My return flight to Buenos Aires is tomorrow morning, so I have one full day in Salta and want to be productive. I called Katia and Ruben to see if we could get together for coffee at midday. They agreed. I called Helen to see if she wanted to have dinner. She agreed, and we set a time after she finished work tonight. I sent a text message to Juan, the lead singer with Los Huayra, and he not only agreed to meet, but invited me to his new ranch house on the outskirts of Salta for an afternoon snack. What a great day this is shaping up to be!
Katia, Ruben and I met for coffee and sandwiches at the Museum (MAAM) café. We talked for about an hour about their work, their foundation and more. I explained to them that it might be a while before we were able to transfer and edit the film we had shot of the adorable Ayelen and them, as well as our other footage from this long trip, that we had no idea what was usable and what was not, and that we do not have a distribution agreement with anyone at the moment, etc. They are smart and patient. It was a good meeting.
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Juan met me at the MAAM café. I introduced him to Katia and Ruben and we left a few minutes later. Juan drives an old Peugeot with bald front tires and a trick passenger's door. But it fired right up, and we rolled down the windows and were on the road out of Salta in no time with an amber warning light blinking intermittently on the dash. At the city limits, we stopped to put in a few pesos worth of gas and were soon on a beautiful, winding, narrow country road with a cool breeze blowing through the car, surrounded by lush green hills on one side, and on the other, by valleys with meandering streams and creeks and green fields of grass dotted by occasional horses.
Juan speaks pretty good English, something I had not realized before, and we communicated quite well in both languages. We were having a great time and talking up a storm, but each instance of oncoming traffic on this narrow paved road was an adventure. Juan kept wandering off the pavement and onto the gravel with the right wheel, and the steering on the trusty old Peugeot seemed to have a mind of its own! But all's well that ends well.
After about a half hour drive, we turned onto a gravel road into a lovely green valley, crossed a rustic looking bridge over a little stream, and within a couple of miles, pulled into the beautiful tree shaded entrance to Juan's ranch. His very attractive young wife greeted us and led us to a little table on a large terrace surrounded by tall, dark green deciduous trees, the verdant aspect heightened by trellised vines along the edges of the terrace and overhead. She had prepared a picada, large plates full of sliced, cured meats and delicious cheeses, several types of bread, olives, various spreads for the bread and crudité.
She and I talked for a bit while Juan went inside to uncork a bottle of wine. She was a delightful young woman, curious but a bit wary, open and welcoming but with lots of questions. I just answered honestly, told her what I had been doing in South America, what I hoped to accomplish with Pan American Dreams, how I had come to the project, how difficult it was going to be, etc. This went on for a while, but she finally told Juan she liked the project. And I like her. I think she is someone who values actions over words, and I will work hard to justify her willingness to trust in this project.
Juan eventually narrowed the wine choice down to two vintages from his small but excellent wine collection and asked my opinion. I deferred to him, and that turned out to be a wise choice.
We had a very enjoyable afternoon, talking, eating, drinking great vino tinto, eventually going inside as a slight chill began to blow through the terraza. We settled into their intimate dining room, with its natural light filtering in through several small windows. Juan had a box of Cuban cigars, so we fired up a pair of properly clipped cigars and continued talking, eventually wandering into a conversation about the environment, our beloved mother earth, pachamama. He reached over and grabbed the neck of a beat up but beautiful old guitar that was propped up in the corner of the room. It is a natural extension of his communication, and at first, he just draped it over his knee and would punctuate an occassional sentence with a note or a strum.
But he began telling me stories based on old, very traditional folkloric songs, many of which are rarely heard today, according to Juan. He slung the strap of the guitar over his shoulder and told me the story of a song he was about to play.
A man owns a plot of land. There is an ancient tree on his land, and he decides he has to cut it down. I don't remember the reason, to build something, to clear the land, for firewood, etc. But he talks with the tree, which is an old spirit that remonstrates with him and tells him it should not be cut down, that they can live together harmoniously, eventually imploring him to understand the almost sacred significance of its ancient spirit, the chain of events he will set in motion with his unnecessary act of destruction.
Unmoved, the man cuts down the tree, but when it hits the ground, pachamama, mother earth, rises up mightily and the terra firma trembles everywhere, with a vast crying out, a mourning for this tragic loss.
I may have a few of the details wrong. This is from memory. But what I will never forget is Juan's telling the story so simply, then singing the song with so much feeling. His powerful, operatic voice hung for a moment in the smoke filled room amid the gauzy late afternoon sunlight and then began to echo out through the valley and into the canyons of the nearby mountains and across the oceans. I think I felt pachamama tremble and shed a tear too. This beautiful man, his burnished old guitar and a voice too big and clear to be contained by any four walls, brought more eloquence and power to the ancient wisdom encoded in this traditional song about the fate of the earth than any environmental statement we will be reading any time soon.
He sang a series of songs, all of them wonderful and often moving, but none like this simple old folkloric tale passing down traditional wisdom. I told Juan that I wanted to come back and film him unfiltered right in this very room, with this natural lighting, just singing alone with his guitar, especially this song. Nico and I hope that we will be able to do so in the next year.
We talked until quite late, then all three of us drove back to Salta as dusk was turning to night. I already had a very full day behind me. It was too late to go to dinner with Helen given my early morning departure for Bs As. I reluctantly called her and, with apologies, asked for a rain check. These things happen, but I hate the fact that I missed a chance to spend a nice evening with her. She is such an interesting woman, so lively, imaginative and intelligent. I hope our paths cross again soon.
