Part III

8.2.2009

Dear Brother,

From my Eastward facing window here at the Parque Hotel, it is just possible to see the very top of the bell tower that is attached to the local mission. Over the last few days I have enjoyed the six block stroll, at the end of which I enter the side gate and have find a nice quiet bench in the courtyard. Taking time to pray and reflect in that peaceful corner is unlike any experience I've ever had. The trees are as old as the bricks, and reach up into the sky and lean over the wall which has been so beautifully faded by its life in the sun. This place is timeless and whenever a priest passes on the stone path I am reminded of how this place must be exactly as it was 450 years ago. It sparks the thought in my mind of how man has longed to have a relationship with God, that is a timeless pursuit. The architecture of this mission, this one spot in which I sit, may just be the closest thing man has built in his search to meet with Him.

On my walk back to the hotel I stopped at a small cafe for a cup of coffee and a slightly green banana. I was thinking that this had been a great start to the morning as I reached the corner opposite the hotel. I was about to step into the street when my heart skipped a beat. For the briefest of moments I thought I had seen a hand disappear behind the curtain of my room. Fourth floor. Corner room. Is that my room? Are my bearings off? No, there are the purple Copihues in the flowerbox. That is my room! I tried to calm myself as I walked across the street. Perhaps it was the maid. No, she hadn't ever shown up before ten o'clock, and a quick glance at my watch confirmed it was still before nine. As I approached the main lobby entrance I found myself casually pass, turning my head to the North, away from the hotel. Hopefully nobody inside had taken any notice of me. Just then I had another startle as the loud, throaty throttle of a motorcycle came around the corner where I had just crossed. A tall, skinny white guy wearing a bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses straddling the powerful machine drove by staring right at me. Something in his appearance and his look of vague recognition solidified my decision to leave at once.

Here on the coast, 300 miles away (I'll tell you exactly where when I return), yesterday feels like a surreal blur. Honestly I have no real justification for the course of action I took. I have no enemies or rational reason for believing that I am in any danger. I just felt like it was the right thing to do at that moment. Needless to say my break was clean, swift and all encompassing. The Sat phone is down a storm drain, floating somewhere below the streets of El Calafate. My backpack and laptop are probably still sitting where I left them in the suite 407. A homeless guy living under a bridge on Route 9 is wearing my clothes right now, and only the lady in the market two towns over knows that my hair wasn't bleach blond this morning...

I can imagine the course that my life might have taken had that hand not appeared at my window. I am sure that someone on the outside, looking in at my life would believe that I have just thrown away the perfect life... Every man's dream. Perhaps yesterday morning in the mission courtyard was meant to be. I can't ask the "what ifs". It does no good to live in the past, to dwell on what could have been.

What's that?

It is.

It's her father and little sister! She looks just like her too. Where's the back door?

I'll write you again soon.

Love,
Edwardo