On my last day in the city, I went the military dictatorship museum with a handful of strangers. It was dedicated to the thousands of people, mostly artists, activists and writers, that simply disappeared during the night.
Outside of the museum, I talked to an old woman.
"To really get national rock, she said, you had to experience it, . I’m glad you didn’t, but if you did…" She trailed off.
"It’s like…Standing outside of a concert hall, at 3am, Sweaty, lyrics in your head. they are singing about a world without fear. A place without violence and murder and repression."
It seemed like a far off world, somewhere over there. Somewhere else. Not here.