The End of the World

There is wind pelting my face. Its biting freshness is invigorating until small stones and dirt begin to fly. I crouch low to avoid the airborne rocks and to keep my footing until the wind fades. The view from the top of the glacier is breathtaking: ocean, mountain, forest, and sky all meet here in a symphony of color. The faint smell of salt rides the frigid gusts reminding me of home although I am considerably far away. This is Ushuaia, the end of the earth.

The southernmost city in the world, Ushuaia lies at the base of Tierra del Fuego in Argentina’s Patagonia region. Breathtaking, rugged, and wild, it is the stoic anchor of the continent, possessing a placidity and inner peace despite the power and dominance of its wilderness.

Yet, the mountainous landscape and the glacier which carved it out long ago have stood as witnesses to the progression of human history, to the foundations and destructions of communities and to steady changes in the environment. Perhaps then their silence is not merely serenity but resignation; a long inaudible sigh at their own permanence in an ephemeral world.

I make my way up the mountain face. The glacial ice glistens under the blue sky, sending streams cascading down the slope as it melts. A steady hum eclipses the roar of the wind as I near a rushing stream. I catch the pure, icy water in my hands. It tastes perfect, natural, and nothing like any of the supposedly glacial water bottles that I have had at home. No additives, no aftertaste, no plastic, no price tag.

I pause, my senses filled by my surroundings and marvel that I have spent most of the last three months in the city. Here, at the end of the world, if only for a moment, it all seems so far away. I feel as permanent as the mountains, a constant fixture amidst the fleeting moments of my life. I stand in silence and stillness, feeling the wind gust around me until I am pulled by its inertia back into motion, back into life, back into the reluctant journey home.