Life lessons?

I am a natural rebel. Natural because it’s in my nature, and a rebel not so much because I have a cause, but rather because I cannot accept things at face-value – I have to investigate, to query. ‘Why’ turns into ‘what’ and ‘how’, which creates meaning. For instance I have long since questioned the notion that we are on this earth to learn lessons. Why? Why can’t we just enjoy life and make the most of what comes our way? Sure, we find ways of coping with negative incidents or relationships that might or might not be helpful in future, but is that our main purpose for living?

The ‘what’ and ‘how’ about life lessons came to me yesterday afternoon, during a conversation with Lucia, the lady I am staying with and working for as volunteer in La Cumbre. She speaks very little English, and I speak less Spanish, but somehow we manage to make ourselves understood, sometimes with Google Translate. It turns out that she used to be quite cabeza dura (literally hard-headed, like me) when she was younger, and often clashed with her husband, until she decided that all that matters is that she should be happy. She was not going to change him; she could only make changes in herself. She was só open and honest in her sharing, humbly stating that for her it was a life-lesson, that it never even occurred to me to question her. Later that night it dawned on me: lessons of life! I have some thinking to do… but I’m still going to make the same mistakes, such as trusting implicitly and making assumptions. And being obstinate.

Lucia and her husband Luis are artists. He is a silver smith, a real artisan, and has a masive workshop with all the necessary equipment. She sometimes does metal sculpturing there too, but she has her own workshop for finishing off her projects, and drawing and painting.

I’ve been helping her with sanding metal sheets, and also restoring a little birdcage (R front in photo). I work 5 hours per day, and have done quite a bit of gardening too, working through 2 pairs of gloves.

I have lunch with Lucia and Luis every day, and they are creative and excellent cooks, spoiling me with scrumptious meals and home made lemonade.

In the afternoons I am free, and have been exploring La Cumbre and the surrounding area.

Which brings me to last Saturday, my first free day.I looked at the map and decided that Dique San Jerónimo looked like a perfect spot to walk to.

On the map it looked like a lake (see the blue ‘lake’?), and not too far. One just needed to follow Belgrano street out of town, past the golf course, and then stay on Ruta E66. Easy.

4km out of town I finally decide to check MAPS.ME on my phone, as to how far I still had to go. I had been walking along the highway, towards the low lying areas, as I assumed a lake would be there. It turned out that I had managed to walk 4km to hang and gone (is that even an English expression? We used it in our home quite frequently, it means you went far wrong), never once checking a street name or route number. On the way back I realised I had not even walked past the golf course… What is wrong with me?!?

I was way down there in the valley:But good fortune was shining her light on me, as it just so happened that there was a shortcut back from exactly that point. 3km later I was at the foot of the mountains, and realised that my way was UP, 3km of mountain pass. I walked past an adventure farm, a cherry orchardand berry farm, and I was just about to give up, when the welcome sight of water came into view. Dique, by the way, means dam, not lake…I walked a little way up the river that feeds into the dam, made me think of Jonkershoek, the babbling sound of water running over rocks and stones.I had packed some rolls and fruit, and after a well-deserved lunch I headed home along a track that was clearly marked on the municipal map as well as on MAPS.ME. I should have realised something was wrong when I came to a place where a bridge used to be, but no longer was:I saw that there was a path down the side, so other people had met with the same trouble. This process repeated itself several times, sometimes with missing bridges, and sometimes with overgrown plants or fallen trees. I was wondering if the track was going to take me back to town, when I saw some houses and a gate that said ‘no entry’. It was loosely fastened with a piece of wire, so I just opened it and went through.I heard voices and saw some people, so I got scared and decided to bundu bash up the side of the mountain that had been turned to charcoal by a fire the previous weekend. Easy to climb up, not many shrubs left, yet some black stalks often blocked my way. When I got to the top, there were of course more hills, and a dirt track in the distance. Not for me, so I decided to go down again and face whoever was at the first house, asking permission to pass. I was almost at the bottom when I realised that people were coming down the path, and I scurried to get onto the path before they got to me, so that they wouldn’t know I had been trespassing even more by climbing up the hill. I clumsily fell into the way of the leader of a group of about 25 youngsters, and scrambled to my feet, feeling as stupid as a naughty child, blustering half-Spanish excuses. The guy could speak English, and very kindly informed me that it was quite okay, I could follow the path past the house and follow the dirt track back to town. I thanked him sheepishly, and when I had passed all 25 youngsters with as much dignity as I could muster, I started looking at myself and realised that I was covered in soot from the burnt bushes. Black streaks covered my hands, arms, legs, clothes and I suppose my face too. I felt like the proverbial chimney sweep who had fallen into the fire-place in a cloud of soot. Moral of the story: never climb a burnt hill. Even my hat had black marks on it. Was I happy to see La Cumbre!On Sunday Lucia told me that the sunsets at the flying club were quite spectacular, so I decided to walk there. She never mentioned the distance: 2km along the highway and then another 2km on a dirt track. All the way there I was thinking that it turns dark after sunset, and 4km is a long way to cover. A band was playing at the restaurant at the airfield and there was quite a jolly crowd gathered. Not many planes, but some kites and gliders.I had my beer and left early, to catch the light, and then I decided to hike. Just my luck: I was given a lift by a couple who were going back to Córdoba, so they dropped me at the intersection on the other side of town and I ended up walking 2km anyway. Sometimes I wonder at the picture I’m presenting: old woman walking along a highway/dirt track/mountain pass, alone, with a huge hat and rucksack. Life lesson?? Doubtful…