Ode to Bariloche

This post is dedicated to all those who have had God let you take a peek at Heaven, and then he said, “Nevermind, just kidding, back to Earth for you. Hey, don’t you get angry with me, I’ll make sure your premature wrinkles set on faster than you can say Desperate Housewives.”

Mood: Longing, for that sweet supple snow and the gentle caress of a llama sweater

This past Thursday a nice-sized group of adventure lovers (Sharon, Kyra, Lisa, Polina, Julia C., Mike, Zach, Matt R., and I) set out on the dusty trails for a Bear Grylls-style weekend in the uncharted (falso, it’s actually pretty charted, I still have all the colorful maps) Patagonian mountains. After a grueling (nice, comfy) 19 hour bus ride where everyone almost nearly died from hunger and starvation (plumply satisfied after eating 2 meals, a few snacks, and some nice boxed vino), and became so socially awkward from lack of human interaction on the desolate trek (actually, so in tune with pop culture after watching all of Madonna’s music videos up till 1995, a WWE production called “The Marine,” and playing “The Movie Star Game” and Sporcle on my Blackberry), we arrived in a little abandoned village called Barioloche (the most gorgeous out-doorsy populated tourist spot on the planet). The thrills began immediately upon our descent from the second story of the bus, but instead of detailing my every step in narrative fashion, I’ve decided to write a little poem in the spirit of Bariloche’s mirthful beauty:

Oh, Bariloche, atop your divine mountain I thought I knew the secret to life.
One single look at your tantalizing flora and fauna could eliminate world strife.
The best lomo I’ve e’er had,
Veronica from the spa gave me a massage that was pretty rad.
Oh, Bariloche, you make my heart tingle.
From the side of the mountain Mike and Sharon did dingle (dangle).
Since I’ve left you, my thoughts are tangled,
My body lies here bruised and mangled.
On the slopes I wore a large purple fluffy suit, and you didn’t make fun of me.
Your abundance of stray dogs kept me company.
Your snow padded my falls, it forsaw the future,
For that, I did not need even a single suture.
I ate food that resembled an American brunch.
The 23rd century-esq WiFi exerted quite the punch.
When I woke up my last morning I noticed upon the bunkbed rafters,
Names and places written by a bunch of crafters.
So I, too, penciled in my name,
and hoped that your elegant beauty would forever remain the same.

Brazos y besos.