Though we left Salta with a bitter taste, and a hole in our hearts where my personal belongings used to be (stolen), we bravely headed south to a small winery town called Cafayate.
There we met with fate - a bottle of organic red wine and Felipe, a Columbian artisan, a spirit with kind eyes and a magnetic and healing aura. Into the mountains we went together, broken hearts slowly mending, eyes slowly opening to an alternate reality - one without 'things'.My Spanish at this point was apparently good enough to make great friends - telling jokes, teaching and learning dice games and card tricks, discussing worldly political injustices. Felipe, Chofa (a warm father figure), Hacinto (a wolf-dog), and John and I shared a magical day and night in that mountain house, picking walnuts, making art, sharing food, and transforming a moment that was so by chance and transient, into something so organic and forever.
If it weren't for Cafayate, and these mountain men, the last month of our trip may have been injured instead of enlightened.
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