A kind-hearted Chilean guy tries desperately to deter me from the Port-a-John, hanging and shaking his head to communicate the disastrous state of affairs, and me, thinking he cannot possibly know the rough potties I encounter over the past months of traveling to the low of lows, console him and tell him it will surely be okay and forge uphill.
Oh, but it is most definitely not, and even I am at a loss for words, unable to express the misery within this one-and-only dump turned explosion.
Well, guess it’s time to get outta here, and before breezing out of camp, we shoot the bull with painter Joe and his buddy Jeb, a neuroscientist focused on neuro-education, he and his colleagues responsible for the recent findings that show that children raised as bilinguals have two mind maps, brains overlaid by neural maps in one language, then another, a revelation, and now, he strives to inform policy and redirect didacticism along the lines of empirical evidence.
Like, for instance, did you know ADD is more inheritable than height?
And, that people move to Colorado to be closer to Wyoming?
We part with the older gents and leave the pleasant cocoon that is the Fitz Roy range, distance offering the surprising gift of better vantage, the panorama of our engagement fully visible, stretching behind us, a happy memory, indeed, especially when we encounter the mountain mascot, the llama, and discover their bright blue eyes for ourselves.
And, then, by whatever grace of god, this 9 km actually does only take us only a hair over 2 hours to complete.