Due to a couple of interviews that were made to us, La Jornada de México by way of their correspondent Stella Callóni, and the local magazine Rumbos, by way of Romina Ruffato, (P) we stayed two more days in the city, accommodated with Emilio and Sylvia. Unique couple, an entire life together, and they still possess the charm; they still seek the vertigo that multiplies the hearts. With the permission of both of them, from this day on we declare ourselves wandering members of the ArgenMex community, spiritual organization that floats between traditions while it disintegrates so-called atavisms.

A pertinent clarification: the program Con X de México, made in Buenos Aires and transmitted by Radio Palermo on 94.7 in the FM dial, is on every Thursday from 12:00PM to 13:00PM. You must also keep in mind that the time differential with Mexico City is two hours, four hours with Nogales, Sonora. Please forgive us for the involuntary mistake listening to the show; it turns out to be quite interesting. We leave Buenos Aires behind, to the back of this calm sea that we now navigate, automobile included, on board the Eladia Isabel ferry. (P) City of close affections, we could say, here on the sun-filled deck, swept almost imperceptibly by a fresh, lazy wind, and this time there are no sails that want to make it blow.Emilio and Natalie, (P) cousins of Emilio and Silvia, decided to our luck to accompany us to Montevideo. He is from Argentina, she is from France. They met in Mexico, in a town in Oaxaca where they both worked. Then they went to France, where they spent six months working, saved some money and traveled for another six months. This time they went to Argentina, to visit Emilio’s family and coincide with us. They momentarily add their happy camaraderie to the adventure.

Someone said that going to Uruguay is to slow down, to temper the rhythm, take shorter steps and extend your sight. Well, such situation is immediately perceived when one sets foot in Colonia, coming down from the ferry. (P) This is not a conscious decision. Calm is imposed; the heartbeats reduce their frequency without allowing the traveler to put up any resistance. We walk around the small town slowly, tasting the comfort of each bench randomly disseminated on every turn. (P) We also prove the appropriateness of the stars reflected on the river, and the exact taste of the maté brewed by Emilio, Doctor in matetostic brewery by the Family University of Córdoba Argentina.

It is dark now, and we decide to spend the night in a very economic guest house in town. Our surprise was greater when we found out that in that same place was a cyclist from Lagos de Moreno, Jalisco. His name is Felipe Besne, and he is doing, against all odds, a two-wheel tour around South America (WWW.BICIENSUDAMERICA.BLOGSPOT.COM). He is close to fifty, slender, with a face marked by life. His physical condition is by far better than that of any of us, lost in the attempts of previous dreams. That meal, the guacamole that Mexicans, French, Argentineans and Uruguayans ate later that day, prepared with avocados grown by the owner at the same time as the incredible events of these guests, give shape to a surrealistic scene that blurred along with the smoke of hand-crafted cigarettes, on that patio forever open to the memories. (P)

The distances are minimal in Uruguay, and because of that, we are suddenly in Montevideo. Emilio and Natalie had managed, thanks to a cybernetic system called Couch Surfing, to locate themselves in the house of Alison, a nice Uruguayan girl so generous that, without previous notice and not thinking it twice, extended the invitation to us as well because, according to her words, the floor is big enough to give space to good intentions. (P) With her pleasant company we got to know a little of the city life: streets to walk on at noon; shelters to store nightly conversations. (P) The Old Town Market: Spain in tinsel, rock carton, pretentious silks. (P) Old buildings, old books at scandalous prices, rusty balconies that support unsteady facades. We stop at the port market to drink a half-and-half (champagne and white wine), with our senses filled by Brazilian hips. (P) A trio singing El Rey, from Jose Alfredo Jimenez, transports our thoughts towards Mexico and, according to Natalie, who is a specialist in establishing unorthodox relationships of coincidence, the space makes you think of the Guanajuato Market. Inside the mirror, I think.

We say goodbye to Emilio and Natalie. They are truly fun to be with, possessing a very special sense of humor, always with the exact comment at the precise time; legacy maybe from times they both spent in Mexico. We will meet again, we have promised. We also say goodbye to Alison, with the open invitation to show her the real Guanajuato Market when she visits our country. Thanks for opening her door to the inexorable fate of four strangers. (P)

Just with time to take a breath, the surprises continued. Days before we had received news of Leonardo Ruiz, fellow countryman from Sonora currently living in Brazil, who was kindly inviting us to stop for a moment in Camaqua, a town located four hundred kilometers from the Uruguay border. Leonardo is a manager in Nestlé Purina and, after working for a while in the United States, came to settle in Camaqua, where he has a beautiful family along with his wife Laura, (P) worthy representative of the Sonora beauty, and their children Leonardo and Victoria. In spite of his short age, little Leonardo speaks in fluent Portuguese and we are astonished by the way he quickly changes language, if the circumstances require it. (P) They received us at their house, close to midnight, with a delicious Sonora-style cocido and plenty of comments about the trip. (P) Two plates of cocido later we were still chatting, but at the end we decided to rest, because the surprises kept on coming.

We began the day with a succulent breakfast in Leonardo’s house, and later left for a walk guided by Tiago, a Nestlé employee, good friend, who showed us some of the natural beauties in the region. (P) We visited the waterfall (P) where writer Barbosa Lessa probably caught ghosts and locked muses in his room, which served as a backdrop for the excellent carioca movie “Neto loses his soul”; we observed the constructions from the turn of the century, grown fields, the dam that feeds water to the region. We also stop for a moment at the cultural center, a site where diverse artistic activities are promoted, where you can find a museum of ancient artifacts, some of them used to belong to General Zecca Netto, (P) one of the main figures in the Rio Grande Do Sul Revolution in 1923. (P)  There is also a very complete municipal library where, however, we only found one copy of Mexican literature. Which one? You will have to visit Camaqua to find out. The town is so nice that you will probably forget to look for it.

By afternoon we were greeted with a traditional gaúcho festivity. Traditional music, (P) churrasco (broiled kebab meat) with picaña, (P) vaciado, ribs; country traditions from southern Brazil. (P) Most of the townspeople are descendants of European immigrants: Polish, German, Slavic, but they wear the verde amarella with pride. Commotion and jabber were to be found in every corner of the place: tables, kitchen, main esplanade; the anecdote was becoming history, a construction of identity. The duet formed by Helmo de Freitas and Manoel Camaqua filled the air with melancholic chords, (P) yearnings lost between two continents. At certain moments the setting reminded us a little of the family reunions up north, in Sonora. Maybe because of that Leonardo and his family have fit in perfectly in this quiet community. America stopped for a moment in Camaqua, and time was filled with Mexican hugs and Brazilian smiles. Wonderful people, a common Latin-American memory.

Immense thanks to the Ruiz family and to everyone in Camaqua for offering us the greatest of welcomes to this gigantic and mysterious country. We will surely meet again, everything conspires towards it.

We will be in contact soon. Goodbye, and until next time when America allows us to meet again.

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