July 28, 2012. I spent five days in Bariloche, doing my best to escape the tourist-laden bustle of town each day. The place felt like a version of Disneyland, polished and overly packaged. There are some charming log-cabin buildings scattered throughout, but it wasn’t really my cup of tea.

Llao Llao, by contrast, was much more inviting. I took the bus out there a few times and wandered along a peaceful trail, visited a lovely cathedral, and made my way to Colonia Suiza—a quaint little village with German roots. One Porteño I met joked that after World War II, fleeing Nazis kept heading as far from Buenos Aires as they could, stopping only when the road dead-ended at the foot of the Andes.

One day, I escaped to Villa La Angostura, where I finally had the chance to rest. Two hostelmates decided to drive across the border into Chile for a shopping trip, and I tagged along—though the experience ended up being more stressful than relaxing.

It reminded me of how vulnerable travel can feel. I didn’t have their phone number, and they didn’t have mine. Most of the day, I waited by the car, afraid to wander too far in case they left without me. For the first time in a long while, I got a taste of what it’s like to be fully dependent on strangers.

Back in Argentina the next day, I hiked up a trail to a waterfall tucked in a forest inhabited by Mapuche families. A man pointed me toward the trailhead, speaking softly and clearly in Spanish. His kindness stayed with me.

Lately, I’ve found companionship in unexpected places. Pamela and Claudia—two sisters who run a small chocolate company called Nuke, named in memory of their mother who died of heartbreak—welcomed me into their world. Their warmth meant a lot. It’s not easy being far from friends, and their kindness filled something that had been missing.

I also met an Argentine woman named Ferdinanda, currently playing tennis for Penn State. She’s been generous with her time and advice, offering suggestions for places to visit and practical travel tips.

Snow has started to fall, and the hostel has filled with skiers—some backcountry, some downhill. A man from southern Germany and a couple from France are here, the woman originally from Russia. She’s skied extensively in Siberia and carries herself with a quiet intensity.

Since parting ways with Claudio a few days ago, I’ve felt a little unmoored. It’s a strange freedom to be alone again. I’m trying to decide whether to continue east to Buenos Aires or turn back. For now, it’s enough to focus on myself, to move at my own pace.

Today brought a small joy: watching the Olympics, and a tennis match between Federer and Fallas. It felt good to reconnect with something familiar. It’s been a long time since I’ve watched a match.

(I wrote to my mom: I send my love and hope that the summer isn’t too hot, and that you are well.)