Patagonian dreams


“It was made out of our dreams”, he says.

Eduardo has a scar on his right cheek and dents in his tanned face around his mouth and eyes. His hair is black and slightly curly at the top with a few streaks of grey. The Patagonian steppe has left its ungentle mark on his face and my eyes are fixed at him whilst he speaks.

We fill up the tank in Trelew in southern Argentina and follow the green road signs south towards Camarones on RP-1. We have a choice to turn left on the sealed road that takes us to Punta Tombo where there are pedagogical signs about Magellanic penguins, or we can take the dirt road to the right towards Cabo Raso—a once abandoned coastal town a two-hour drive away.

“Four kilometers to Punta Tombo or 75 to Cabo Raso”? Gonzalez asks me. It’s 4:00 pm and we have been driving for eight hours straight without stopping for lunch. My hunger is reflected in my mood, bleak face and tired eyes.

The choice is obvious: “Cabo Raso,” I say without a doubt.

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