Ruta 40 was my Richard Parker

Ruta 40, or National Route 40 in Argentina, taught me that even in isolation, there is strength. It showed me that the journey itself—full of challenges, awe, and discovery—has always been the shore I’ve been trying to reach

ruta-40

That’s me in the corner losing my religion.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like I’ve been standing in the corner of life, observing, waiting, misunderstood. From infancy, I lived in the shadows of expectations, surrounded by the noise of others’ lives yet yearning for a voice of my own. George Orwell’s words resonate deeply with me: the most terrible loneliness isn’t being alone, but being unseen. I know that ache—the quiet, suffocating isolation of being surrounded by people who cannot grasp the essence of who you truly are.

Through my childhood, I was a dreamer, swept away by stories like Around the World in 80 Days. Jules Verne’s adventurous spirit ignited a spark in me, but even as I imagined faraway lands, I was tethered to a deep yearning to belong. I was a child who craved connection and understanding, but my quirks and inner complexities often placed me behind an invisible glass wall, looking out at a world that didn’t seem to see me.

That feeling followed me through the decades, through the roads I’ve travelled and the lives I’ve touched. Whether I was cycling from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi in 1996 or trekking from England to South America in the 1970s, there was always a part of me that remained on the outside—watching, questioning, wondering. In my global wanderings, I wasn’t just exploring the world; I was searching for myself, for a way to bridge the gap between who I was and how I fit into the greater whole.

And then, at 72, I found myself on Ruta 40 in Argentina. Driving that desolate, magnificent highway, I felt the full weight of solitude and resilience pressing down on me. Writing about Ruta 40 became more than recounting an adventure—it became a lifeline, a vehicle to pull me closer to the shore I had been reaching for my entire life. It reminded me of Richard Parker in The Life of Pi, the tiger that both tormented and sustained Pi through his ordeal. Ruta 40 was my Richard Parker: it demanded everything of me, pushing me to confront the deepest parts of myself, yet it also gave me purpose, grounding, and a way to survive the vast stretches of my inner wilderness.

It’s only now, piano piano—step by step—that I feel as though I’m beginning to reach shore. I’ve come to see that this journey of loneliness and misunderstanding hasn’t just shaped me; it’s made me resilient. The fire within me, dimmed though it was, never went out. Slowly, I’ve begun to embrace the idea that my essence doesn’t need validation from the outside world to shine. It’s enough to keep the light alive, to hold onto who I am—even if it’s messy, complicated, or imperfect.

Orwell spoke of the pain of being invisible, but he also hinted at the power of being seen. I’ve learned that even if no one else can, I can choose to see myself, to value my uniqueness, my quirks, my humanity. And as I’ve found peace in my own company, I’ve realised something profound: while the world may not always understand me, there is always the possibility of connection. It may come slowly, like the tide, but when it arrives, it will be real, and it will be worth the wait.

Ruta 40 taught me that even in isolation, there is strength. It showed me that the journey itself—full of challenges, awe, and discovery—has always been the shore I’ve been trying to reach. This is my story—not one of fading into the background, but of finding my place, step by step, until I no longer need the corner.

Join our WhatsApp Channel to get the latest news, exclusives and videos on WhatsApp