Jenny In Frolic Land

Much like Alice, we have wandered into a strange alternate universe. The atmosphere of 1960s San Francisco and Katmandu is still alive in El Bolson Argentina. In this magical land, ripe barriers fall from the sky, fresh produce and hand crafts are sold at the farmers market 4 days a week, the wildfire prevention agency is called S.P.L.I.F, ponies prance in the park, hippies play drums and banjo in front of the world famous ice cream shop and so much more….

The town itself reminds me a lot of Telluride or Crested Butte, without the pretension of the rich. We arrive on Tuesday, one of the four market days. Empanadas stuffed with beef, chicken and my personal favorite; cheese+ tomato + basil soothe our hunger. Why not grab a giant glass of fresh raspberry juice as well? After perusing the selection of jewelry, hand-made cheeses, herbal tinctures, mate gourds and pressed flower artwork, we are ready to take a seat in the park and enjoy the mountain view.

Several other travelers had spoken highly of Rio Azuel. We had to go check it out for ourselves. The taxi takes us 20 minutes outside of El Bolson. After arranging a pickup time, we jump out of the taxi and stroll down to the river. Our first glimpse of the water sends chills down my spine. Yes, this section is shallow, but I can see every single rock below the surface all the way across. We walk along the river until we encounter a bridge. We had been warned about the condition of the bridge, but travelers tend to exaggerate. A large sign prohibits more than one person making the river crossing at a time. I stand poised to take my first step and realize that the rumors are true. This is a very sketchy bridge. A series of tiny planks of wood are suspended by thin rusting wires. Chunks of each piece of wood have broken off, many planks are barely clinging to rusty nails. Not only does the bridge sway ominously, but each plank gives a little under foot. I struggle to maintain my balance, praying that the wood holds each of my steps. I make it across.

We stroll along the river taking notice of the bleeding-heart flowers that line the bank. After scrambling over some rocks and under tree branches we find the spot that we heard about; El Paraiso. It truly is paradise. The canyon narrows in this location and the water deepens. The glacier that rests only a few miles up-river releases turquoise water. Peering over the side of the rocks, I see trout a foot in length floating and flipping through the crystalline water. I exhale with all the strength in my lungs. This moment is why I am here. The site of the river washes away memories of hauling a backpack, 26 hour bus rides, etc. I am at peace. The sun warms my shoulders, the air smells of pine and I am reminded once again what a truly beautiful world this is.

Though I know that this is glacial melt, I have to swim. My spirit wants to wrap itself in the purity of this place, to be submerged in nature. All of these wondrous thoughts are shocked out of my body as I hit the ice cold water. It grabs at the breath in my lungs. I can feel every hair follicle on my entire body tighten into chicken skin. My brain switches over to survival mode. Intentions of graceful freestyle swimming have been left in the sun on the rock I just jumped off of. In an uncoordinated, jerky, dog paddle, I make my way to the rock in the middle of the river as quickly as possible. I gasp and sputter as I drag my shaking body from the hypothermic water. I stretch out on the rock like a lizard, allowing the sun to warm me.

Having already come this far, I decide to venture further up the river to the small waterfall. I cannot see it from my current location, but I can hear it. I am still wet and cold, I might as well swim up a little further. The swim looks a lot shorter than it ends up being. The current strengthens as I move up river. I swim with all of my strength from rock to rock. I pull myself out on the larger rocks to give my body a chance to warm. A Colorado girl at heart, I know that I can’t allow my core temperature to fall too much. It’s all fun and games until someone gets hypothermia. It takes me a while to work my way up the river, but finally I am rewarded. I struggle up the side of a large rock. Once atop, there is a beautiful view of water poring over a rock incline. I am the only person who has come this far. I am alone and for a few brief moments, this part of the river is all mine.

The rush of water fills my auditory senses. The bubbles caused by the churning motion of the fall float along the surface in a winding path that indicates the fastest part of the river current. Two fallen tree trunks rest on the rocky river bed like sunken ships. The sun shines down the center of the canyon. Each molecule of water transforms its light into a slightly different shade of aqua marine.

The swim back is thrilling. I launch myself into the strongest part of the current and feel the power of the river pull my body. Within moments I have returned to where I left Julie reading her book.

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