There is a toasty aroma in the air. A strong yet delicate fragrance with a hint of fresh grass, tinged with roasted nuts. This smell, unknown to my olfactory receptors for most of my life, was now a familiar one. The wind is carrying it from the giant rolling ovens that are drying the fresh yerba leaves, brought in from the fields only minutes ago. The process, rudimentary, is still the same one as 50 years, ago. The only difference is the science of time. Branches with the leaves still attached, are carried on a moving mat and dropped in a rolling cylinder where the open mouth of a scorching furnace tumbles them across to safety. The secret lies in the timing. Years of minute observations, trials and errors, has led to the perfect equation, genius of physics and math, a precise number of seconds, spent under a precise temperature, to give the perfect roast. The result is a partially dried leave, full of flavors and healthy benefits, ready to be crushed and packed.
I was back at Las Marias, wrapping up a 3-month assignment. Sitting on the front porch of La Majoria (main house) I was doing a ritual that had now become daily routine: pour loose yerba into a gourd, cover the top with my hand, turn the gourd upside down and shake it several times. The goal is to bring to the surface the “Polvo” (powder). Then pour water on one side, not too much, just enough to soak the leaves and keep the other side dry. As an old man said to me once: “You are not simply pouring water, you are feeding the yerba so that it can breathe”. After a couple of minutes, sip the water through the Bombilla (straw). Refill and sip. Repeat.
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Ever since I was a young boy, I found my inspiration and comfort in nature
I love the wild. I love being in it and feeling it. I love the humbling experience of feeling powerless towards it.
I am sitting on the fence at the Las Marias ranch, in my hand, a gourd filled with Mate. I feel connected.
The next stop was Caviahue, near the Copahuevolcano.
I was mesmerized by the icebergs in Antarctica- each unique like a snowflake.
Sure – they smell…badly – but I found the odor pretty easy to overlook in light of their general adorableness.
First rule of ‘Kayak Club’ in Antarctica is that you are not late to kayak club meetings. The second rule of kayak club is that you ARE NOT late to kayak club meetings.
I had made up my mind, I wasn’t going to do it. Nope. Not doing it.