The Seamstress and the Wind by César Aira:
The skies of Patagonia are always clean. The winds meet there for a great carnival of invisible transformations. It’s as if to say that everything happens there, and the rest of the world dissolves in the distance, useless – China, Poland, Egypt . . . Paris, the luminous miniature. Everything. All that remains is that radiant space, Argentina, beautiful as paradise.
How to travel? How to live in another place? Wouldn’t it be lunacy, self-annihilation? To not be Argentinian is to drop into nothingness, and no one likes that.