Gloria calls herself a witch. I have a soft spot for witches. The first thing the girls tell me about Gloria is that her workshop has a symbol of a little witch flying. What Lizz and Vir don’t know is that the chronicle I wrote about my trip two days ago is about a little witch flying, and what they also don’t know is that I talk about synchronicity and coincidences, like this one just now.
They tell me she makes potions, and I melt with excitement (if I’m allowed the metaphor).
Continuing with the theme of magic, I invite you all to read about my new adventure:
Like a child, once again, I find myself playing in the right and least expected place. It seems deliberate, I think, is it a coincidence or a synchronistic episode? I choose to believe in synchronicity, as one of my favorite writers does in her theory about the artistic path. Julia links it to play and childhood, proposing in her hypothesis that the more we connect with the rules of our game and the more committed we are to our inner child, possibilities that enhance our play, desires, and creativity will begin to appear. And yes, I take my 2.0 journeys more seriously each time, and as a result, it seems that the context begins to act, offering me its movement, playing with me. I think this while realizing that I’ve come to write at an airport with no intention of taking any flights. In all the years my father has been working as a pilot, I’ve never had to come to pick him up from work, and today, for the first time, just when I had a virtual travel appointment in my apartment, he asks me to pick him up here to go with him to Giles, to spend Christmas with my family.
I couldn’t hide my surprise when the only taxi available on this date agreed to pick me up two hours earlier than I had planned, leaving me with a long wait at a tiny airport. It was either that or I had no way of getting there. ‘Just when I had a virtual travel appointment,’ I think. Without much resistance, fearing I might not make it to the family celebration, I decide to accept Martín’s proposal, the taxi driver, load all my baggage for the weekend celebration, including my computer, and arrive early for my father’s arrival. ‘Could this be the magic of Gloria?’ I think now.
And that’s how I am here, about to take off on my computer, with my bags packed and the sound of private jets all around, imagining what the weather will be like at my next destination: Llifén, where my new guide, Gloria the artisan of today, has her land.
I close my eyes, concentrate on the noise of the planes, and see myself sitting in one of those light leather seats with the scent of excitement. It’s not a private jet; it’s my dad’s ultralight, the one I first flew in when I was six years old.
Deberían hacer perfumes inspirados en la sensación que genera despegar los pies de la tierra o visitar algún espacio nuevo – pienso mientras miro la pista que comienza a moverse al igual que mi cuerpo entregado a la fuerza de la máquina-.
Papá me debe una, y en este texto se la voy a cobrar. Desde siempre llevó a volar a toda mi familia en ese avión, pero una vez a Cuquita, mi abuela, su suegra, la llevó en palabras de ella “a visitar un río donde vivían habían unos patos.” Recuerdo esa tarde la sensación de maravilla, deseo y ansias que tenía por ir a ver esos patos. ¿Cómo será ver patos desde el aire? ¿Y el agua? Aquella tarde, a mis seis años, le hice prometer que me iba a llevar a ver patos. Nunca sucedió. Nunca hasta el día de hoy dónde vamos a montarnos en búsqueda de ríos, patos y peces.
Durante mi vuelo 2.0 investigo sobre Llifén, lo que conozco es tan solo aquello que he charlado con las chicas de artisanNow y Dos Romeros, fundamentalmente la historia de Gloría, su trabajo como artesana donde crea “pociones naturales” en forma de jabones y aceites a partir de lavanda, romero y eucalipto – entre otros – algunas de sus materias primas cultivadas por “viejitas” de la zona que se lo proveen y otras como en el caso especial de la lavanda, por ella, en un gran mar de plantas que cuida a los pies de un cerro mágico, todos estos relatos que me cuentan las chicas fueron inspiración para mi viaje.
At first glance, it’s hard to find information about Llifén. I try searching elsewhere on the web and end up on a well-known tourist search page that doesn’t provide me with much data. Now that we’re in the air, I look out to the side, and the sculptural mountains and rivers already announce that we’re reaching the south, and I think, ‘What better than to turn to Google Maps and embark on another unprecedented adventure?’ My hands type ‘Llifén’ into Google Maps. Since we’re still in the air, I choose the satellite mode, and the magic happens. Now, I’m flying with my dad over Llifén. I don’t see any ducks, but the silhouette of the territory contains beaches, hot springs, forests, and campsites. I ask Daniel, my father, to descend a bit to get a closer look at ‘Playa Huequera.’ As we descend, I see little sailboats that I imagine are engaged in fishing, and cabins and campsites nearby. The water is pure blue, and the sun today fulfills its vital function: it illuminates, revitalizes, and magnifies the territory. I ask if we can take a detour along the coast, at a higher altitude, to see what else we can discover. There, Google Maps shows me that there are several ‘Cocinerías’ (small restaurants), and one, in particular, catches my attention; it’s called ‘Cocinería ROSITA.’ Instantly, an immense desire overcomes me to sit down and order some typical food in that wonderful forest next to my dad. My wishes are commands because I’m a witch in the making, and I’m in charge of my journey. We land on a highway near Cocinería Rosita, and I deploy Street View to get there. Google gifts me beautiful photos, and with the first photo, I’m already amazed: a cottage with a gabled roof with a mountain-turned-forest behind it takes my breath away. If, like Alice in Wonderland, I could bottle a sensation, this would be the one chosen: when your breath is taken away by surprise and you marvel at a new space.
“It seems like something out of a fairy tale,” I’ve heard and said that phrase so many times, but I can’t find a more fitting one. Once again, stories remind me of childhood, imagination, distant, unique places created like unique snapshots of our imagination from a narrative. Well, Rosita’s cocinería looks like all of that. Will Gloria come by here? Will they meet? Will they eat together? I check the photos the girls sent me of Gloria’s lavender field and think they should meet.
I walk a little further, not entirely sure if it’s okay to go under the fence in the photos, but we do it anyway, amidst wildflowers of all colors, the sound of the wind, and a few bugs buzzing around. We knock on the door, and just as it looks in the pictures on the internet, a woman identical to the one in the photos opens the door. I close my eyes and can smell the delicious corn pie that the internet couple is eating. I can’t resist, and I want to know more about what’s here, always curious, I open the search engine and find an article about Rosa Perez, the founder of ‘Cocinería Rosita,’ published in 2015. Reading it, I learn that it’s a family enterprise created fourteen years ago (the article mentions it was inaugurated seven years ago, just like the other article seven years earlier), taking place in their own home ‘located about 300 meters from the Llifén intersection on San Vicente Alley on the way to the beach known as Piedra Azul.’ The article also mentions ‘her desire to expand and create a terrace.’ Now, all curious, I wonder if she ever did that.
I finish my corn pie, ask for the check, and satisfied, we head back to my dad’s plane. I hear the engine, we lift off, I say goodbye to the mountains, close my eyes, and smell lavender. Now I think of Gloria, her magic, her work, Aquaflora, her oils, and her choice of life in Llifén. I imagine her as an inspiring figure for all those who choose to live in rural territories while running their business. I think again about the network, and I can’t help but feel a bit more magical. A while later, I open my eyes again and reunite with my dad at the airport. We’re in Buenos Aires, on our way to Giles to celebrate Christmas in his car. He’s unaware of the journey I just took us on and all the wonderful people we met.
Once again, I hope for the magic to live on and for us to celebrate the network that allows us to fly even without leaving home.
