Travel Diary
︎ Puerto Saavedra

The slow, undulating current of the days that pass are finally beginning to sweep me up and tow me in. Vultures circle overhead, their wings big enough to cast shadows on the corrugated iron roofs of the town below. They’ve become an essential component of this seaside landscape I’ve quickly grown to love: tall, proud, pine soldiers stand erect atop the headland, keeping vigil day and night; eternal witnesses to the infinite beautiful moods of the ocean. I’ve positioned my bed to catch the radiating warmth of the wood-burning oven, and every night, I fall asleep cloaked in the glow of its rippling embers. The silence adds depth to my sleep, and I often wake up bleary eyed, under the veil of residual dream states.

As I write this, I can feel my skin tightening around my body in the heat, beads of sweat evaporating in the breeze before they’ve even had a chance to form. A fleeting and hot memento from summer before the sun yields to the pregnant, heavy, and slow clouds ambling into the sky above. My eyelids feel heavy as I squint past the dazzling light to catch a glimpse of the birds above, soaring through tendrils of vapour. I am reminded of the notoriously volatile weather this part of the world is revered for, the formidable storm that kept me up all night.

I’ve always said that it’s important to feel small, to befriend your powerlessness, to splinter the lofty confidence we exercise over nature. But last night, with my pulse echoing the hail on the tin roof, and the lightning coming through as red flashes through my eyelids, I didn’t want  to be reminded of my place in the natural order of things. I wanted the power to make it stop.

© Anna Hutchcroft 2020, All Rights Reserved
© Anna Hutchcroft