“You okay?” Ricardo looks concerned. He’s been hypervigilant about altitude sickness, carries oxygen in the back of the 4x4.
I nod.
“Headache?”
“No, I’m fine, just... trying to take it all in. So I don’t forget.”
“You won’t.” Ricardo smiles, with a shrug that saysBecause that would be impossible.
He’s right, of course. It’s like the hot black road we took to get here wasa highway to another planet—one that exists far beyond the gravity of Joel and me, and everything we’ve lost. To be here is to forget my pain, fulfill a dream.
Liam would love it, I think, this edge-of-the-world terrain with its shrill chorus of winds.
“Shall we go and get the others?” Ricardo says eventually, gesturing back at the 4x4. He means the three other travelers from my hostel, who were interested in finding the thermal springs up the road, but not my little bird.
I don’t want to leave—I could stay out here all night, shelter beneath the swathes of stars—but the thermal springs will be closing soon. “Thank you,” I tell Ricardo, “for showing me. I’ve wanted to see it for so many years.”
“If we’re quick,” he says, “we might still catch some flamingos.”
•••
My trips out with Ricardo in the 4x4 over the next few days bring about a series of wondrous encounters—vicunas and llamas, alpacas and deer, rich scatterings of birds. Together we explore, picnicking on the toes of volcanoes, hiking up to marvel at lagoons. I am treated to yawning canyons and bright rivers, to immense picturesque plateaus, and I soak up every scrap of Ricardo’s expertise. I’ll always be grateful for the incredible things he’s shown me.
My first time beyond Europe, and my eyes are now wide open to the world.
•••
“So where’s your next stop?”
It’s my last night here before I journey west to Arica for three days, then south to the Atacama Desert via more national parks. After that, on to Santiago for three nights before flying home, concluding my three-weektrip. I’m in a bar in Putre with Aaron, another traveler from the hostel, who invited me out for a drink. I said yes because I’ve seen him around and he seems friendly enough. Plus I fancied the company.
We’ve chatted casually over the last few days. Originally from Cape Town, Aaron works in Rio but is touring South America for a few weeks by himself. Charismatic and quick, he seems interested in me, and makes me belly-laugh, but... he’s just a littletooperfect. He’s tall and athletic, energetic and charming, all winks and cheekbones, flawless in the way that Piers seemed to be when I first met him. I prefer to see a person’s kinks, I think. You don’t get such a shock that way, when the dazzle of the early days first begins to dim.
I outline my itinerary, then ask Aaron what his plans are. He’s heading off in the opposite direction to me, across the border into Bolivia. He says I can come if I want to. And maybe if things were different—if I didn’t still feel so raw about Joel—I might consider it, do something a bit crazy.
But I know the way to get over Joel isn’t to supplant him with someone else. So I lean across and peck Aaron on the cheek, thank him for the excellent wine, wish him safe travels.
•••
En route to Heathrow a week ago, the tsunami of memories was constant. All I could think about was leaping from the train and rushing home, telling Joel how much I still loved him. Even at the airport, I kept glancing over my shoulder, wondering if I might see him scrambling through the crowds to reach me, the way they do in films.
And once I was on the plane, for almost the whole flight to Chile, I kept asking myself what I would have done if hehadturned up at the airport. Would I have succumbed to the madness of temptation, kissed him right there where I stood in the departures hall?
But finally I realized I was missing the point. Joel wouldn’t have turned up at the airport, because hewantsus to move on. I thought back again to that last night at the restaurant, when he gripped my hand and urged meto see a better future for myself.I think for you the best is yet to come. And while I can’t yet picture a time when being without him will feel okay, I know all he ever wanted was for me to be happy. So I made a pact with myself before we touched down that in Chile, I would try to ease slowly forward. The next few weeks should be about my life and what it could look like, because as yet I honestly had no idea.
The dessert spoon from the restaurant was nestled in the bottom of my rucksack. I brought it with me as a reminder. That life—if I could yet believe it—was here to be savored and enjoyed. Sampled and tasted, as many flavors as possible.
•••
When I get back to the hostel, I e-mail my bird photo to Liam, Fiona, and Dave—
Saw a unicorn today!
Then I sit on my bed and take a pen and postcard from my bag.
My hand is shaking slightly as I write the first word.Joel.
Despite my resolve to move on, I’ve been hit today by the strongest compulsion to tell him how I’m feeling. It came to me earlier while I was in a thermal pool, basking like a turtle in the water. I had both eyes on the raptors circling the sky when, without warning, a film reel of flashbacks began to spool through my mind. The lake at Hugo’s wedding. Joel ribbing me about wild swimming the morning after. What we snuck off and did next, on our way home.
