Carmen

Some years ago, after Antilco made its transition from kayaking to horsetrekking, Mathias developed the idea of inviting volunteers to live at the farm in exchange for work.  For him, the advantage is in always having a worker on hand, not having to hire a salaried guide, and welcoming international youth into his family for months at time. And on the other side of things, the volunteers experience an exciting and incomparable period of intense work and exploration; they care for the horses and gear and travel the Andes and Araucaria forests of Southern Chile on horseback.

It is a particular experience though: workers must be self-motivated, content with long days of hard physical work, and unruffled by a life away from town, and very inconsistent internet access.  For this reason, several invited workers have left early and unhappily. Two years ago, I heard tales of the bad workers and great ones, whose reputations have been exaggerated and cemented in Mathias’ mind and Antilco legend. The faults of the good workers are long forgotten, and the talents of the “mistake” volunteers erased from memory.  The long list of past workers, as the Bosses memories recall, includes people only at far ends of the spectrum.

So, when I arrived Saturday and heard that Carmen was coming Sunday, I was excited. I had heard many stories about her from Mara and Remo, and Mathias as well. All three love her for different reasons: she is a kind and patient guide; a friendly caring sister; and a considerate and warm addition to the family. She is twenty-six years old, lives in Munich and works with handicapped children, but takes all her vacation time at once to return to Antilco and the horses. This is her third time back.

With the third helper, Monica, gone for five days on a trek, Carmen and I have spent the last two days together working and guiding and she’s been the perfect companion and co-worker. She is very slight, though not short, with long wavy blond hair, and a small, alert face. She speaks English almost perfectly and the Spanish she learned her first time here is quickly coming back to her. My first language being English and hers German, we like to compromise most of the time in Spanish. In the frequent switches between the three, she often uses sounds to express herself when she can’t find the words in an appropriate language. Instead of telling me Bartolo once had a sore hind leg that creaked when he walked, she excitedly points to his leg and says “It used to ka-chuk, ka-chuk” all the time.” When our guide horses grow anxious, prancing and tossing their heads, I reprimand roughly them, saying compórtate!, or “Behave yourself.” Carmen leans down to their ears and coos.

In these first few days while I adjust to the reality of such a long stay so far away from home, she reminds me why I bought the plane ticket back here in the first place. We race each other across the sand flats letting the horses fly beneath us, and neither of can quite believe we’re back.  With no riders Tuesday, we spent the day working. We sewed new sheaths for the machetes out of old denim; mended and reinforced the half-chaps from riders’ legs; cut wood and metal rods to fix the fence where we hitch the horses; and cleaned and conditioned the leather saddle bags that carry supplies when we trek. Then we rode together to a narrow part of the trail on the shore of the Trancura river, with our newly sheathed machetes, and cleared it. We spent two and half hours battling blackberry thorns and low hanging branches, and emerged proud of our work and covered in tiny scratches.

She’s industrious and hardly ever sits, and in this way we work well together because I prefer to be occupied as well.  She only has three weeks here and is determined to make every second count.  I’m glad to have someone I can talk honestly to about Antilco, someone with whom I can share memories of horrible rides and obnoxious riders, as well as the excitement of leading long treks. Sometimes I find myself struggling to keep up with her enthusiasm, but that tug toward optimism is what I need now and I’m thrilled she’s here.

 It’s an added bonus that she shares some of the inevitable attention we draw being blonde girls on Chilean horses. When men in cars stop to take pictures, she just laughs and says, “oighh, this is happening all the time… always they are wanting pictures of the gringas.” We smile briefly then kick our horses and ride on.