Juan Marcos - the Hippie Bee-Keeper

So, there I was, stranded, more or less. I had ridden some 100 km into the bowels of Mendoza and made a wrong turn. I was in the middle of nowhere and had broken a spoke. I was carrying about 25 lbs and I didn't have any tools that would fix my current situation.

I did find a little restaurant and hotel at the end of deserted highway, which literally ended in a few km because I guess a few years back they built a dique or dam and the road just stops.  That is typical in Argentina.  There was a fancy resort just up the road, but as I looked down upon it from my highway vestige, I could tell we’d not make a good fit; me with my sweaty riding clothes, broken bike and my seriously drowned spirit. No, down at the resort, they seemed to be having the time of their life.

So, as I pondered my situation later that evening sitting at my make-shift campground in the lawn along side the restaurant, I saw, much to my surprise, a cyclist riding up the road. He was in full cycling gear, an obvious sign of being “authentic” and I almost stuttered as he passed by me…. I yelled, “Hey, Che!!!” and he stopped. He turned around and well, all I can say, is the rest is Argentinean history….

Juan Marcos Guevara. A student of “sistemas y administacion” he was also an avid cyclist and bee-keeper. We made immediate friends. He offered to assist me, should I make it back to his town of Godoy, which was only about 50 km from where I was now.

He took off that evening for home and I went to sleep that night with a renewed sense of purpose and joy for my ever-expanding experience in Argentina.

The next day, I rode the 50 km into town. I found his home, a small, cinder-block structure, not unlike the others in the neighborhood.  He took me to a local bike shop and we purchased the necessary supplies. He fixed my bike. We spent the evening hanging out in Mendoza cafes and bars. It was awesome. I slept in his sister’s bed. His home was littered with dead bees. Odd, but somehow endearing. His mother?? Divina!!! She seemed rather elderly to have a son's Marcos' age; but she was very kind and had a youthful spark in her eyes.  I do not remember what was the deal with his father...

We rode to the top of Parque San Martin, which allowed us a view of the whole valley.  We picnicked among the trees. We laughed and drank copious amounts of this amazing wine, Santa Ana…. I’ve yet to find anything like it anywhere else.

The next morning we went to the Mercado where I purchased supplies for the next two days because he was taking me to his cabin in the mountains nearby. We headed to Valle de Upspallata in the Argentinean Andean foothills.

His cabin was more like a tiny house set in the most picturesque countryside. Here, there were wildflowers, bees and butterflies everywhere. We rode around town and he took me to his bee boxes which he had strategically placed all over the countryside. He introduced me to all kinds of interesting friends that I would have NEVER met had I stayed on the regular tourist route. I can’t even put into words the experience because it was so much like a movie that it still does not seem real to me. 

I find the comparison between the two cultures fascinating.  Here, in the US, we stuff our homes, garages, storage units, back porches and basements with stuff!  We have RV's, ATVs, VCRs, DVD players and more and more stuff than we possibly use in a lifetime.  There, in Argentina, they have less 'stuff' and maybe someone might label them as "poor" but to own a small house in the magnificent place is something even the "middle class" can afford.  Maybe it is because they understand that time spent with family and friends is more rewarding than a garage filled with stuff. 

From the moment we met, there wasn’t even a seconds hesitation that we were connected in spirit. But for some reason, however, the first night we spent together in the cabin, there was a little bit of tension upon deciding where to sleep. There were probably ten beds in the cabin. I insisted upon sleeping in the bed upstairs, alone. He honored my boundary with the utmost gentleman-like manner.  He was eternally sweet and trustworthy.

The next morning we went for a hike to the top of Cerro de la Plata.  Just a few km below of and with a spectacular view of the highest peak in South America, Aconcagua.  We celebrated our achievements, shared our deepest secrets, solved world problems and vowed to remain friends forever. 

We dined alfresco that afternoon in the courtyard of his little cabin.

It’s amazing to think that I was given such an insiders view, such a local’s perspective of such an impressive and illustrious and yet undiscovered and pristine region.

Marcos had climbed Aconcagua once before and was in the process of preparing to do it again. He’d later send me the pictures. I was quite jealous when I received them.

When I left Mendoza, I felt an odd mix of satisfaction and joy that I had not felt in years. I was torn by my obvious love for Marcos, but yet, strange aversion to him, as if he were like a brother to me…. I mean, how could we of had that kind of experience, that deep connection and not fallen in love?

The last night we spent together in the cabin, we wrote love letters to each other. I have not pulled mine out of my journal in several years. I know that it was sweet and heartfelt. But we left it there.  To be honest, this post makes me sort of want to dig it out.  I never saw Marcos again.

It’s sad to me that we’ve lost touch with each other. We remained in contact for a year or two after I left Mendoza via email. He kept saying he’d come visit me in Buenos Aires but it’s expensive to travel if you are not a foreigner. I understood. I left without saying goodbye.

I contacted him again when all of my shit hit the fan last year, seeking, I guess some kind of validation that I was acceptable to some Argentineans at least. He was gracious, as expected.   I miss him terribly. I can’t get near a bee without thinking about him. I wish him the best. He was one of the most inspiring, humble, generous, kind, humorous people I have ever met in my life. I wish him well. To Marcos, the Hippie Bee-Keeper!!!