Kingdoms of Ice, Silver, and Salt, Chapter I

Ice

Chile, South America

Kingdoms of Ice, Silver, and Salt, I

During all those months travelling with my girlfriend Georgina, Latin America introduced itself as an accesible and warm land. Yet, approaching the ice was inevitable.

Throughout the centuries, Torres del Paine in Patagonia has been a place of perpetual conflict and attempts of domination. I often think about the history these lands must have lived through. I believe part of the suffering never really leaves a place that has witnessed pain. When we were there, it seemed as if the suffering was still being echoed into our present time -or so I assumed- and it felt coherent.

It took us two attempts to reach Torres del Paine. I like to divide them into the ordinary and the extraordinary. We started out following the route in its established direction, supposedly synonymous to a guarantee of greater success and security. It turned out to be the opposite. We only got a deeper understanding of concepts such as rain, snow and shattered shoes. We got to nowhere. There grew an uncomfortable silence between Georgina and myself, like a transmitter of the frustrations we weren’t able to put into words.

We tried again. As the path was O-shaped, Georgina suggested we start at the end of the path and make our way backwards. I initially thought she had lost her mind, but the steadiness in her eyes convinced me otherwise. It led us to the ice. It was one of those times we, as a couple, functioned as two opposite sides of a pole. Georgina chose risk, I chose security. In the end, boldness and caution merged into one to find a way to success. Life lesson, I thought. After four years with Georgina as my partner, it was only now I realized there were still many formulas left for us to discover.

When we reached the ice, emotions and tears coexisted with a deep exhaustion and numbness in our hands. The ice was immense, great, undisturbed. We were enthralled. We could only hug and take pictures. Once again, we found ourselves without words to speak. We had found the silence of the travelers. It felt real. The space was so homogeneous it almost looked smaller.

Photography. Anton Briansó
Words. Leticia Sala
Artwork. Ángela Palacios

Thanks to Georgina Morón y Antonio Fermia

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Traveller/s
Anton Briansó

Anton Briansó

Photographer
Anton Briansó was born in Reus. He’s a photographer and professional voyager, with a passion for landscape he likes to shoot from its most romantic and pure state of being.
Georgina Morón

Georgina Morón

Pediatrician
Georgina Morón is a pediatrician and travel aficionado. Her mind is free and ever searching. She’s always looking for the next route to take while simultaneously maintaining her personal credo to always live in the moment.
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