovial little party, ending in a serious fightwith SeñorLezamaBeltrán, an immature, introverted soulwhowasprobably apervert aswell.Thepoormanwasdrunkandiratebecausehehadnotbeeninvitedtotheparty,sohestartedshoutinginsultsandravinguntilsomeonepunchedhimintheeye and gave him a beating aswell. The episode upset us a little because thepoorman,apartfrombeinghomosexualandafirst-ratebore,hadbeenveryniceto us, giving us 10 soles each, bringing our total to 479 forme and 163½ toAlberto.

Wednesdaydawnedwithrain,sowedidn’tgotothecompoundandthedaywas generallywasted. I read someGarcía Lorca, andwewent to see the rafttyingupat the jetty.OnThursdaymorning, thedaythemedicalstaffhaveoff,wewentwithDr.Montoyatotheoppositebanktobuyfood.Wetraveleddowna

branch of the Amazon, bought papayas, yucca, maize, fish, sugarcane atincrediblycheapprices,andfishedalittle.MontoyacaughtaregularfishandIgot amota. Coming back, a strongwind stirred up the river and the captain,RogerÁlvarez,nearlywethispantsasthewavesfloodedhiscanoe.Iaskedfortherudderbutherefusedtogiveittomeandwewenttothebanktowaitfortherivertocalmdown.Notuntilthreeintheafternoondidwegethome.Wecookedthefishbutitdidn’tfullysatisfyourhunger.Rogergaveeachofusashirtandmeapairofpants,somyspiritualwell-beingimproved.

Theraftwasalmostready,onlyneedingoars.Thatnightanassemblyofthecolony’spatientsgaveusafarewellserenade,withlotsoflocalsongssungbyablind man. The orchestra was made up of a flute player, a guitarist and anaccordionplayerwithalmostnofingers,anda“healthy”contingenthelpingoutwith a saxophone, a guitar and some percussion.After that came the time forspeeches,inwhichfourpatientsspokeaswellastheycould,alittleawkwardly.Oneofthemfroze,unabletogoon,untiloutofdesperationheshouted,“Threecheers for the doctors!” Afterwards, Alberto thanked them warmly for theirwelcome, saying that Peru’s natural beauty could not compare with theemotionalbeautyofthismoment,thathehadbeendeeplytouched,thathecouldsaynomoreexcept…andhereheextendedhisarmswithPerón-likegestureandintonation,“Iwanttogivemythankstoallofyou.”

Thepatientscastoffandtothesoundofafolktunethehumancargodriftedawayfromshore;thetenuouslightoftheirlanternsgivingthepeopleaghostlyquality.WewenttoDr.Bresciani’shouseforafewdrinks,andafterchattingforawhile,tobed.

Fridaywasourdayofdeparture,sointhemorningwepaidafarewellvisitto the patients and, after taking a few photos, came back carrying two finepineapples,agiftfromDr.Montoya.Webathedandate,andclosetothreeintheafternoonbegantosayourgoodbyes.Athalfpastthreeourraft,christenedtheMambo-Tango,setoffdownstreamcarryingacrewofbothofus,andalsoforawhileDr.Bresciani,AlfaroandChávezwhobuilttheraft.

They took us out into the middle of the river and left us to fend forourselves.

LAKONTIKITASEREVELA

debutforthelittlekontiki

Twoor threemosquitoesalonecouldnotbeatmydesire to sleepandwithinafewminutesithaddefeatedthem.Mytriumphwasempty,however,asAlberto’svoice shookme frommy delicious state of limbo. The faint lights of a littletown,whichfromitsappearancehadtobeLeticia,couldbeseenontheleftbankof the river.What followedwas the hugely arduous task of directing the rafttowardthelights,andinthis,wemetwithdisaster:thecontraptionrefusedtogoanywhere near the bank; intransigent, itwas determined to set its own coursedownthemiddleoftheriver.Werowedatfullstrengthandjustwhenitseemedwe were definitely on our way, we’d turn a half circle and head back intomidstream.Wewatchedwithgrowingdesperationas the lightsdrifted into thedistance.Exhausted,wedecidedthatatleastwecouldwinthefightagainstthemosquitoes and sleep peacefully until dawn, deciding what to do then. Ourprospectswerenotverypromising.Ifwecontinueddownriverwe’dhavetogoas far asManaos, a longway according tomore or less reliable information,some10days’ sailing.Due to an accident the daybefore,wedidn’t have anymore fishing hooks, nor any great quantities of essential provisions, and weweren’tsurewecouldmakeittothebankwhenwewantedto.Nottomentionthefactthatwe’denteredBrazilwithoutourpapersinorderandcouldn’tspeakthe language…But these concerns didn’tworry us for too long, because veryquicklywefellintoadeepsleep.TherisingsunwokemeandIcrawledoutfromunder the mosquito net to determine our position. With the world’s worstintentions,our littleKontiki haddeposited itselfon the rightbankof the river,andwascalmlywaitingat akindof little jettybelonging to anearbyhouse. Idecidedtoputoffinspectingthingsuntillaterbecausethemosquitoeswerestillwithineatingrangeandwereenjoying their feast.Albertowassleepingdeeplyso I thought I’d join him and do the same. A morbid fatigue and an uneasyexhaustionoverwhelmedme.Ifeltincapableofmakinganydecisionbutclungto the thought that nomatter how bad things became, therewas no reason tosupposewecouldn’thandleit.

QUERIDAVIEJA

dearmama

Bogotá,ColombiaJuly6,1952

DearMama,

HereIam;mytravelshavetakenmeafewkilometersclosertoVenezuelaandmade me a few pesos poorer. First, let me wish you the important happybirthday; I hope itwas spentwith love, laughter and the family.Next, I’ll beorganizedandgiveyouaconciseaccountofmyadventuressinceweleftIquitos.Wesetoffmoreorlessaccordingtoplan;travelingfortwonightswithourloyalretinueofmosquitoesandarrivingin theSanPablocolonyatdawn,whereweobtained accommodation. The medical director, a marvellous guy, liked usimmediately and we got on well with the whole colony generally, except thenunswhoquestionedwhyweneverwenttomass.Thesenunsrantheplaceandthosewhodidn’tattendmasshadtheirrationsreduced(wewentwithout,butthekidstherehelpedusandfoundusfoodeveryday).Apartfromthisminorcoldwar,lifewasincrediblypleasant.Onthe14th,theygavemeapartywithlotsofpisco, a kind of ginwhichmakes youwonderfully drunk. The director of thecolony toasted us and, inspired by the booze, I repliedwith a quintessentiallyPan-American speech, winning great applause from the notable, and notablydrunk, audience. We stayed a bit longer than planned, but finally left forColombia.Onthelastnight,agroupofpatientscameoverfromthecolonyinalarge canoe; they sangus farewell serenadeson the jetty andmade someverytouching speeches.Alberto,who believes he is Perón’s natural heir, deliveredsuch an impressive, demagogic speech that our well-wishers were convulsedwith laughter. It was one of the most interesting experiences of our trip. Anaccordionplayerwhohadnofingersonhis righthandused littlesticks tied to

hiswrist;thesingerwasblind;andalmostalltheotherswerehorriblydeformed,duetothenervousformofthediseaseverycommoninthisarea.Withlightfromthelampsandthelanternsreflectedintheriver,itwaslikeascenefromahorrormovie.The place is lovely, surrounded completely by jungle,with indigenoustribes barely amile away (whomwe visited, of course), and a lot of fish andgame to eat and incalculable potential wealth; all of this set us dreaming ofcrossing theMato Grosso by river, from Paraguay to the Amazon, practisingmedicine along the way, and so on… a dream kind of like having your ownhome…perhapsoneday…Wewerefeelingmore likeauthenticexplorersandset sail downstreamona luxury raft theybuilt especially forus.The first daywentsmoothlybutthatnight,insteadofkeepingwatchasweshouldhavedone,we both settled down to sleep, comfortably protected by amosquito netwe’dbeen given, and woke up the next morning to find we’d run aground on theriverbank.

Weatelikesharks.Thatdaypassedcheerfullyandwedecidedtotaketurnsat keepingwatch, by the hour, to avoid anymore problems, since at dusk thecurrenthadcarriedustowardthebankandsomehalf-submergedbranchesnearlycaused the raft tocapsize. Iearnedademeritpointduringoneofmywatches,whenoneof thehenswewere taking to eat fell into the river and the currentsweptitaway.ThemanwhohadswumthefullwidthoftheriverinSanPablodidn’t have the courage to dive in after it, partly becausewe’d seen alligatorssurfacingeverynowandthen,andpartlybecauseI’veneverreallyovercomemyfearofwateratnight.Ifyou’dbeenthereyouwouldhavepulleditoutandsavedthe chicken, so would Ana María, since you don’t have ridiculous nighttimecomplexeslikeme.

Oneofourhookscaught themostenormous fishandwehadahard timehauling itonboard.Wekeptwatch tillmorning,whenwemooredat thebankand then crawled under the mosquito net, as there were particularly viciousmosquitoes about. After a good sleep, Alberto, who prefers fish to chicken,discoveredourtwobaitedhookshadvanishedduringthenight,whichputhiminanevenfoulermood.Astherewasahousenearby,wedecidedtofindouthowfaritwastoLeticia.WhentheownertoldusinformalPortuguesethatLeticiawassevenhoursupstreamandthatwewerenowinBrazil,AlbertoandIhadafuriousargumentoverwhohadfallenasleeponwatch.Butthisgotusnowhere.Wegavetheownerthefishandapineappleweighingaboutfourkilosgiventousby the lepers and stayedovernight in his house, before he tookus up-riveragain.Thereturntripwasquitefast,buthardworkbecausewehadtorowforatleast seven hours in a canoe andweweren’t used to it.We found board andlodging,etc.,at thepolicestation inLeticia;butwecouldn’tgetmore than50

percentoffourairfares,andhadtoforkout130Colombianpesos,plusanother15forexcessbaggage,makingatotalof1,500Argentinepesosinall.Butwhatsavedthedaywasthatwewereaskedtocoachafootballteamwhilewaitingfortheplane,whichcameonlyonceafortnight.Atfirst,weonlyintendedtocoachthemtothepointwheretheywouldn’tmakefoolsofthemselves;buttheyweresobadwedecidedtoplay,too.Theamazingresultwasthatwhatwasconsideredtheweakestteamenteredtheone-daychampionshiputterlyreorganized,madeitto the finaland lostonlyonpenalties.Alberto lookedvaguely likePedernera*withhisspot-onpasses,sohewasnicknamedPedernerita,infact,andIsavedapenalty which will go down in the history of Leticia. The whole celebrationwouldhavebeengreat if theyhadn’tplayed theColombiannationalanthematthe end and I hadn’t bent down to wipe some blood off my knee during it,sparkingaviolent reactionfromthecolonel,whoshoutedatme. Iwas justonthe edge of shouting back when I remembered our journey, etc., and bit mytongue. After a great flight in a cocktail-shaker of an airplane, we arrived inBogotá.Albertochattedtotheotherpassengersontheway,recountinganawfulflightwe’dhadacrosstheAtlanticoncewhenattendinganinternationalleprosyconferenceinParis,andhowthreeofthefourengineshadfailedandwe’dbeenwithinminutesofcrashing into theAtlantic,concludingwith,“Honestly, theseDouglases…”;hewassoconvincingIwasevenscaredmyself.

We feel likewe’vebeen around theworld twice.Our first day inBogotáwent pretty well, we found food on the university campus but noaccommodationbecause itwasfullofstudentsongrantsforcoursesorganizedbytheUnitedNations.NoArgentines,ofcourse.Justafteronein themorningwefinallyfoundspaceatthehospital,bywhichImeanachairtospendthenightin. We’re not terribly poor, but explorers with our history and stature wouldratherdiethanpayforthebourgeoiscomfortofahostel.Afterthattheleprosyservicetookusin,eventhoughtheyhadregardeduswithsuspicionthefirstdaybecause of the letter of introduction we brought from Peru — verycomplimentary but signed by Dr. Pesce, who plays in the same position asLusteau.**Albertoshovedvariouscertificatesundertheirnosesandtheyhardlyhad time to catch their breath before I cornered them aboutmy allergywork,leavingthemreeling.Theresult?Wewerebothofferedjobs.Ihadnointentionof accepting but Alberto, for obvious reasons, was considering it. I had beenusing Roberto’s knife to sketch something on the ground in the street, andconsequentlywehadanaltercationwiththepolicewhoharassedussobadlythatinsteadofAlbertostaying,bothofusdecidedtoleaveforVenezuelaassoonaspossible.Soby the timeyouget this letter, I’llbe justabout ready to leave. Ifyouwanttochanceit,writetoCucuta,SantanderdelNorte,Colombia,orvery

quicklyheretoBogotá.TomorrowI’mofftoseeMillonariosplayRealMadridin the cheapest stand, since our compatriots are harder to tap than ministers.Thereismorerepressionofindividualfreedomherethaninanycountrywe’vebeen to, the police patrol the streets carrying rifles and demand your papersevery fewminutes,which someof themreadupsidedown.Theatmosphere istense and it seems a revolution may be brewing. The countryside is in openrevoltandthearmyispowerlesstosuppressit.Theconservativesbattleamongthemselves and cannot agree, and thememory ofApril 9, 1948,* still weighsheavily on everyone’s minds. In summary, it’s suffocating here. If theColombianswanttoputupwithit,goodlucktothem,butwe’regettingoutofhereassoonaswecan.ApparentlyAlbertohasagoodchanceoffindingworkinCaracas.

Ireallyhopesomeonewillscribbleafewlinestoletmeknowhowyouare.Youwon’thavetogleaninformationthroughBeatrízorsomeotherintermediarythistime(I’mnotreplyingtoherbecausewe’relimitingourselvestooneletterpercity,whichiswhythecardforAlfreditoGabelaisenclosed).

Ahugehugfromyourson,whomissesyoufromheadtotoe.IhopetheoldmanmanagestogethimselftoVenezuela, thecostoflivingismorethanhere,but thepay ismuchbetter and that should suit a skinflint (!) likehim.By theway, ifafter livinguphereforawhilehe’sstill in lovewithUncleSam…butlet’snotgetdistracted,Papicanreadbetweenthelines.Chau.

*Argentinefootballer.**Argentinefootballer.*WhentheradicalLiberalpoliticianJorgeEliécerGaitánwasmurdered.

HACIACARACAS

ontheroadtocaracas

After the inevitable and unnecessary questions, the manhandling and fiddlingaround with our passports, and the inquisitorial stares, so suspicious as to beworthyofapoliceofficer,theofficialstampedourpassportswithabigdeparturedateofJuly14,andwesetoutonfootacrossthebridgeunitinganddividingthetwo countries. A Venezuelan soldier, with the same spiteful insolence as hisColombiancounterparts—acommontraitamongallmilitarystock,itseems—checked our luggage and then seized the opportunity to submit us to his ownpersonal interrogation, just to show we were talking to someone with“authority.”Theydetainedus for agoodwhile inSanAntoniodeTáchirabutonlyforadministrativeformalities,andthenwecontinuedourjourneyinavanwhichpromisedtotakeustothecityofSanCristóbal.Halfwayalongtheroadisthecustomspostwhereweenduredathoroughsearchofourentireluggageandour persons. The famous knife which had caused so much trouble in Bogotáreturned, as the leit motif of a long discussion with the police chief. Weconductedthisdiscussionwithaneasemasteredthroughdealingswithpeopleofsuchhighculture.The revolverwas savedbecause itwas inside thepocketofmyleatherjacket,inabundlewhosestenchscaredoffthecustomsofficers.Theknife,recoveredwithmucheffort,wasanewcauseforconcernbecausecustomspostswereplacedallthewaytoCaracasandweweren’tcertainofbeingabletofind brains capable of processing the elementary reasons we gave them. Theroad linking the two frontier townships is paved perfectly, especially on theVenezuelanside,andremindsmeof themountainousregionsaroundCórdoba.Ingeneral,itseemsthatthiscountryismoreprosperousthanColombia.

Onarriving inSanCristóbal,a fightbrokeoutbetweentheownersof thetransport company and ourselves,whowanted to travel in themost economicway possible. For the first time in our trip, “their” thesis regarding theadvantagesoftwodays’travelingbyvan,ratherthantakingthreedaysinabus,wonout.Eager to resolveour immediate futuresand findproper treatment formyasthma,wedecided to partwith an extra 20bolívares, sacrificing them inhonorofCaracas.Weoccupiedourselves until evening,wandering around theneighborhoodandreadingalittleaboutthecountryinquiteagoodlibrarythat’sthere.

At11p.m.wesetoffnorthward,leavingbehindusalltracesofasphalt.Inaseatwherethreepeoplewerealreadysqueezedin,theycrammedinfourofus,sotherewasnochanceofsleeping.Evenworse,aflattirelostusanhourandmyasthma was still bothering me. Wearily climbing toward the summit, thevegetationbecamescarcer,althoughinthevalleysyoucouldseethesametypesof crops growing as in Colombia. The roads were in a terrible state, causingmanypunctures;onourseconddayontheroadwehadseveral.Thepolicehave

controlpointsthoroughlycheckingallvansandwewouldhavefoundourselvesin dire straits without the help of the letter of recommendation one womanpassenger had — the driver claimed all the luggage was hers, missionaccomplished.Thepriceofamealhadrisenandonebolívar perheadbecamemorelikethreeandahalf.Wedecidedtosaveasmuchmoneyaswecould,sowe fasted at the stop in Punta del Águila, but the driver took pity on ourindigence and gave us a good meal, at his expense. Punta del Águila is thehighestpointoftheVenezuelanAndes,reaching4,108metersabovesealevel.Itookmy two last remaining tablets with which I was able to get through thenight.Atdawn,thedriverstoppedforanhourtosleep.Hehadbeendrivingfortwodayswithout abreak.Weexpected toarrive inCaracas thatnightbut flattiresdelayedusagain,aswellasfaultywiringwhichmeantthebatterycouldn’tchargeandwehadtostoptofixit.Theclimatehadbecometropicalandtherewere aggressivemosquitoes and bananas on all sides. The last stretch, duringwhich I dozed, trying to cope with a decent asthma attack, was asphaltedproperlyandseemed tobequitepretty (itwasdarkby then).Aswearrivedatourdestinationtheskywaslightening.Iwasabsolutelywrecked.Ifellintoabedwe rented for half a bolívar and slept like a tiger, aided by the substantialadrenalininjectiongiventomebyAlberto.

ESTEEXTRAÑOSIGLOVEINTE

hisstrangetwentiethcentury

TheworstofmyasthmaattackhasnowpassedandI feelalmostwell, thoughsometimes I resort to my new acquisition, a French inhaler. I feel Alberto’sabsence so sharply. It seems like my flanks are unguarded from somehypothetical attack. At every other moment I’m turning around to share anobservationwithhimonlytorealizehe’snotthere.

It’strue,there’snotreallymuchtocomplainabout:thoroughlylookedafter,

goodfoodandalotofit,andtheanticipationofreturninghometostartstudyingagainandtocompletethedegreewhichwillenablemetopractise.Yettheideaofsplittingupdefinitivelydoesn’tmakemecompletelyhappy;themanymonthswe’vebeensidebyside,throughgoodandbad,accustomedtodreamingsimilardreamsinsimilarsituations,havebroughtussomuchclosertogether.Withtheseideasconstantlyturningoverinmymind,Ifindmyselfdriftingawayfromthecenter of Caracas. The homes in the suburbs are spaced much further apart.Caracasextendsalongthelengthofanarrowvalley,enclosingandrestrainingitonitsedges,sothatonashortwalkyou’llbeclimbingthesurroundinghills,andthere,with theprogressivecity laidoutbeforeyour feet,you’llbegin to seeanewaspectofitsmultifacetedmakeup.Theblacks,thosemagnificentexamplesoftheAfricanracewhohavemaintainedtheirracialpuritythankstotheirlackofanaffinitywithbathing,haveseentheirterritoryinvadedbyanewkindofslave:thePortuguese.Andthetwoancientraceshavenowbegunahardlifetogether,fraughtwithbickeringandsquabbles.Discriminationandpovertyunitetheminthedailyfightforsurvivalbuttheirdifferentwaysofapproachinglifeseparatethemcompletely:theblackisindolentandadreamer;spendinghismeagerwageonfrivolityordrink;theEuropeanhasatraditionofworkandsaving,whichhaspursuedhimasfarasthiscornerofAmericaanddriveshimtoadvancehimself,evenindependentlyofhisownindividualaspirations.

At this elevation the concrete houses have totally disappeared and onlyadobe huts reign. I peer into one of them. It is a room half separated by apartition, with a fireplace and table and a heap of straw on the ground,apparentlyservingasbeds.Variousbonycatsandamangydogplaywiththreecompletely naked black children. Rising from the fire, acrid smoke fills theroom.Theblackmother,frizzyhairandsaggingbreasts,iscooking,assistedbya girl of about 15, who is dressed. At the door of the hut we get into aconversation and after awhile I ask if theywill pose for a photo,which theycategoricallyrefusetodounlessIgiveittothemstraightaway.InvainItrytoexplainthatIhavetodevelopitfirst,butno,theywantitthenandthere,ornoballgame.EventuallyIpromisetohanditoverstraightaway,butnowtheyaresuspiciousanddon’twanttocooperate.OneofthekidsescapestoplaywithhisfriendswhileIcontinuechattingwiththefamily.Intheend,Istandguardatthedoor,camerainhand,pretendingtosnapanyonewhopokesouttheirhead.WeplayaroundlikethisforawhileuntilIseethelittlekidreturningcarefreeonanewbicycle;Ifocusandpressthebuttonbuttheeffectisdisastrous.Toeludethephoto,thekidswervesandfallstotheground,burstingintotears.Immediatelytheyalllosetheirfearofthecameraandrushouttohurlabuseatme.Iwithdrawsomewhatapprehensivelybecausetheyareexcellentstonethrowers,followedby

theinsultsofthegroup—includingtheheightofcontempt:“Portuguese.”Littered along the edges of the road are containers for transporting cars,

usedbythePortugueseasdwellings.Inoneofthese,whereablackfamilylives,Icanjustglimpseabrandnewrefrigerator,andfrommanyofthemradiosblaremusic which their owners play at maximum volume. New cars are parkedoutsidethemostmiserable“homes.”Allkindsofaircraftpassoverhead,sowingtheairwithnoiseandsilverreflectionsandthere,atmyfeet,liesCaracas,cityoftheeternalspring.Itscenteristhreatenedbytheinvasionofredtiledroofsthatconvergewiththeflatroofsofmodernbuildings.Butsomethingelsewillallowthe yellowy color of its colonial buildings to live on, even after they havedisappearedfromthecitymaps:thespiritofCaracas,impervioustothelifestyleoftheNorthandstubbornlyrootedintheretrogradesemi-pastoralconditionsofitscolonialpast.

ACOTACIÓNALMARGEN

anoteinthemargin

Thestarsdrewlightacrossthenightskyinthatlittlemountainvillage,andthesilenceandthecoldmadethedarknessvanishaway.Itwas—Idon’tknowhowtoexplainit—asifeverythingsolidmeltedawayintotheether,eliminatingallindividuality and absorbing us, rigid, into the immense darkness.Not a singlecloudtolendperspectivetothespaceblockedanyportionofthestarrysky.Lessthan a few meters away the dim light of a lamp lost its power to fade thedarkness.

Theman’sfacewasindistinctintheshadows;Icouldonlyseewhatseemedlikethesparkofhiseyesandthegleamofhisfourfrontteeth.

I still can’t say whether it was the atmosphere or the personality of thatindividual thatpreparedmefortherevelation,butIknowthatmanytimesandfrommanydifferentpeopleIhadheardthosesameargumentsandthattheyhad

nevermadeanimpressiononme.Ourinterlocutorwas,infact,averyinterestingcharacter. From a country in Europe, he escaped the knife of dogmatism as ayoungman,heknewthetasteoffear(oneofthefewexperienceswhichmakesyou value life), and afterwards he had wandered from country to country,gatheringthousandsofadventures,untilheandhisbonesfinallyendedupinthisisolatedregion,patientlywaitingforthemomentofgreatreckoningtoarrive.

After exchanging a few meaningless words and platitudes, each of usmarking territory, the discussion began to falter andwewere about to go ourseparateways,whenheletouthisidiosyncratic,childlikelaugh,highlightingtheasymmetryofhisfourfrontincisors:

Thefuturebelongsto thepeople,andgradually,or inonestrike, theywill takepower,hereandineverycountry.

The terrible thing is the people need to be educated, and this they cannot do before takingpower,onlyafter.Theycanonlylearnatthecostoftheirownmistakes,whichwillbeveryseriousandwill costmany innocent lives.Orperhapsnot,maybe those liveswillnothavebeen innocentbecausetheywillhavecommittedthehugesinagainstnature;meaning,alackofabilitytoadapt.Allofthem,thoseunabletoadapt—youandI,forexample—willdiecursingthepowertheyhelped,throughgreatsacrifice,tocreate.Revolutionisimpersonal;itwilltaketheirlives,evenutilizingtheirmemoryasanexampleorasaninstrumentfordomesticatingtheyouthwhofollowthem.Mysinisgreaterbecause I,moreastuteandwithgreaterexperience,call itwhatyou like,willdieknowingthat my sacrifice stems only from an inflexibility symbolizing our rotten civilization, which iscrumbling.Ialsoknow—andthiswon’talterthecourseofhistoryoryourpersonalviewofme—thatyouwilldiewithaclenchedfistandatensejaw,theepitomeofhatredandstruggle,becauseyouarenotasymbol(someinanimateexample)butagenuinememberofthesocietytobedestroyed;thespiritofthebeehivespeaksthroughyourmouthandmotivatesyouractions.YouareasusefulasIam,butyouarenotawareofhowusefulyourcontributionistothesocietythatsacrificesyou.

I saw his teeth and the cheeky grin with which he foretold history, I felt hishandshakeand,likeadistantmurmur,hisformalgoodbye.Thenight,foldinginat contact with his words, overtook me again, enveloping me within it. Butdespite his words, I now knew… I knew that when the great guiding spiritcleaves humanity into two antagonistic halves, I would be with the people. Iknowthis,IseeitprintedinthenightskythatI,eclecticdissemblerofdoctrineand psychoanalyst of dogma, howling like one possessed, will assault thebarricades or the trenches, will take my bloodstained weapon and, consumedwithfury,slaughteranyenemywhofallsintomyhands.AndIsee,asifagreatexhaustionsmothersthisfreshexaltation,Iseemyself,immolatedinthegenuinerevolution, thegreatequalizerof individualwill,proclaiming theultimatemeaculpa.Ifeelmynostrilsdilate,savoringtheacridsmellofgunpowderandblood,theenemy’sdeath;Isteelmybody,readytodobattle,andpreparemyselftobeasacred space within which the bestial howl of the triumphant proletariat can

resoundwithnewenergyandnewhope.

APPENDIX:SPEECHTOMEDICALSTUDENTS

achildofmyenvironmentAugust20,1960

Eight years after writing The Motorcycle Diaries, Ernesto Che Guevara hadbecomeacentral figure inCuba’s revolutionarygovernment.Afterhis journeywith Alberto Granado, he had traveled again through Latin America,experienced the CIA-backed coup in Guatemala and joined the Cubanrevolutionarymovement that eventually tookpower in 1959. In this speech toCubanmedicalstudentsandworkers,Chereflectsonhisowndevelopmentfrommedicalstudenttopoliticalactivist.

AlmosteveryoneknowsthatIstartedmycareerasadoctoranumberofyearsago.WhenIstartedoutasadoctor,whenIbegantostudymedicine,themajorityoftheconceptsIholdtodayasarevolutionarywereabsentfromthestorehouseofmyideals.

Iwantedtosucceed,aseverybodywantstosucceed.Idreamedaboutbeingafamousresearcher.Idreamedofworkingtirelesslytoachievesomethingthatcouldreallybeputatthedisposalofhumanity,butthat,atthesametime,wouldbeapersonaltriumph.Iwas,asweallare,achildofmyenvironment.

Throughspecialcircumstances,andperhapsalsobecauseofmycharacter,afterreceivingmydegreeIbegantotravelthroughLatinAmericaandIcametoknowitintimately.ExceptforHaitiandtheDominicanRepublic,Ihavevisited—inonewayoranother—alltheothercountriesofLatinAmerica.InthewayItraveled,firstasastudentandafterwardasadoctor,Ibegantocomeintoclosecontactwithpoverty,withhunger,withdisease,withtheinabilitytocureachildbecause of a lack of resources, with the numbness that hunger and continuedpunishment cause until a point is reachedwhere a parent losing a child is anunimportant incident,asoftenhappensamongthehard-hitclassesofourLatinAmericanhomeland.AndIbegantoseetherewassomethingthat,atthattime,

seemedtomealmostasimportantasbeingafamousresearcherormakingsomesubstantialcontributiontomedicalscience,andthiswashelpingthosepeople.

But I continued being, as all of us always continue being, a child ofmyenvironment,and Iwanted tohelp thosepeople throughmypersonalefforts. Ihad already traveled a lot — I was then in Guatemala, the Guatemala of[democraticallyelectedJacobo]Árbenz—andIhadbeguntomakesomenotestoguidetheconductofarevolutionarydoctor.IbegantolookintowhatIneededtobearevolutionarydoctor.

Theattackcame,however: the[1954]coupunleashedbytheUnitedFruitCompany,theU.S.StateDepartment,[CIAdirector]FosterDulles—inreality,they are all the same thing — and the puppet [they replaced Árbenz with],CastilloÁrmas.Theaggressionwassuccessful,giventhatthepeoplehadnotyetreachedthelevelofmaturitytheCubanpeoplehavetoday.Andonefineday,I,likesomanyothers,tooktheroadtoexile,oratleastItooktheroadoffleeingfromGuatemala,sincethatwasnotmyhomeland.

ThenIrealizedonefundamentalthing:tobearevolutionarydoctor,ortobea revolutionary, there must first be a revolution. The isolated effort, theindividualeffort,thepurityofideals,thedesiretosacrificeanentirelifetimetothenoblestofidealsmeansnaughtifthateffortismadealone,solitary,insomecorner of Latin America, fighting against hostile governments and socialconditions that do not permit progress. A revolution needs what we have inCuba: an entire peoplemobilized, who have learned the use of arms and thepractise of combative unity,who knowwhat aweapon isworth andwhat thepeople’sunityisworth.

Thenwe get to the heart of the problem that today lies ahead of us.Wealready have the right and even the obligation to be, before anything else, arevolutionarydoctor, that is,apersonwhoputs the technicalknowledgeofhisprofessionattheserviceoftherevolutionandofthepeople.Thenwecomebacktotheearlierquestions:Howdoesoneworkforsocialwelfareeffectively?Howdoesonereconcileindividualeffortwiththeneedsofsociety?

Weagainhavetorecallwhateachofourliveswaslike,whateachofusdidand thought, as a doctor or in any other public health function, prior to therevolution.We have to do sowith profound critical enthusiasm.Wewill thenconcludethatalmosteverythingwethoughtandfeltinthatpastepochshouldbefiledaway,andthatanewtypeofhumanbeingshouldbecreated.Ifeachoneofusistheirownarchitectofthatnewtypeofhumanbeing,thencreatingthatnewtypeofhumanbeing—whowillrepresentthenewCuba—willbemucheasier.

Itisgoodforyou—thosepresent,theresidentsofHavana—toabsorbthisidea:thatinCubaanewtypeofhumanbeingisbeingcreated,whichcannotbe

entirelyappreciatedinthecapital,butwhichcanbeseenineveryothercornerofthecountry.ThoseofyouwhowenttotheSierraMaestraonJuly26musthaveseen something very important… You must have seen children who by theirphysicalstatureappeareightornineyearsold,butwhoneverthelessarealmostall 13or14.Theyare thegenuinechildrenof theSierraMaestra, thegenuinechildren of hunger and poverty in all its forms. They are the creatures ofmalnutrition.

InthissmallCuba,withfourorfivetelevisionchannels,withhundredsofradio stations,with all the advances ofmodern science,when one night thosechildrenarrivedatschoolandforthefirsttimesawelectriclight,theyexclaimedthatthestarswereverylowthatnight.Thosechildren,whomsomeofyouwouldhaveseen,arenowlearninginthecollectiveschools,fromtheABCsrightuptolearningatrade,rightuptotheverydifficultscienceofbeingrevolutionaries.

These are the new kinds of human beings born in Cuba. They are beingborn in isolated places, in remote parts of the SierraMaestra and also in thecooperativesandworkplaces.

Allthathasalottodowiththetopicofourtalktoday:theintegrationofthedoctorandothermedicalworkersintotherevolutionarymovement.Becausetherevolution’stask—thetaskoftrainingandnourishingthechildren,thetaskofeducating the army, the task of distributing the lands of the old absenteelandlordsamongthosewhosweatedeverydayonthatsamelandwithoutreapingitsfruit—isthegreatestworkofsocialmedicinethathasbeendoneinCuba.

The battle against disease should be based on the principle of creating arobustbody—notthroughadoctor’sartisticworkonaweakorganism—butcreatingarobustbodythroughtheworkofthewholecollectivity,especiallythewholesocialcollectivity.

One day medicine will have to become a science that serves to preventdiseases,toorienttheentirepublictowardtheirmedicalobligations,andwhichonly has to intervene in cases of extreme urgency to perform some surgicaloperation or to deal with something unusual in that new society we arecreating… For that organizational task, as for all revolutionary tasks, what isrequired,fundamentally,istheindividual.Therevolutionisnot,assomeclaim,astandardizer of collective will, of collective initiative. To the contrary, it is aliberatorofhumanbeings’individualcapacity.

What the revolutiondoesdo,however, is todirect that capacity.Our tasktodayis toorient thecreativetalentofall themedicalprofessionalstowardthetasksofsocialmedicine.

Weareat theendofanera,andnotonlyhereinCuba.Despiteall that issaid to the contrary and despite all the hopes of some people, the forms of

capitalismwehaveknown,underwhichwehavebeenraisedandhavesuffered,are being defeated throughout the world. Themonopolies are being defeated.Collectivescienceeverydayregistersnewandimportanttriumphs.Andwehavehad the pride and the self-sacrificing duty of being the vanguard in LatinAmerica of a liberation movement that began some time ago, in the othersubjugatedcontinentsofAfricaandAsia.Thatveryprofoundsocialchangealsodemandsveryprofoundchangesinthementalityofthepeople.

Individualismas such, as the isolatedactionof apersonalone ina socialenvironment, must disappear in Cuba. Individualism tomorrow should be theproper utilization of the whole individual, to the absolute benefit of thecommunity.Butevenwhenallthisisunderstoodtoday,evenwhenthesethingsIamsayingarecomprehended,andevenwheneveryoneiswillingtothinkalittleaboutthepresent,aboutthepast,andaboutwhatthefutureshouldbe,changingthe manner of thinking requires profound internal changes and helping bringaboutprofoundexternalchanges,primarilysocial.

Those external changes are taking place in Cuba every day.Oneway oflearning about this revolution, of getting to know the forces the people keepstoredinsidethemselves,forcesthathavebeendormantforsolong,istovisitallofCuba, visit the cooperatives and all theworkplaces being created.Andonewayofgettingtotheheartofthemedicalquestionisnotonlyknowing,notonlyvisiting these places, but also getting to know the peoplewhomake up thosecooperativesandworkcenters.Go thereandfindoutwhatdiseases theyhave,what their ailments are,what extremepoverty they have experienced over theyears, inherited from centuries of repression and total submission.The doctor,themedicalworker,shouldthengototheheartoftheirnewwork,whichisasapersonamongthemasses,apersonwithinthecommunity.

Whatever happens in theworld, by always being close to the patient, byknowinghisorherpsychologysodeeply,bybeing the representativeof thosewhocomenearpainandrelieveit,thedoctoralwayshasaveryimportantjob,ajobofgreatresponsibilityinsociallife.

Sometimeago,afewmonths,itsohappenedhereinHavanathatagroupofstudents,recentlyqualifieddoctors,didnotwanttogotothecountrysideandweredemandingextrapayment forgoing.From theviewpointof thepast it ismorethanlogicalthatthiswouldoccur;atleastitseemsthatwaytome,andIunderstandit. Irememberthat thiswasthewayitwas, thewayitwasthoughtabout some years ago. Oncemore it is the gladiator in rebellion, the solitaryfighter who wants to ensure a better future, better conditions, and to achieverecognitionforwhatheorshedoes.

Butwhatwouldhappenifitwerenotthoseindividuals—themajorityof

whosefamiliescouldpayfortheirseveralyearsofstudy—whocompletedtheircourses and are nowbeginning to practise their profession?What if instead itwas 200 or 300 peasants who had emerged, let’s say by magic, from theuniversitylecturehalls?

Whatwouldhavehappened,simply,isthatthosepeasantswouldhaverunimmediately, andwithgreat enthusiasm, to attend to theirbrothers and sisters.Theywouldhaverequestedthepostswiththemostresponsibilityandthemostwork,inordertoshowthattheyearsofstudygiventhemwerenotinvain.Whatwouldhavehappened iswhatwillhappenwithinsixor sevenyears,when thenew students, children of the working class and the peasantry, receive theirprofessionaldegreesofwhatevertype.

Butweshouldnotviewthefuturewithfatalismanddividehumanbeingsintochildrenoftheworkingclassorpeasantry,andcounterrevolutionaries.Thatissimplistic,itisnottrue,andthereisnothingthateducatesanhonorablepersonmorethanlivingwithinarevolution.

None of us, none of the first group that arrived in the Granma, whoestablished ourselves in the Sierra Maestra, and who learned to respect thepeasantandtheworker,livingtogetherwiththem—noneofushadapastasaworkerorpeasant.Naturally,therewerethosewhohadtowork,whohadknowncertainwantsintheirchildhood.Buthunger,truehunger,noneofushadknown,andwebegan to know it, temporarily, during the two longyears in theSierraMaestra.And thenmany thingsbecameveryclear…we learnedperfectly thatthe life of a single human being is worthmillions of timesmore than all theproperty of the richest man on earth. We learned it there, we who were notchildrenoftheworkingclassorthepeasantry.Sowhyshouldwenowshouttothe fourwinds thatwe are the privileged ones and that the rest of theCubanpeople cannot learn, too? Yes, they can learn. In fact, the revolution todaydemands that they learn, demands that they understand well that the pride ofserving our fellowman ismuchmore important than a good income; that thepeople’sgratitudeismuchmorepermanent,muchmorelastingthanallthegoldonecanaccumulate.Eachdoctor,inthesphereoftheiractivity,canandshouldaccumulatethatprizedtreasure,thepeople’sgratitude.

Wemust then begin to erase our old concepts and come ever closer andevermorecriticallytothepeople.Notinthewaywegotcloserbefore,becauseallofyouwillsay:“No,Iamafriendofthepeople.Ienjoytalkingwithworkersandpeasants,andonSundaysIgotosuchandsuchaplacetoseesuchandsuchathing.”Everybodyhasdonethat.Buttheyhavedoneitpractisingcharity,andwhatwehave topractise today is solidarity.Weshouldnotdrawcloser to thepeopletosay:“Hereweare.Wecometogiveyouthecharityofourpresence,to

teachyouwithourscience,todemonstrateyourerrors,yourlackofrefinement,your lack of elementary knowledge.”We should gowith an investigative zealandwith a humble spirit, to learn from thegreat sourceofwisdom that is thepeople.

Oftenwerealizehowmistakenwewereinconceptsweknewsowell;theyhadbecomepartofusand,automatically,ofourconsciousness.Everysooftenwe ought to change all our concepts, not just general, social or philosophicalconcepts,butalso,attimes,ourmedicalconcepts.Wewillseethatdiseasesarenot always treatedasone treats illness inabig-cityhospital.Wewill see thenthatthedoctoralsohastobeafarmer,thatheorshehastolearntocultivatenewfoodsand,byhisorherexample,tocultivatethedesiretoconsumenewfoods,todiversifythefoodstructureinCuba—sosmallandsopoorinanagriculturalcountrythatispotentiallytherichestonearth.Wewillthenseethatundersuchcircumstanceswewillhavetobequitepedagogic,attimesverypedagogic,thatwewillalsohavetobepoliticians;thatthefirstthingwewillhavetodoisnotgoofferingourwisdom,butshowingthatwearereadytolearnwiththepeople,tocarryoutthatgreatandbeautifulcommonexperience—tobuildanewCuba.

We have already takenmany steps, and the distance between January 1,1959,andtodaycannotbemeasuredinaconventionalmanner.Sometimeagothepeopleunderstoodthatnotonlyhadadictatorfallenhere,butasystemhadfallenaswell.Now thepeople should learn thatupon the ruinsof a crumbledsystem, one must build a new one that brings about the people’s absolutehappiness.

…Wehave definitively become convinced that there is a common enemy.Weknowthateveryonelooksovertheirshoulderstoseeifsomeonewillhearthem,if someone is listening from some embassywhowill transmitwhat they hear,before they clearly state their opinion against the monopolies, before sayingclearly: “Our enemy, and the enemyof allLatinAmerica, is themonopolisticgovernmentoftheUnitedStatesofAmerica.”

Ifeverybodyalreadyknowsthatthisistheenemy,andifourstartingpointisknowingthatwhoeverstrugglesagainstthatenemyhassomethingincommonwithus,thencomesthesecondpart.WhatareourgoalshereinCuba?Whatdowe want? Do we want the people’s happiness or not? Are we struggling forCuba’sabsoluteeconomicliberationornot?Areweorarewenotstrugglingtobeafreecountryamongfreecountries,withoutbelongingtoanymilitarybloc,withouthaving toconsult anyembassyofanygreatpoweronearthaboutanydomestic or foreign decision wemake? Are we thinking of redistributing thewealthofthosewhohavetoomuch,togivetothosewhohavenothing?Arewe

thinking here of doing creative work, a dynamic daily source of all ourhappiness?Ifso,thenwealreadyhavethegoalstowhichwereferred…Attimesofgreatdanger,attimesofgreattensionandgreatcreation,whatcountsarethegreatenemyandthegreatgoals.Ifweagree,ifweallalreadyknowwherewearegoing,thenwhateverhappens,wemustbeginourwork.

Iwastellingyouthattobearevolutionaryrequireshavingarevolution.Wealreadyhaveit.Andarevolutionarymustalsoknowthepeoplewithwhomheorsheistowork.Ithinkwestilldon’tknowoneanotherwell.Ithinkwestillhavetotravelawhilealongthatroad…[Yet] ifweknowthegoals, ifweknowtheenemy,andifweknowthedirectioninwhichwehavetotravel, thentheonlythingleftforusis toknowthedailystretchoftheroadandtotakeit.Nobodycanpointoutthatstretch;thatstretchisthepersonalroadofeachindividual;itiswhatheorshewilldoeveryday,whatheorshewillgainfromtheirindividualexperience, and what he or she will give of themselves in practising theirprofession,dedicatedtothepeople’swell-being.

If we already possess all the elements with which to march toward thefuture,letusthenrecallthatphraseofJoséMartí,whichatthismomentIamnotputtingintopractise,butwhichwemustconstantlyputintopractise:“Thebestformofsayingisdoing.”AndletusthenmarchtowardthefutureofCuba.

ThefulltextofthisspeechisprintedintheexpandededitionofCheGuevaraReader,publishedbyOceanPressin2003.

BOOKSFROMOCEANPRESS

CUBABYKORDAAlbertoKorda

ThefirstpublicationoftheworkoftheCubanphotographercelebratedforhisiconicphotographofCheGuevara.Ifyoudon’tknowhisname,youknowhisphotographofChestaringintothedistancelikeaprophet,animagethathasbeenreproducedonmillionsofT-shirtsandpostersaroundtheworld.

ISBN978-1-920888-64-0

CHE:AMEMOIRBYFIDELCASTRO

EditedbyDavidDeutschmann

FidelCastrowriteswithgreatcandorandemotionaboutahistoricrevolutionarypartnershipthatchangedthefaceofCubaandLatinAmerica,vividlyportrayingChe—theman,therevolutionary,andthe

intellectual—andrevealingmuchabouthisowninimitabledeterminationandcharacter.

ISBN978-1-920888-25-1(AlsoavailableinSpanish978-1-921235-02-3)

TANIAUndercoverwithCheGuevarainBolivia

UlisesEstrada

TaniaisagrippingaccountoftheextraordinarywomanwhofoughtanddiedalongsideCheGuevarainBolivia.TaniawasoneofCuba’smostsuccessfulagentsinLatinAmerica,penetratingBolivianhigh

societyandpreparingforChe’sclandestineentryintothecountry.Whenhercoverwasblown,TaniajoinedChe’sguerrillamovementbutwaskilledinanambushinAugust1967.

ISBN978-1-876175-43-6(AlsoavailableinSpanish978-1-920888-21-3)

HAYDÉESANTAMARÍA

RebelLives

EditedbyBetsyMaclean

Haydéefirstachievednotorietyasoneoftwowomenwhoparticipatedinthearmedattackthatsparkedthe

Cubanrevolution.Later,asdirectoroftheworld-renownedliteraryinstitution,CasadelasAméricas,sheembracedcultureasatoolforsocialchangeandprovidedrefugeforexiledLatinAmericanartistsand

intellectuals.IncludedarereflectionsbyAliciaAlonso,MarioBenedetti,ArielDorfman,MelbaHernández,RobertoFernándezRetamarandSilvioRodríguez.

ISBN978-1-876175-59-7(AlsoavailableinSpanish978-1-921235-91-7)

CHEGUEVARABOOKSFROMOCEANPRESS

CHETheDiariesofErnestoCheGuevara

ErnestoCheGuevara

DirectorStevenSoderberghbasedhistwo-partepicmovie“Che”(PartOne:TheArgentineandPartTwo:Guerrilla)ontwoclassicdiarieswrittenbyErnestoCheGuevara:ReminiscencesoftheCuban

RevolutionaryWar(anaccountoftheguerrillamovementledbyFidelCastrothatoverthrewtheBatistadictatorshipin1959)andTheBolivianDiary(Che’sfamous,unfinisheddiarydiscoveredinhisbackpack

whenhewascapturedandkilledinBoliviainOctober1967).

ISBN978-1-920888-33-6

THEAWAKENINGOFACONTINENTWritings,Letters,andSpeechesonLatinAmerica,1950-67

ErnestoCheGuevara

ThisclassicanthologyoffersavisionofChe’suniqueperspectiveonthecontinentofLatinAmerica,showinghisculturaldepth,rigorousintellectandintenseemotion.ItincludesthebestofChe’swriting:examplesofhisjournalism,essays,speeches,lettersandpoems,revealinghistransformationfromthe

impressionablemedicalstudenttohisdeathas“theheroicguerrilla”inBolivia.

ISBN978-0-9804292-8-2

SELFPORTRAITAPhotographicandLiteraryMemoir

ErnestoCheGuevara

SelfPortrait,anintimatelookatthemanbehindtheicon,isaremarkablephotographicandliterarymemoirthatdrawsontherichseamofdiaries,letters,poems,journalismandshortstoriesCheGuevarawithhis

familyinCuba.UniqueamongthemanybooksaboutCheGuevara,forthefirsttimeChe’spersonalworldisrevealed,unveilinghisextraordinarycandor,irony,dryhumorandpassion.

ISBN978-1-876175-82-5

CHEGUEVARAREADERWritingsonPoliticsandRevolution

Farmorethanaguerrillastrategist,CheGuevaramadeaprofoundandlastingcontributiontorevolutionarytheoryandMarxisthumanismasdemonstratedinthisbestseller.FoursectionsincludeChe’swritingsontheCubanrevolutionarywar(1956-59),theyearsingovernment(1959-65),theinternationalstrugglesofthe

1960sandaselectionofletters.

ISBN978-1-876175-69-6

CHEGUEVARABOOKSFROMOCEANPRESS

THEBOLIVIANDIARYAuthorizedEditionErnestoCheGuevaraPrefacebyCamiloGuevara,IntroductionbyFidelCastro

ThisisCheGuevara’sfamouslastdiary,foundinhisbackpackwhenhewascapturedbytheBolivianarmyinOctober1967.Itbecameaninstantinternationalbestseller.Newlyrevised,withaprefacebyChe’seldestsonCamilo and extraordinary unpublished photos, this is the definitive, authorized edition of the diary,whichafterhisdeathcatapultedChetoiconicstatusthroughouttheworld.

ISBN978-1-920888-24-4(AlsoavailableinSpanish978-1-920888-30-5)

REMINISCENCESOFTHECUBANREVOLUTIONARYWARAuthorizedEditionErnestoCheGuevaraPrefacebyAleidaGuevaraFrom1956to1959,thepeopleofCubastruggledagainstimmenseoddstoemergevictoriousfromyearsofbrutaldictatorship,poverty,andcorruption.

ThisisCheGuevara’sclassicaccountofthepopularwarthattransformedanation,aswellasChehimself—fromtroopdoctortoworld-famousrevolutionary.FeaturingaprefacebyCheGuevara’sdaughter,AleidaGuevara,andanew translationwithChe’sowncorrections incorporated into the text for the firsttime, this edition also contains extraordinary photographs of the period. ISBN978-1-920888-33-6 (AlsoavailableinSpanish978-1-920888-36-7)

ThesetwobooksarethebasisofStevenSoderberghand

BenicioDelToro’snewmoviesaboutCheGuevara.

Thesequelto“TheMotorcycleDiaries”

LATINAMERICADIARIES

“OtraVez”orOnceAgain

ErnestoCheGuevara

ThisisErnestoGuevara’sjournalofhissecondtripthroughLatinAmerica,revealingtheemergenceofarevolutionarynowcalled“Che.”

Itincludesletters,poetryandjournalismthatdocumenthisreturntoexploringthecontinentofLatinAmericafollowinghisgraduationfrommedicalschoolin1953.AfterleavinghisnativeArgentina,Ernesto

revisitsMachu-PicchuinPeru,witnessestheaftermathofthe1952BolivianrevolutionandisdeeplyaffectedbyhisexperienceinGuatemaladuringthe1954US-inspiredcoup.HefleestoMexicowherehe

encountersagroupofexiledCubanrevolutionariesledbyFidelCastro,markingthebeginningofapoliticalpartnershipthatprofoundlychangestheworldandChehimself.

ISBN978-0-9804292-7-5

PublishedinSpanishasOtraVez978-1-920888-78-7

ThisbookalsofeaturesaforewordbyAlbertoGranado,Che’stravelingcompanioninTheMotorcycleDiaries.

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