The Return to the Rio Azul

It seemed only appropriate that I should return to Rio Azul for my last weekend in El Bolson, even though everyone else in the house had different plans for the weekend. I made the hour walk on foot, finally arriving at the familiar farm-in-progress. Ghost town. It was like walking into a post-apocalyptic blockbuster where everyone has vanished off the face of the earth. The dishes were washed, the kitchen clear, just some chickens and their newbourne chicks poking about.

I wandered the grounds for a while, eventually finding another sketchy bridge across the river which was of course another pleasant experience. After a few hours another volunteer, Tamara from Israel who I had met the week prior, showed up. We cooked (rice and veggies) and ate under candle light, Tamara being very pleased that I brought wine in from town. She was also quite glad to not be all alone on the farm, and rightly so since the place becomes a little spooky at night. There are no lights, no people, just a random stray dog, some bickering cats, and a cabin with a very noisy mouse. Sure glad I didn´t sign up for this farm!

The next day a dozen other volunteers arrived and life returned to the community kitchen. Without many English-speaking volunteers this weekend, I got a free mind-numbing shot of Spanish for the day. Under the scorching sun, we made clay balls of seeds called bolitas. The technique was passed down from the legendary agriculture Japanese master Fukuoka, who was the subject of the hippie convention a few weeks back. Fukuoka wrote a lot about his philosophies, but he didn`t give specifics. He feared that his techniques would be snatched up by multinational corporations and patented and separated from the people who actually worked the earth. What I can tell you is that the clay is supposed to protect and nurture the seeds so that they can grow stronger in adverse soil conditions. Like I mentioned before, the seeds are a mix of several species, and apparently the ideal Fukuoka farm looks like a forest of many different types of plants and trees. Sure hope it all works, cause I pounded the crap out of cement all day to help make the perfect bolitas.

An Indonesian guy named Alex, who is about my age and looks like a budding Che Guevera, is the only one really walking the walk at the Rio Azul farm. He lives there are all year, pretty much on his own with one other volunteer on the property and whatever friends or hippies come and go. No electricity, no shower, no phone, probably not a single clean piece of clothing. His adobe home, sheltered in the forest overlooking the river, is cosy and comfortable but awfully lonely. ¨Yeah,¨ he tells me, ¨the first few winters were hard.¨ Do not fear that the Matt you know from a month ago is considering running off for a farm life off the grid, I could never live like this.

I said my good-byes and parted with Rio Azul. Maybe I will return one day to witness its progress and to get my hands dirty again. Until then, it remains my optimal choice if the economic system collapses and we are all reduced to subsistence farming.