Today I'm back at work after the adventure in the mountains. Alarm clock, rushed breakfast, checking the clock every few minutes because I'm running late, the subway, people pushing past you, traffic, honking horns, noise... All those things you completely forget exist when you're in the mountains. Out there the alarm never goes off — the sunlight over the hills slowly wakes you up, and as you open one eye you see a local guide lighting a campfire to make breakfast. You have all the time in the world to walk, to wash up in those magical streams, to eat some toasted bread with jam and mate made with the same incredibly clear stream water. While you get your things ready, the guides and gauchos prepare the horses — there's always more than enough time to enjoy it all. 
I'm arriving at the office, and I know a flood of emails is waiting for me, along with thousands of things and problems to catch up on — things I'd also forgotten existed for the past week. Because in the mountains, starting the day means hopping onto your horse and letting yourself be carried away by fantastic landscapes, so many at times that you get used to being amazed, and if you don't take pictures you can't possibly remember them all.
Conversations with people who, just 24 hours ago, were complete strangers and suddenly become your friends, fill those long stretches where there's nothing left to do but listen to the silence, think about yourself, your horse, and the wonderful surroundings. Suddenly a tricky descent appears, the guides check the horses, and down you go — it's dizzying, full of adrenaline, and on top of it a condor appears, watching you from just a few meters away. Everything is always wonderful.
After the hard work — harder on the horses than on the riders — comes the reward: an enchanted lagoon nestled among the hills, in deep green or intense blue, or a stream like the ones you only see in ads, or a valley with views that make you unable to stop taking photos. The only reason to stop is because lunch or dinner is ready, and I really hope today's lunch includes some roasted goat, a good picada (Argentine appetizer platter), peaches with dulce de leche, or anything close to what I ate out there, instead of a rushed sandwich.
It's Monday, and all I can think about is the week ending, and how I wish the weekend were back at the hotel, with the pool, dinner and dancing with friends — strangers until just a little while ago, but people I no longer want to be apart from. I'm already arriving at the office; sadly, the fantasy of remembering what I just experienced comes to an end. The people around me look at me like just another subway door — they have no idea I'm holding back tears as I remember everything that happened. And now, before diving back into my routine, all I can think about is when I'll get to leave again and go back to that place I can't stop thinking about.
