El Chaltén is truly an outpost at the edge of the world. Permanently inhabited by a thousand people, in the summer season it transforms into an international crossroads for climbers, hikers and tourists attracted by the iconic Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre ranges.

I had come here as a mountaineer, but life is sometimes unpredictable. On the second day, a spinal inflammation excluded me from the game, forcing me to take forced rest and to endure a pain that gave me no respite for a month.

In this remote corner of Patagonia, space and time seem to belong to a new metric. Distances seem to expand: endless approaches, immense glaciers, mountains that instead of shrinking as they get closer appear even more imposing and inaccessible.

But it is the concept of time that becomes truly absurd here. As a hyperactive person, before leaving I did not understand how mountaineers could spend entire months here to climb only once or twice. My only excursion to Nipponino made me understand why: every outing in the mountains is exhausting. You walk with heavy backpacks, the approaches are long, the bivouacs difficult. The weather must be optimal, otherwise the level of suffering increases exponentially, and the windows of good weather are very rare so you have to make the most of them knowing how to perfectly manage the rests between one and the other.

El Chaltén has revealed itself to be the land of waiting and rest, life proceeds slowly while one passively waits for the sun to come: another metric compared to everyday life. The sweet idleness can be pleasant in good company, but in the long run it drives one crazy.

Maybe now I can't give a completely clear judgment because I have never rested because of this constant suffering that tires me even in simple daily activities not even letting me sleep. However, I see that even friends, returning from expeditions, spend time slowly, this suggests to me that when you return from the mountains your batteries are really completely flat.

The hardest moment was saying goodbye to my companions who left during the good weather windows, with their backpacks full of equipment and dreams.

At the end of February, with one last chance coming and the doctor prescribing absolute rest for the cervical hernia, I decided to risk it all. Stuffed with cortisone, with my 14 kg backpack I set off with Max and Cami for the Norwagos bivouac.

I finally touched the Patagonian rock! We climbed the Mocho face, an honest granite wall with cracks full of snow. But my happiness was short-lived: an intestinal infection struck me immediately, condemning me to a hellish night in the bivouac with Max.

The next day, my hernia and I loaded our backpacks on our shoulders and dragged ourselves to El Chaltén for 12 hours.

Despite everything, I am happy to have fought until the end, supported by extraordinary friends. Now it almost makes me laugh: fate has mocked me, but I wait patiently for karma to turn on my side. In addition to back pain, I return home with friends with a capital F and a great desire for redemption. Goodbye Patagonia, next time I will arrive with charged batteries.