Call Me Charlie

Issue 322

You guys,

Sam knew that if it were up to me we wouldn’t have made this trip. We would have stayed in La Barra during the kids’ week-long mid-cohort break from school. Still, it was beautiful where I stood, on top of a massive waterfall. The current was fast but peaceful, the water trickling over the rocks, and at its edge, the water plummeted straight down to depths I couldn’t see. Mist lightly coated my face and the sound of rushing water was all I could hear. The view felt like it was meant for the fish and the birds and bears who could stand on those rocks and withstand the strong current; not for people, not for me.

“Babe, you’re in the way,” Sam said.

I pulled out of my trance and moved to the side to let a swarm of people pass. Others stood next to me and posed for selfies. The steel bridge walkway went on for miles and miles over the Iguazu Falls in Argentina, the largest waterfall system in the world. I sighed. Even though we were surrounded by expansive nature I felt suffocated. I hated feeling rushed, feeling like I was in the way. This was why we avoided major tourist attractions.

We were in the middle of a jungle. The trees were lush and green against clear dark waters and light blue sky. Bright pink, and yellow, and orange butterflies landed on the railings as we passed. I almost felt like I was in line for a Disney ride. I imagined the team of builders who constructed these bridges, who did the work of placing them so close to dangerous, deathly drops. I kept stopping and saying, with palms facing up to the sky, “How in the world did they make this?!”

On our flight back to Uruguay, after spending three nights in Buenos Aires and two in Iguazu Falls, Sam and I discussed the trip. The flights, the hotels, the Ubers, the stress, the experience. We asked ourselves, Was it worth it?

Once back in La Barra, we half-emptied our suitcases and did four loads of laundry. We were leaving the next day for a weekend at an estancia, a large private estate with horses and cows and sheep, where you stay with a host family who cooks you meals and takes you on different excursions on the property. These are very common in Uruguay. Like everything else, Sam had booked it months in advance. On the morning of our departure, I raced through the house trying to get everything repacked. I made another round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the road. I yelled at Layla for wiping her greasy potato chip hands on her shirt AGAIN instead of using a napkin. I yelled at George during our quick walk to the market because he kept drifting into the middle of the road over and over and over. “Why is this so hard?!” I said for the fourth time. “I don’t understand. STAY ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD.” I sighed loudly when we got on the road for a three-hour drive and I had just finally taken a breath and Sam asked me to read him all the directions to the estancia. The whole week had been one big rush. I wanted to be home. I wanted to do my breathing exercises and my work. And now we were off again for another trip.

We drove along bumpy dirt roads for thirty miles before we turned onto the property. We were greeted by Jaime, one of the owners and also the chef. He took us for a quick walk around the grounds. Layla immediately noticed the trampoline, swings, and trees for climbing. George spotted the soccer ball and foosball table. There were chickens, horses, and a gray sheep dog named Juno with one blue eye and one brown. Our room was the coziest place I’d ever seen and I wanted to stay there forever. There was a queen bed in the corner and two little twin beds on opposite walls. The room was lit by two small desk lamps and the orange glow of a fireplace, which we would be in charge of keeping lit during the cold weekend.

We were the only family there. A couple of French college kids would arrive later that night, and a Uruguayan family with three teenagers were coming tomorrow. In the meantime, Jaime asked, would we like to take a ride to see the waterfalls?

The kids jumped up and down, ready for an adventure. Jaimie had an old pickup truck and we all climbed into the back. Makeshift benches had been hammered down for us to sit on. We grabbed hold of the sides of the truck and the kids and he took off. Leading us was Juno, sprinting ahead of the truck, knowing, it seemed, exactly where we were going.

Through massive lush green properties we rode, passing cows and sheep and horses, the kids bouncing up and down and laughing and constantly yelling, “Where’s Juno?? There’s Juno!”

We moved away from the open plains and into a more wooded area, bending our heads to avoid being hit by branches. Jaime parked and we all got out and followed him and Juno. It was a very narrow path, surrounded completely by trees, sometimes creating a canopy that felt very Secret Garden-like.

Suddenly Jaimie stopped. He put a hand to his ear. “Do you hear that?” he said. George and Layla stopped running. They listened. “Water!” they yelled. We were close.

We kept going until we descended over rocky terrain, careful not to slip. Sam carried Layla. And then we were there, on top of a waterfall. There were big, dry rocks where we could safely stand. The waterfall slowly descended, so that if a kid slipped and fell in they could easily be pulled out. The sun was just beginning to set, and was hitting the dark gray rocks with its warm golden light.

Sam and I looked at each other. It was just the four of us here, with Jaime and Juno. We had the waterfall to ourselves, and we could stay as long as we liked.

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Until next week,

Charlie