“They have a sense of reality that is a total illusion,” Jorge Trucco says from the driver’s seat of his SUV. We are on a dirt road near Junín de los Andes in Argentine Patagonia. The tall, windswept poplars we pass have turned amber and Trucco is nearing the end of a long season. We leave a contrail of volcanic dust behind and pass a gaucho on a horse wearing a black beret. He raises a hand as we go by. 

Trucco is talking about his childhood acquaintances in Buenos Aires and others living in large cities. He has an open can of Red Bull between his legs.

“This is reality,” he says, gesturing to the windswept countryside. “Junín is a shithole, but I want to show you Hostería Chimehuin.” Junín is home to a little over 10,000 people and, more importantly, located on the Chimehuin River…

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