Part IV

Initially I planned on splitting Edwardo's final letter into two parts (Harry Potter Style). After much thought I decided that it would be unfair to you the reader, and considering that we are in the midst of a contest I changed my mind. So without further introduction, here is the last correspondence my elder brother sent to me from his trip to Patagonia...


8.12.2009

Dear Brother,

This time tomorrow I will be in the sky somewhere over Brazil. I believe, much to my surprise, that I am going to miss this place. Everything feels somehow older here, kind of how I imagine Europe must be. Even though exploration and conquest touched these lands later than the Northern continent, somehow the effects here were not as complete. Back home truly is the New World, nothing remains the same... even Nature has been protected and controlled. But here, the very air I breathe is full of life, an ever present reminder of this land's untamable wildness. Perhaps I had too much to drink last night. I'm honestly surprised to be in such good shape with such clear thoughts this morning. The prospect of a nice, quiet day here in my cottage overlooking the ocean, seems like a perfect way to conclude my time here in Argentina.

I finally wrapped up the business thought brought me here in the first place. Last night marked the first time that all five of us have ever been in the same location together. I had never actually met Steven before, and I must say the whole encounter was quite surreal. We all knew that this actual meeting was merely a formality, all the details had been ironed out and agreed to over a year ago. As you know I had set this whole thing in motion back in 2004, and what I like to call a "guerrilla PR agency" had been creating buzz about the project since the Summer of '07. I had asked Jimbo early on to take the public lead, really he had the least to loose as far as reputation and standing in the community. I had laughed off the suggestion that I keep the top spot. I guess either I'm not thick skinned enough, or maybe I'm just too smart to desire that spotlight. During our meeting last night I recounted some of my recent run-ins with fame... The abduction to the mountain jungle villa and the harrowing episode that has unfortunately separated me from beauty incarnate. "No" I said, "I don't regret for a moment letting Jimbo take the credit for this one". I don't think Steven, Frank or M-Shizzle (that's what Steven was calling him) quite understood my position on this matter, but they toasted me just the same. The remainder of the evening consisted of finalizing some marketing details, and unfortunately quite a bit of adult beverage consumption. Jimbo thought it would be funny, so all night we were downing blue-raspberry Jello shots. I guess it was around 1:30 this morning when I finally took my leave and stumbled back to the cottage.

Perhaps my final letter before seeing you would have been more interesting had I filled it with other experiences of the last eight or nine days. My round-about search for Butch Cassidy's Chilean hideaway, and what I found there. Or maybe the three days and nights I spent with "The French Cannibals", a tribe of natives that exclusively eats French people. (I'm not going to tell you what common household condiment the like to dip French priests in, or why). Instead I felt like an honest depiction of my closing hours here in this beautiful, lush, timeless country would suit this correspondence best. I'll probably phone you from California before this letter arrives, so what point is there in writing any more?

Love,
Edwardo

Part I

Edwardo consented, so here is the first of four letters that he wrote to me last Summer while he was on his "business trip" in Patagonia. (I have transcribed the letter without editing of any kind, for your reading pleasure).


7.13.2009

Brother,

After three hours in the back seat of a Korean War era Jeep. Mile after mile of muddy jungle roads. Even after dusk the heat and drenching humidity is almost unbearable. Mosquitoes are swimming in the air, searching for their next meal on the back of my neck. Finally we pull into a clearing and before us stands a huge columned mansion. Kind of a cross between a Southern Plantation and an Italian villa. Floodlights glared around the perimeter. I could see armed guards milling about the grounds and even a few in the shadows on the rooftops. We came to a halt right in front of the grand main entrance, where I hopped out of the Jeep and ascended the marble stairs. As if a multi-million dollar mansion in the middle of the Ande jungle wasn't enough, this is where it started to get really strange. As I approached the rough hewn oak door I could hear a thumping, muffled music coming from deeper inside the house. I made my way towards the sound...

the time was 6 o'clock on the Swatch watch
no time to chill
got a date
can't be late
hey - the girl...

I now had walked through the great hall and to the opposite end of the house, the source of the music was in the next room. I opened one of the double doors and entered the room from which this 80's fad of a masterpiece (or is it masterpiece of a fad) was exuding. I was suddenly accosted by a nightclub blast of sound, energy, alcohol, sweat and the buzzing hum of the crowded room thick with conversation. You know how in movies, even when there's a huge mass of people, you can immediately spot the main character, as though he or she is the only person who matters in the whole wide world? It was like that. As I quickly scanned the room, our eyes locked. He was wearing a bright white suit with a jet black tie. His hair was immaculately combed over, just barely allowing the light from the mirror ball to glisten off his shiny forehead. He stood straight up, ignoring a tall blond drink of water who unaware, was still talking to him. He pushed aside three large, well built men (I assumed these were his bodyguards) and walked directly to me. The stopped inches in front of me and stretching out his arms, "Edwardo!" he said. "Thank you so much for coming! So sorry about the crudeness and secrecy of the invitation". He then wrapped his stubby arms around me in a bear-like embrace.

"Mr President." I said, hardly knowing what I should say next... "I've never seen anyplace quite like this before". He laughed, still hugging me (for what now seemed like an awkwardly long time). "This is just a little home away from home. Just a gathering of intimate friends", he told me. Finally he released me from his grasp and turned to face the crowd. These are mostly local supporters from Argentina, Chile and the surrounding region". Then he pointed to a table in the corner off to our left, full of scantily clad women surrounding a light-grayish haired man, whose back was to us. "Even one of your former leaders has been so kind as to grace us with his presence this evening"... Just then one of his bodyguards approached, and with a glance he signalled the President. "Please excuse me Edwardo. Help yourself to anything and everything. I shall return". And with that he disappeared into the fray. I hadn't noticed her approach, but there at my side now stood the tall blond who had earlier been so rudely neglected. "Where do you know Hugo from?" she asked. "We've actually never met before. He's just a big fan of my blog" I casually responded. For some odd reason at that moment I once again became aware of the music that was throbbing in the dance hall.

it's driving me out of my mind
that's why its hard for me to find
can't get it outta my head
miss her, kiss her, love her...

"What in the world!" I exclaimed. "Is the DJ on a break or something?" Surprised at the lack of variety, or taste, or maybe just the sheer coincidence of the music selection.

"Oh no" said the tall brooding blond at my side... "Mr. Chavez is a huge Bel Biv Devoe fan".

The Jeep ride back to Mendoza was as enjoyable as the trip in. I fell asleep. I guess the lesson I'm going to take away from this little experience is that I should always be wary of the fame that blogging can bring. I can control what I write, but unfortunately I can't control who reads it.


Love,
Edwardo



P.S.
This isn't a sketch of the mansion in the letter, it's just a doodle that so happened to be on this page when I was finishing up your letter. And also, say "hi" to everyone there Stateside for me.