An island you can not escape,
A force you can not resist,
A bond of culture and resistance, which you can not cut.
An island from where you see the shore,
Watching the rising of the shadows,
Pleating pages, which veils their writing into cover.
An island too beautiful to be built,
Delighted by nothing, delighted by nothingness.
Often opposed, never extinguished,
Unique for everyone, which will tear you apart.
Close to Bariloche I climbed the peak of San Otto in the early morning-hours,
accompanied only by my Leica and the rising heat of the sun.
The ashes of Puyehue would cover the landscape with a fine dress of dust,
telling me a poetic story about who I was and who I am going to be.
The ash-clouds of the volcano Puyehue darken the sky during the day,
wrapping the landscape around Bariloche in a magical atmosphere.
Tegernsee, the home of my ancestors