Charles, 43, explorer. Year of our lord 1881.
After a day of travelling during which I rested not a moment I can confirm the vastness of this land to be beyond the realms of my comprehension. Rutted cart tracks masquerading as passable roads stretch to the horizon with seemingly no end, their hypnotic regularity broken only by the entrance gates to the vast Estancias which the people of this land cultivate for the means of sustenance and occasional trade.
My epic journey south finds me in the Southern Argentinean outpost of El Calafate, which henceforth I shall call New Eastbourne in dedication to my beloved homeland and from where I enclose my latest dispatch as promised.
Sat by a waning open fire my very bones are warmed by the effortless heat emanating from its embers after a day of adventure and indeed cold unimaginable to many. I should note with some gratitude that the welcome I received from Frederico and Marina my hosts in this charming if remote guesthouse was yet warmer still and a welcome relief from the harshness of this land.
New Eastbourne is the sole human outpost in a land untouched by daylight or caressed by the sun’s affectionate gaze. As I feared such conditions have bred a man dark of skin, quick of eye and brutal in habit. Manners and morals are as foreign to this land as I. Alas, I have neither the time nor inclination to educate these people or make plain the error of their simple, bucolic ways. It is my only hope that others may follow so that civilisation can be wrought from the clutches of native traditions and the barrier to progress they provide.
However, all is not lost and I find solace in the pursuit of religion I have seen practiced here. Though not the god of Christian or Catholic religions nor recognisable as any other deity of significant note their god took human form in the memory of those still living. Referred to simply as El Diego, the image of Diego Armando Maradonna adorns every wall and fills every heart. Considered to have performed acts of miracle implausible by any other he is said to have touched these lands with the hand of god and recalls to mind a character known as Pele whom the Amazonians worship in a similar manner. A martyr to some Maradonna's greatest acts were followed by an attempt to banish the world of all evil through the consumption of the devil’s every earthly manifestation.
Alas, as is my wont. I digress, and thus to my adventures...
Setting off before dawn I joined a merry band of adventurous spirits from Spain, Germany, France and various other lesser nations I shall not bother wasting ink or quill noting here. Heading for the legendary rivers of ice frozen in time and body we travelled overland before reaching the threatening waters of Lago Argentina which we navigated with the aid of a skilled and fearless local crew. At journeys end we found ourselves treading the frozen waterways of an age gone past. Attired in plus fours and woollen socks, sturdy boots, tweed jacket and carrying a pipe should conditions become overly harsh I knew I had prepared well to face the rigours of the day to come. Trekking through caves of pure azure, across crevasses of depth beyond reason and over peaks so sharp it startled the soul our progress was inhibited as much by the landscape as by the awe which each step and corner induced in all.
Ably guided by Carlos, a man hewn from the very rock of the vast mountain ranges of this jagged land, our every footfall was serenaded by a cacophony of sounds of which words can provide no adequate description as the glacier ruptured and split, aching and groaning with the pain of a man lay dormant too long. Such things call to mind the immensity of nature and inevitably lead to the contemplation of one’s own insignificance but I did not let such thoughts disturb the unrelenting concentration required to survive the traversing of such dangerous landscapes.
Furthermore our trek brought us face to face with the fabled Condor, master and guardian of these lands, surveying his kingdom with the majesty of unassailable royalty the bird witnessed our progress with a supreme indifference. Truly his presence did make the heart beat faster.
At the end of a day of quite stirring experiences and wondrous sights it was a pleasure indeed to take a dram of Scotland’s finest chilled by ice taken from beneath our very feet. Whiskey, ever the travellers companion allowed us to toast our bravery in suitable fashion. United in the possession of fearless spirits and daring souls the unique band of which I was now a part felt confident our footsteps would likely never be trod again.
And thus as time presses onwards so must I and before long I head for Mendoza, a town 2 days travel north from where I currently reside. Said to be more advanced than the indigenous population I have encountered thus far the people of Mendoza are reputed to have adopted some of the customs and cultures of the French. I am trusting such statements refer to the practice of Bacchus’ own alchemy of fermenting grapes into gastronomic gold rather than the adoption of a socialist work ethic or an inability to perform on the field of battle.
As an aside it would appear Argentina differs from Britannia where travel in a northerly direction beyond the boundaries of London leads to a regression in culture and refinement exposing one to a people of quite despicable habits and the basest, most animalistic behaviour.
Alas, as the wick of the solitary candle by which I write my musings burns low I fear it is time to say goodbye. My bed calls me to her comforting embrace and I have no will nor desire to resist.
Until I reach you again give my love to dearest Blighty, I do miss her so.
Yours,
Charles.
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