Griselda Zuffi (Argentina-Estados Unidos)
Patagonia

"What grandmother, priest, nun, did this to you?" "Why do you punish yourself and do things that make you suffer?"  It’s a long answer to deal with here, but I loved the question Nora had asked me, as if I had any clue to why I chose certain things versus others. Perhaps, there was something about sacrifice and suffering to truly be happy. I felt I owed it to myself at forty some years to go back to Patagonia and hike through the mountains, camp out, and see Fitz Roy from up close. I went to Hielo Azul, a travel agency that organized adventure trips to make sure I had a "nature" package. The travel agent explained to me that the trip was mildly difficult in terms of hiking, and the places to camp were in natural sites with no bathrooms or showers. Perfect. That’s just what I need. So, when I got back home, I prepared my bags with things borrowed, faithful to my stingy spirit. My cousin lent me her backpack, tennis shoes and winter jacket and off I went with all the wrong outwear.

 

I arrived in El Chalten where we hiked for about three hours and walked to our little camp settlement between Fitz Roy and the glacier to rest a little and to get ready for yet another six- hour trekking tour scheduled for that day.  The guide brought us all together and gave us a serious pep talk about how difficult this part of the hiking tour was. You had to be in excellent physical condition. The paths were rugged, slippery and the winds, harsh. I was listening attentively, looking at the sneakers my cousin gave me, just a little bit larger than my regular size. Everyone looked like in a scene from the Alps, dressed up for a ski competition. Well, that was not my case. I felt a little out of place with my outfit and needless to say my forty pounds overweight did not help to feel “fit” in any sense of the word. Anyway, he explained very clearly that we could chose to walk on the Glacier Perito Moreno the next day which was a much lighter experience. After the little sermon, the guide left it up to the group to decide. How hard could this be?  I thought to myself. Some of the people I met there, at least ten years younger than me, decided not to go, especially the smokers with whom I had made immediate friends with. I asked in an innocuous voice if anyone that decided not to go would lend me their hiking boots but no one had my size. I took off with the oversize sneakers and joined the Swiss crowd. There was the smoking gordita in the midst of trained hikers, wagging her tail through the mountains of Patagonia. At last, mission accomplished. We started the hike. When we arrived to River Fitz Roy, I realized there was no bridge to walk across. How were we to get to the other side? Well, the first obstacle in the adventure trip was right before my eyes. I could go back to the camp, but no, I felt I deserved the adventure. The guide tied me to a pulley and pushed me forward: “Hold on tight because if you fall, there is no return”.  I looked down to the rapid river and held so tight to the skyline that my hands moved faster than a squirrel in winter trying to get food. By the end of the line, my arms had lost their meager strength.  I had to jump to land quickly so the next person waiting could get on to the line. I couldn’t possibly stay in the middle up in the air!  There was the River Fitz Roy beneath and the tip of a land that I could barely reach. I never really enjoyed roller coasters or ‘thrill’ rides as a kid in amusement parks, but for some bizarre reason between deserving and suffering I had forced myself across where the other guide was waiting to unhook me from the skyline.  Believe me, you need a lot of upper body strength to hold on, especially when you know that if you fall that is the end of the story. I really didn’t want to hold back the rest of the group so I glided like everybody else, only this time it was a scared lechoncito afraid to be snatched by the rapids. Once on my two feet I tagged along behind the group already exhausted before we initiated the twenty mile trekking ahead of me. I was so behind that there was a second guide next to me at all times giving me inspirational lines to speed up my pace. I was already trembling from cold and exhaustion and there was four hours more to go. My chin started falling and I did not look like a happy trooper. It was raining and the paths were more slippery than usual. Half of the path to the Glacier I was on my knees and the other half of the trail I rolled. Anyway, we made it to the Glacier where we stopped to eat and to practice ice climbing with crampons. I remained on the ground faithful to my Indian spirit of belonging mainly to earth and no other natural source would seduce me. I froze the rest of my unsensitive feet and waited till everyone had a chance to hammer off a chip of the ice while they climbed their way up. I was so exhausted that by the time we got on the glacier I barely was able to move. And we still had to walk back to the camp site!! I was in the middle of a glacier trying to avoid falling in the deep blue colored crates that were absolutely beautiful. The guide was a little concerned for my safety so he walked right behind me making sure I would not trip and fall into a hole. The cracks in the Glacier Torre Hill were about 30 feet deep and if you fall, you are gone for good.  The guide was also concerned because the group that night had to walk another two hours to get to another camp ground as had been scheduled by the agency. You can imagine my team spirit by that time. I was basically crawling back with the guide right behind making sure I was still breathing.

 

Again, at the crossing of the River Fitz Roy, I was hooked to the pulley and moved my hands forward as fast as a fireman on a pole. By then I did what all women of courage do, I cried qué he hecho yo para merecer esto. After we crossed the river, I was totally wiped out.  I could hardly feel my face; it was completely disfigured by then. When we got to the camp site, my smoking partners had left to the other camp and only those that were injured were able to remain in the same camp ground. You can imagine my despair. I yelled:  "¡Estoy herida! ¡Herida!"  So there were these two young women from Córdoba who had knee problems and me who had all sorts of aches and stayed with them. We had a great time in my book of adventures. This young guy from Tandil cooked for us milanesas. We had wine, conversed. A pleasure, indeed. But the next day those of us who had stayed that night had to leave the camp on horse. I only saw horses in movies or when my father took us to see polo. Anyway, we had to go horseback riding for two hours to get to the camp where everybody else was waiting for the injured subjects. You can imagine the scene. The two young ladies who were from Córdoba had been horseback riding for years, and then there was me who never got on a horse except in the carousel. Anyway, we got there and I got sick, which was a wonderful solution. Everyone was extremely nice. The guide from Tandil who really liked me left me his cad and brought me food making sure I was all right.  The only way you could get me out of that comfort zone was with a crane.   I did recover and the next day we took off to visit the Glacier Perito Moreno, the smoothest part of the trip because it was by ship! Happy woman, got a whisky, smoked a cigarette and felt in heaven, looking from the deck of the ship to the rare iceberg formations. Beaut-i-ful. That was the highlight of my trip to Patagonia.

 

When I arrived in Buenos Aires and told my friends about my "adventure", I explained in the only possible way that I could: It was a dream come true only because I deserved it.

Of the many reasons that the works of Nora Strejilevich have inspired me throughout the years, there are two that I would like to mention. One, as a reader of her latest memoire,  Un día, allá por el fin del mundo,  a travel narrative that crosses the misfortunes of exile as well as life’s precious encounters, and the other, as a witness to her savvy remarks that many times have made me ponder upon my own life choices. ¨Patagonia¨ is a travel story inspired by both Nora’s writing and her wit.

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