On the Uruguayan coasts of the Río de la Plata they say that there are 1.200 shipwrecks, of those who only 400 They are inventoried and 19 would be high impact. Under the waters, Where it seems that these history frames lie, mixed with noble woods and used projectiles, They dwell in suspicious harmony compact and too tangible fantasies of old pirates and rum boxes.
The weight of the word "shipwreck", of the "sunken ship" and the dangerous term and electrocurator "Treasury" fill the buchors of the Uruguayans as the grill chinchulines do, Rambla and Mate's afternoons or azorated winds entering the major candle.
And, however, The days, Weeks and months spend the Terrestrial Uruguay, where often the Río de la Plata does not go from being a decoration and a mass of air and sky, that are drawn on brown wave ridges. It is there, On the rambla walks, The views from the office, On beach excursions and, According to the wind that blows, It is brownish or an almost shocking cobalt color.
The Río de la Plata does not go from being a decoration and a mass of air and sky, that are drawn on brown wave ridges
But, Like everything in the country, When one directs attention to anywhere and opts for the incursion, The place opens like the Red Sea and begins to give off mysteries and tempting arms that, In a hypnotism stage, They inevitably transport the bottom of the irrational. The river is the jailer of the secret passages, of flirting with the invisible, of the subtle channels of the chimeras and the imaginations that, Even in the most declined stories, They start the routines bars from a fierce dream.
A few days ago we changed dimension.
As soon as we planted to look at him in front, he displayed his wings of history and ornamental dizziness so facinerously, that made us want to bend before its shores and their foams with a bow and a melodic song and sailor. First was Juan Sebastián Elcano who docked on the banks that are touched by Montevideo and that, As the chaplain on board told us, Navigate with fortune thanks to the Mercedes of the Virgin Galeona and the Lord of Calm and the storm.
What imaginary is capable of being subtracted from a "Galeona Virgin"? What spirit in, Uruguayan or Indian, Pass a storm in the sea?
Bright sun deck and toasted midshipmen showed us their lives on board, They spoke to us of the discovery of America and Columbus, of the icy lands of the Magallanes Strait and how, climbing the sticks, They release the candles when there is wind and only the air is heard, Wood browsing and crew voices.
What spirit in, Uruguayan or Indian, Pass a storm in the sea?
They had not spent two days when, After nights of strange dreams, We arrive in Punta del Este where, After a hurricane, There was an archaeological site with quartz tools, Lácas of a dark quartzite and burned bones that led us to visualize indigenous cooking turtles and fish, Making collars with snails and manufacturing knives and bright mineral axes.
Then it was Eduardo, that has dived its waters in search of history pieces, who, Looking Gorriti Island, He told me about sunken ships, of the conservation of marine heritage and Danger of imagination.
He told me that there is a fetishism of the object found that puts the zancadilla to the meek coherence of the globalizing context, that the coast is full of treasure hunters and that the "gold fever" continues to blind, Like a flash of hurtful light, The academic sanity of any dream titan. This brought me, on a little busy route, To an old friend, What he called, In a training of literature, syrup and mountains of cards, "Chocolate coins", And that came to define the juicy ideal of the chest of the seas as a senseless amputators.
In his attitude he explained me, because his speech clouded by water, that the amphorae fought the covers with the management of the environmental heritage. That the dreams of filibusteros and the vain dizziness of the ghosts of Admiral Nelson or Captain Drake had nothing to fear in front of the flat encephalogram of the problem of coastal erosion or the monotonous inventory of the coast of the coast.
Neptune and coastlines, Gold coins and environmental management, They were two parts and were one and far, However, The sea rocked.
And through a masterful deployment of liberated mysteries, Emerald Sirenas and Promise Songs, He threw some gates to the most primitive unconscious that made any military attempt by sanity a betrayal of adventure and an eternal condemnation of essential boredom.
After, Talking back with real archaeologists, One came from such a resume story of drives, I didn't know where to look. Everything, Neptune and coastlines, Gold coins and environmental management, They were two parts and were one and far, However, The sea rocked.
The tritones provided with superb tridents diving inviting the trial to shipwrecked, And the academic certificates of social applause had the same value in the eyes of the mirages as the butterfly wings in the sea currents. Values ??were confused in a dualism of fabulous forms, And the reason retired amorphous because here, In the dense multi -universe of fresh textures and infallible colors, To make a living would have to beg.
What an illustrious and noble fight!, said pilgrim reason, What a beautiful dichotom. Because who has never wanted to play a pirate? Who has not feared the spell of that drunkenness?
