Looking at Alberto's face (the real Alberto's) at the end all the emotions intertwining history and the young man's dream come to fill you to the edge of the overflowing river, and you realize how powerful a journey the past 110 minutes or so have been. Following the chronology of the carnet de voyage, the film starts rather flatly. They it begins to accumulate intensity once they cross the border into Chile. From there, it's non-stop. They have to abandon the motorcycle at a point, but who cares, the voyage continues and so does the diary. Into an uncertain future.
America, the Americas. One common destiny. And that destiny, brought about by Europe's expansionism of the past five centuries, is what we of the other parts of the world also share in common.
The film makes me want to hit the road, to the high hills of Machu Pichu. One day, yes. But before that I have to revisit all my anchoring points in the America latina I knew when I was 25... São Paulo, Santiago, Buenos Aires and Caracas. I will. I hope. So that I can continue to hope, not to despair.
