Para C. – te extraño, nunca te olvidaré.
Valentines Day, of all days in the year. She had not even realized it, whenever she had booked the flight for the 14th of February. But how could she have cared back then?
For a few moments she stared at the pink hearts that were decorating the duty free stores. Looked at the pictures of smiling men that gave smiling women a big box of the most expensive chocolate in the store. Read sentences like "The best present is coming back home to her". She sighed and thought of the day when Pablo had given her some of those very chocolates, a tiny box only, as he couldn't afford more. Then she tried to push the memory of him out of her mind, and walked on. Gate 63. She was only at gate 11 right now, but a sign told her to turn left for gates 12 to 20, and to walk on for gates 21 to 80. She walked on.
Those damn posters with the smiling faces seemed to be everywhere. What had decorated the walls six months ago, on the day of her arrival? Pictures advertising the beauty of the country, if she remembered right. Six months. It was so long ago, like a different world.
*
It had been a warm and sunny day in August.
Liz grinned happily as she had passed immigrations and customs. It was the best feeling in the world to be in a new country for the first time. Each and every time she travelled, she felt like this, she didn't get used to it – it was always new and exciting.
In fact, Liz had travelled a lot for her twenty three years. She had been lucky. Her parents, while not exceptionally rich, didn't have to worry about money, and they had always made sure that their only daughter would get all the possibilities of education and life experience she wanted. Getting to know other cultures, and learning other languages was part of this. Still a high school student, she had spent a year in Europe on a foreign exchange program and on this occasion had learnt to speak French quite fluently. She returned home a lot stronger and more independent, with the aura of a young woman who knew what she wanted. The only problem was that her classmates, who didn't share her European experiences, saw the world quite differently than her. She ended up feeling a bit of a stranger at school with her former friends, but she didn't care. This place wasn't for her anymore, anyway.
Before going to University, as an 18 year old, she decided to go back packing for a year. This had her quite liberal parents somewhat worried after all. But as one of her cousins was thinking about doing the very same thing, they decided to encourage him by paying half of his ticket as a present for his 21st birthday, in return of the promise to watch over their little Liz. At first they flew to Europe, to see London, visit her old friends in France, and have a short visit to Berlin as her cousin wanted to see what was left of the wall. More Europe was not necessary according to Liz – the real adventure lay in more exotic countries.
Two months into the journey, somewhere in South East Asia, she had gotten bored with the cousins fascination with loud parties at Thailand's beaches, which were visited mainly by foreign men and local girls. She had told him they would be in touch via email, wished him fun at the beaches, and took a small bus, which looked like it was falling apart, to a destination she had never heard of before – but, as she explained to her cousin when saying good bye, she just liked the sound of the name. Thus she had ended up spending a few wonderful weeks in parts of the countryside few tourists ever got to. The highlight of this time were probably the days that she lived with a poor family with about six or seven little children, sharing their hut, communicating with hands and feet as none of them spoke English. Then it was time to move on and explore the neighbouring countries.
She was so fascinated with the region, that she changed the dates of her flights, cutting the visits to Australia and South Africa down to a few weeks. When she was home, however, she decided that she had seen enough of South East Asia now, and South America was the new object of her fascination.
She started studying French and Spanish at university – one language because she already knew it well and wanted to improve her knowledge, the other, because she wanted to learn it. During her studies she went on a shorter program to study in Paris. While not adventurous and exotic, this city always had a spot in her heart, she couldn't forget how she had left the airplane as a sixteen year old just there, breathing for the first time the air of the whole wide world. Then another, longer program took her to Buenos Aires: South America at last. She realized soon enough, that this place was not quite the South America that she had expected, but Tango in San Telmo and visits to other regions of the country made up for that. Some of her new friends took her skiing in Bariloche, by herself she took the 24 hour bus ride up to Iguazú, admired the water falls, and crossed the border into Brasil.
What she liked best, however, was the North-West. She loved the mountains, the traditional culture, the quiet and friendly people. Thinking of her visits to Salta and similar places her decision formed to participate in a volunteer program in some small Andean country once she had graduated from university. And there she was now.
She loved it as soon as she left the airport: The taxi drivers that were fighting for business, almost pulling her suitcases out of her hands, dragging her to their cars and probably overcharging her horrendously. The crazily dangerous streets, on which crowded busses tried to overtake small things that looked like the mixture of a motorbike and a car. The houses, some of them old and almost falling apart, some of them showing features of a long lost colonial time, thick clusters of electricity cables stuck to some of their walls. The bus station, where in the small kiosks of each bus company men were calling out the destinations of the next leaving busses. Old women with round hats, wide knee length skirts, two long plaits of hair, and an unimaginable amount of luggage in huge colourful plastic bags or wrapped in woven pieces of cloth, pushed anyone out of their way that could get "their" bus ticket before them. Finally she got her own ticket, a sleeper seat on one of the "good" busses, because she was tired from the flight, and the little town her volunteer program took place in, was still far away.
And the bus was good indeed – what a contrast to the rustle and dirt at the bus station. To the hard plastic seats on which she waited until it was time to get on the bus. In the bus, the seats were clean and covered with soft, pink and purple covers, she could make the seat lean back far enough to sleep quite comfortably. As the last houses of the city's outskirts, small and some almost falling apart, were disappearing together with the day's light, a smiling young woman brought dinner – chicken and rice. Hungrily Liz ate, and then fell asleep.
When she woke up, the lights of the bus had been turned off. Someone right behind her was snoring loudly, otherwise it was quiet. And cold. She moved the curtain of the window next to her a little bit. The window was covered in white condensed water. Carefully she rubbed part of it free with the help of her sleeves, to have a look outside. Bathed in moonlight there was a landscape like she had never seen before – she could not quite make out if there was any grass at all or only dark, sharp stones, because her eyes did not know to tell such things in the night. What she could see were patches of snow. And hills, or mountains, further on, which were covered in yet more snow. How high up were they? She felt a bit dizzy.
It was still dark when the bus arrived. The lights were turned on, and people started shuffling luggage, children, their own sleepy selves towards the door. But, it was announced, the bus would stay at the station until seven in the morning. Whoever wanted should get their luggage out from the luggage storage under the bus, and then get back to their seat and sleep. Only a few people took up the offer, she was one of them.
*
The NGO she was to work for, had organized her a small room in the house next to their offices. It took a while, until a sleepy girl of the same age as her opened the door, and led her to a tiny, bare room with no windows. Liz looked a bit helpless, and before she could say anything the girl realized what was wrong.
"Oh of course, you don't have a bed!" she exclaimed. "Usually our tenants bring their own furniture, but that would probably be difficult for you, since you come from so far away." She thought for a second. "Listen, my brothers will put a bed in there for you in the afternoon. Are you okay until then?"
