Eva was French Tunisian, but looked like an Argentine with her long straight black hair, prominent eyebrows and dense eyelashes.
I met her when she picked me up at my hostel in El Calafate, Patagonia, Argentina. She took me to the mountains, to a dried out lake just a few kilometres from Glaciar Moreno.
She was working at the estancia for the summer and already then I knew I wanted what she had.
The rest of the year she studied tango in Buenos Aires and I remember thinking: Is it even possible to live like this?
We went riding together and galloped along the dried grass and red flowers with the wind slapping our faces. Working in an office eight hours a day never made so little sense as then.
I watched her herd in the horses with the rebenque in one hand and the reins firmly in the other.
The hooves of the criollos smattered against the hard soil and I could finally feel my blood running in my veins.