FIRST DAY ON THE ROAD

When was the last time I hitchhiked? In December crossing the border of Chile to renew my stay. It was just a couple of rides to the border crossing - I was back in Mendoza by nightfall. And before that? In October, while in Estonia, I went to visit my friends in Tartu and Viljandi. The destinations were close enough to reach them within a day. Indeed, it has been quite a long break from the road. Enough time has passed to start doubting.

So in the morning of 8th of May it happens. I step on the highway in Chascomus, destination - South. My first ride is a 38 year old Javier travelling to Mar del Plata.
Given away by my accent, probably unplacable, he asks: "Sorry if you´ve had to tell it too many times, but where are you from?"
"Not at all, it´s actually been quite a while since I had to introduce myself. I come from Estonia."
"Lestonia?"

 I am back, I think and take out the map to show him where Estonia is.

"You are my first ride since nearly a year´s break from the road", I tell him.

Indeed, standing in Chascomus my yesterday felt still so close, but not any more - every kilometer left behind announced the beginning of one long journey, old and new at the same time.

"It is then an honour!" smiles Javier driving away my sad thoughts of the "never-land Yesterday". I am glad that it was him who picked me up.

250 km later Javier drops me off at route 55 - a shortcut to Necochea. It starts raining but it is not too strong. I sit on the edge of the road and eat three slices of rye bread - the last bread I baked at Tiiu´s place. It is just bread and water, my lunch, but tastes great and leaves my stomach more than satisfied.

Three slices of rye bread- a great lunch

After a short break I continue walking. My backapck weighs 17 kilos, lighter than before, still heavy as my body is not used to carrying it. I want to walk  - I would have to get used to it starting from now. I think.

Heart don´t fail me now, 
courage don´t desert me,
Can´t turn back now that we´re here
People always say life is full of choices
No one ever mentions fear...

I remember the words of one song.

One step at a time,
One hope, then another
Who knows where this road may go
Back to who I was
On to find my future,
Things my heart still needs to know...

Not one car passes me, so I walk and sing.

A truck, I raise a hand and it pulls over. I run. I run? How can I run with that backpack, but I do. There is hope to get out of the rain. A short introduction and we drive off under that gray blanket of clouds. Most of the time we travel in silence, and then I suddenly say: "Sometimes I have doubt."

I look to the road - the wet asphalt looks like a river reflecting the colour of the sky. If it is a river, then there would be a current. If there is a current and we are in it, then it must be carrying us somewhere. Suddenly I feel peace.

My river.  A view from the "boat"

"Is it because of the clouds or is it getting dark?" I ask the driver, Carlos, after we pass a place called Balcarce.
"It is six o´clock. In half an hour it is going to be dark" he replies.

The rain becomes harder. If I camped, I´d be soaked. The thought is unpleasant but does not scare me. Good sign.

Carlos drops me off at the entrance of Necochea, a place called Quequen, and drives off in the pouring rain. Time to look for a place to stay - to ask someone, anyone, everyone if they knew a church near by.
Once is enough. A young mechanic tells me to walk three blocks and turn right to find a chapel.

I walk counting the blocks and just in case before turning ask two ladies walking in front of me if I am on the right way.
 "Why would you want to go there - it is closed," says one of them.
"I am travelling and do not have a place to stay for the night. The church usually helps. Do you know a church nearby that is open?"
"Sarita would know, " she says after a pause of thought. "Follow us."

As it comes out Sarita lives just across the street.
"Thank you for coming to my house," she says when sees me. "You can stay here for the night," she says after the ladies explain her my situation.
 I look at her husband, who has not said a word and ask if it would be ok. He nods.

We speak a lot before, during, and after dinner. I find out that Manuel and Sara, or Sarita, how everyone calls her, had been married for 35 years. That Sara was thirty when became a widow having  four small children and that soon after Manuel came along. Together they had one daughter. I see pictures of  now adult children, of twelve grandchildren - and also parents of the two. Manuel´s father was born in 1890s. It is hard to imagine that I am talking to a man who knows someone from so long ago. Through Sara and Manuel it is as if a history book has opened in front of me.

At half past eleven I go to bed. One time I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where I am. I have to scroll back all the events of the day to remember how exactly I got here.

The next morning after breakfast we part like good friends. "If you ever come back, know that you have a home here," say Manuel and Sara, giving me their photo, a letter and 50 pesos which they do not allow me to refuse.


"Thank you for everything!" I call out to them one last time as I walk off towards the highway.

The rain has stopped and the road looks as promising as ever.

With Sarita and Manuel