Letter from the end of the world

There’s a well-known little cabin just before Ushuaia. It’s a pretty lake 60 km away where developers tried to build a hotel, a dream location.

I didn’t try too hard to understand, but it seems that the idea never really worked out, and that almost all the structures were destroyed. Except for one, which survives, with the invaluable help of many cyclists who have come and gone and decided to make it even more beautiful each time they left.

So I spend a night alone in this cabin. Alone by the lake.
I hear the birds, the wind. The water follows their rhythm.
I sit on the small terrace facing the setting sun.
Every ray of sunshine in Patagonia is like a caress on the skin. Like the presence of a beloved star.

I wonder what I’m supposed to feel. I know I have to feel something. Over there, behind that little pass, there’s a road that goes straight to Ushuaia.

I have a feeling that the road ends here. What a beautiful act of rebellion it would be not to go all the way. To find peace here and turn back.

But no, of course, I want to reach the very end. And for me, this end, it’s the famous sign that stands at the water’s edge.

It’s almost irrational, but I have to go there, it’s perfectly obvious.
I think this last part really made me ask myself this question: do we do things because we really want to do them or because we feel compelled, in one way or another, to do them?
In any case, for me it leads to the same point, as whatever the answer to this question is, I’m going there anyway.

The last few miles are accompanied by honking horns and waves from motorcycles and cars. They don’t know where I’m coming from on my bike, but they know for sure where I’m going.

And then, a little tune that’s already well rehearsed starts to play. I can see what the arch at the entrance to the city looks like, as well as the sign; I just have to reach them.

Two small things.

A good kilometer before entering the city, I pass a road accident, where a cyclist is being resuscitated on the asphalt.
It’s a nice reminder of the emptiness of our existence. Here, gone. Life, death. It’s as simple as that.

All it took was a bike ride on a sunny day for this to happen.
How many times have I cheated death in recent years?
The next day, I learn that she didn’t survive. What a strange way to end.

Then, for the signs that say Ushuaia, you have to wait in line a bit. Enough time to dry your tears before the photo.
I put a lot of pressure on myself for these photos. I mean, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I wouldn’t miss it, since I’m experiencing it, but I might fail to convey it as strongly as I feel it.

This moment is brief, it’s unique. So you can’t miss it.
Good reasons to be more likely to miss it.

But in the end, it’s my moment. So I sit in the grass and eat peanut butter and chocolate sandwiches. I watch the world bustling around me.

It’s strange to see people lining up for a sign. We’re not in Bali, but almost.

In the end, every day of this trip was a little gift. Everything is intimate, personal. Deep and meaningful.
And the last minute, as beautiful as it is, doesn’t have that intensity, since it’s drowned out by a crowd of people in a hurry who are completely indifferent to anything that doesn’t affect them.

No matter, I made it.