My grandmother was afraid to leave the curtains of her discouraged apartment in case someone, from a neighboring building, spied on what was inside and put together a command group to steal. But he was not afraid to get on a camel in the Sahara desert or an elephant in Nepal or take photos of the monkeys that moved between the fog of the streets of Katmandú. What loved the most in life was to travel and take photos and the day he sent, at age 45, Ana Eloísa dedicated himself to traveling. Alone, with friends or group with strangers, all I wanted was to travel. Bold, fearful and reckless, it was an example of contradiction, or humanity: he was afraid to be at home and was the owner of the world. So there was no curtains, but the day one of the neighborhoods was flooded where there was a school in charge, he put the water to the waist and those who were with her had no choice but to follow her. He did not know how to cook and was careless, he loved lunch at the Terracita, a restaurant on Luis María Campos Avenue that did the best chorizo dike. There was a photograph of her in Kimono, in some study in Japan, next to one of her best friends. The two wrapped in that soft blue fabric, with drawings that go up and down, look at the camera as they say they do not come with pavadas. It was the year 82, there was no Internet or cell phones, traveling was the closest thing to a real adventure. One day he left and we just saw her again when he took the plane back, during his stay there were no photos or messages of WhatsApp. We are going to the adventure, crazy girl, it was her phrase. I remember a trip together to Barcelona. She did something that was very boring in my early adolescence and now promulgated as an obligation for any traveler or traveler: stop to have coffee in the middle of a walk. Did we take a coffee? I had tips as always wearing 6-Copin droplets and coal pills, a heater with a jar to make tea in the hotel room and the camera loaded with color or slide movie. A series that took out in Japan shows a temple at sunset time, a leaned tree, a man greeting her from her Jinrikisha, a two -wheeled car lying by a person on foot. When she returned to the Buenos Aires department she made a family reunion with dried masite and tea. He invited us to move to a small room already dark, turned on the slide projector. The school teacher, who sent and came out to know the world, was the first chronicler I met. From that room in a neighborhood of Buenos Aires, he told his trip with such passion that we wanted to go see everything she had seen. Because that’s what adventurers do without a doubt, have their own adventure and return to tell.
