Feb 2006

NOTE: It has been brought to my attention that there have been some complaints that my travel blog entries are "too long" and that no one has "time" to read the whole "thing". The only way I know how to respond to this is to now make my entries TWICE AS LONG. So there.

So I finally caught the 17 hour bus from Iguazu, land of a million waterfalls, back to Buenos Aires and arrived in Giramondo Hostel in cool and shady (as in trees) Palermo only to find that there were no beds available for me to sleep in. Shoshana at the front desk was nice enough to allow me to leave my mochila in a dark curtained room in the back and she sent me off to the showers until she could find me a bed. I went into the bathroom and discovered Giramondo Hostel´s...uniqueness. All the walls were constructed of shiny aluminium, gray pavement for a floor and 3x3´ shower stalls. I know they were going for some kind of postmodern thing but the whole place looked an army barrack. I took a much needed hot shower and went upstairs to the kitchen to make some salad and military eggs for breakfast and lo and behold, who walks in but Paul, who had ended up delaying his flight for 2 more weeks to hit up the beaches in Santiago. I´m telling you...this place SUCKS you in. It´s like Amsterdam...hundreds of people who meant to stay for 2 days but have lived there for 2 years. Within an hour, he convinced to come with him to Mendoza, the NW wine region of the country, right on the border of Chile. We booked an overnight bus for that evening and begged Shoshana to let us leave our bags for the day, though Shoshana was none too happy with me. After all, I had already received both 10 minutes of hot water AND two army eggs (I dropped the first one on the floor) without even paying for a bed. Not good business, tsk, tsk. But nevertheless, we went merrily on our way, well, separate ways, Paul went shopping for his designer crapola while I decided to once again tackle La Boca, the neighborhood I had botched up the week before. I finally found the "right" neighborhood, a few lively blocks of brightly painted buildings of blues and yellows and reds with fake tango dancers in the streets and an heladeria (ice cream shop) every block, right on the port. It was very nice for an hour or two. I caught the bus back to our hostel to meet Paul for dinner and we caught the 7 o´clock bus for Mendoza.

Now this bus...before I tell you what was in store for your little adventurers, let me tell you the expectations. Let´s just say that we had already been arguing about which post-dinner dessert goes best with champagne, chocolate eclairs or tiramisu. Our trusty little Tramat (now forever known as HazMat) pulled into the station and the first thing I had to translate was a sign on the door that said: "For fear of spreading cholera, bathroom is only to be used in emergencies". This is an 18 hour bus ride, people! We settled down in the wet and dirty brown leather seats and held on for the ride, most of which was in a 50 degree climate with no blankets, no food, and coffee with icicle pieces in it. The bathroom stopped working at hour 5 and our seats were one foot away from ground zero so I´m calculating that we got cholera about 23 times. I wrapped my pajama pants around my head to block out the cold but not before making a heartfelt speech about this "not being right" and how we should "do something", but everyone pretty much ignored the girl with the pants on her head, so eventually I went to sleep.

We arrived in Mendoza at Hostel Lagares, a really cute and new hostel owned by a young couple expecting a baby in a month. We walked around the shopping bonanza that is downtown Mendoza, especially in the main Plaza Independencia and ate a whole pie of pizza with green olives at Rincon de la Boca, the best pizza crust in town. The next day, we went on a wine tour of a few of the 100 or so bodegas (wineries) in this area. We first visited Don Arturo winery and had some Malbec, the famous wine of this region. We then visited an olive oil factory where we learned that black and green olives are actually the same olive, not two different types, and then we got to taste all these different olive oils, yum. I got a little too into it, stealing bits of french baguette soaked in oil, until the tour guide shot me a dirty look. After that was a larger winery where they fed us more Malbec and Chardonnays and I don´t even know, everything was getting blurry. And the very last stop was a liquor factory, where this little old lady showed us dozens of different liquors (sp?), from chocolate and bananas to peaches, and told us of her little old grandma who would take a shot of whiskey every day before going to bed, for purely "digestive purposes". Righhhht. That night was another parrilla dinner of steak in mushroom sauce with bruschetta and the next morning Paul left for good to explore Santiago with his friend.

I set out on a trekking trip with 4 girls from Buenos Aires, where we climbed a mountain with our guide Sebastian and then rapeled down it with ropes. I completely sucked going up the mountain, all out of shape. My only saving grace was Cecelia, who had been drinking til 5 the previous night and who had to stop every 5 minutes to catch her breath and stare blankly around, so fortunately I was able to blend in. And then going down, I was like a mountain goat, skipping gracefully from rock to rock while everyone else kept falling and hitting bushes. I think they should invent a sport where you just go down mountains, not up them. Yes, that would be perfect. We skipped down half the mountain and then rapeled down a 140 foot drop with ropes. Very scary but ultimately fun, though I kept screaming Mierda! Mierda! as Sebastian chuckled. Cecelia unfortunately fell into the side rocks and started bleeding from her elbow. Poor girl, rough 24 hours. We ended the day with a visit to the thermal springs across the street, relaxing in warm currents for two hours while being served some hot empanadas. What a day!

The next day, I took a tour of Alta Montana on a bus with a bunch of friendly old Argentinians. We visited Puente del Inca (http://www.cuyo.com/altamontana/puentedelinca.asp), a bizarre looking rock formation that had formed over an avalanched hotel from the early 1900´s. The Incas also once used this path as they crossed the region. We visited the base of Aconcagua Mountain, the highest mtn outside the Andes. Amazing! The next stops were Los Penitentes, a famous ski lodge, and Uspallata Valley, where if you stand in the middle and do a 360 degree turn, you will see bright green plains, then hot red valley, then snowpeaked mountains, then pure black peaks, all in the same panoramic view. The final stop was Cristo Redentor, the final frontier with Chile, where you dizzyingly climb a mountain to reach a 4000 meter point with the wind whipping violently around a huge Jesus statue. On the way up, all the drivers we passed would hold up a diaper, as a way of calling us sissies and egging us to continue on up the scary path. Lucas the tour guide´s explanations of the scenery were more confusing in English than in Spanish. For example, at one point, I understood that one month ago, the Argentinians had carried a cannonball up a mountain and shot it up in the air, setting the world record for the highest cannonball shot from the top of a mountain. I´m not really sure this is what really happened, but it definitely makes the story more interesting. I was again only with Spanish speakers for the whole day and I got by on staring intensely at everyone as they spoke, which I think might have freaked them out, but I succeeded in understanding maybe 20% of what they said, which is a definite improvement. I even added to the conversation by talking about the weather and they all smiled at me when I finished.

My new strategy of dealing with Spanish conversations is to just talk about what I want to talk about, regardless of what the conversation is really about. Usually, I pick something that rhymes with whatever it was the person said, which is very easy in Spanish. An example:

Carlos: Y cuantas horas trabaja un abogado?
"How many hours does a lawyer work?"

Me: Me gusta helado? Claro!
"Do I like ice cream? Of course!"

This little strategy of mine has really been amusing me but it usually just confuses the other person. No matter!

(At this point, drunk Irishman Peter comes up behind me and says "Well bloody hell, that is the focking longest email I´ve yet to seen. Well, fock it! What are you writing??" I point a finger toward a beer bottle in the corner and he leaves to claim it...but I realize that I probably should end this entry lest I get more complaints from very busy people)

I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in Puerto Iguazu in northern Argentina, right on the border with Brasil. It is 82 degrees outside with 80% humidity and I´m starting to feel a bit woozy, but I´ll try to keep this good!

So starting where we last left off, last Friday. Paul left in the afternoon to take a ferry to Uruguay for a few days, to hit up the beaches, those crazy California boys, so I was solo for the weekend. He is quite the party animal and I´ve been trying my best to keep up but I´m pretty lame in the end, so I sent him off to party and meet girls and all that kind of stuff in another country. That evening, I actually did make it to Jonah´s show, which was so good, a type of country-rock mix held in a dark cultural center, with Jonah playing the harmonica like a true rock star, crawling around on the floor and throwing microphones all over. True star quality. During the show, I made friends with Frederico, a PhD student on his 7th year (out of eleven!) of studies and since the neighborhood was grainy, he offered to walk me to my next destination, a tango club down the street. Well, the address I had written down turned out be a parking deck (typical me, huh) so we ended up going out for a drink in the busy San Telmo plaza. Frederico told me all about the science fiction book he was writing and how there is a lochness monster in the lakes of Bariloche (the next stop on my route) that eats Israeli girls with ketchup. I might have to skip Bariloche now. Damn. I hopped on a cab home and passed out by 2, very pathetic I know. The next morning I woke up early to switch hostels, since the landlady at the old one was really angry at Paul for accidently taking one of her big red towels when he had left the day before. I don´t know what I had to do with the whole situation but it was time to peace out before things got ugly. I arrived in Tango City Hostel, an MTV style hostel, with Madonna blaring in the background and young beautiful people strolling around looking...young and beautiful.

The first order of business was to inquire about tango classes. The guy at the front desk immediately proclaimed "There are none!" But that´s impossible, I replied. Tango City Hostel, hellooo?? to which he said "Do not worry, beautiful. I am a professional tango dancer. I shall teach you". I sized him up, he was wearing a Pearl Jam tshirt, but he seemed sincere so I agreed and asked when, the response to which was "I have a very busy day today, so I shall teach you now, in this lobby". The kids at the front desk started giggling and switched Jack Johnson to some over-the-top tango music and he positioned me in the center of lobby and we started dancing the tango, except it wasn´t at all the tango, because he didn´t know how to dance the tango. Five funny minutes later, after we´d all been entertained, I gave up on him and went out to explore the neighborhood. I went to Parque Lezama, a huge old estate with sprawling trees and pretty sculptures, where old men were playing chess and checkers in the shade. I bought some food at the supermarket, ate an awful pasta dinner at the hostel with a couple of Norwegians, and went out on my own to see this AWESOME tango show called Tango Emocion that I had found for really cheap on the local circuit. It was so beautiful and the show was really well put together...I loved it. That night, I went out with another solo girl traveller from Israel...just drinks at the port. Our conversation was the most confusing mix of English, Spanish, and Hebrew and my head was spinning by the end of the night. There were some crazy Brits at the hostel that were playing the loudest drinking game I´ve ever heard in my life, 6 boys surrounded by 36 (empty) litre bottles of beer, so it was nice to get a breath of fresh air.

The next day, I explored La Boca neighborhood. I hadn´t really researched this part of town so I wandered around aimlessly in cool neighborhoods with the locals. I only found out later that I had entirely missed all the tourist hot spots, mainly the glitzy caminito by the water. Oops. It´s okay though, because I of course had my own little adventure. At one point, there were dozens of locals crossing this empty dusty field and then jumping through a row of tall bushes. When in doubt do as the locals do of course, so I walked across the field and jumped through the bushes, only to jump into a chaotic army of crazed soccer fans. Apparently, this was the backstreet way to the futbol stadium and the game was starting in 30 minutes so thousands and thousands of people were running around singing and yelling. All of a sudden, police sirens went off and the motorcycle brigade came through, making way for the La Boca Jrs. team bus, all the crazed fans sprinting after it, yelling and pounding on the windows. The futbol players inside did not seem impressed unfortunately. I sat there for an hour just watching the scene, especially the rowdy crowd at Gate 12 that charged at the police and got beaten back by riot sticks and that´s when it was time to go. I hopped on the 17 hour bus to Iguazu Falls, which, 17 hours, sounds awful, but is actually pretty relaxing. It´s an overnight cama bus, where you get a fully reclining bed, dinner, movies, and even champagne! Best bus experience I´ve ever had...Greyhound, you´re sooo going down!

Paul was supposed to meet me in Iguazu but he had run into a world of trouble when his Uruguay-Argentina ferry took 6 extra hours to go back to BA (uruguyan rule of thumb is to multiply any time estimate by 3. so for example, a "3 hour ferry ride" will actually take 9. at least), and to top it all of, he got off at the wrong stop on his cama bus and ended up having to take a 4 hour bumpy cab ride to Iguazu. So we by chance finally met up at the hostel and just relaxed the rest of the day in the searing heat. Yesterday, we met early for breakfast and headed out to Iguazu Falls, the most awesome day of my trip so far. Iguazu is a national park that has 275 waterfalls, including the famed Garganta del Diablo, "Devil´s Throat", that is twice as high as Niagara Falls where the water crashes down 350 feet with another huge water mist of nearly 100 feet! It´s absolutely amazing...like a huge black hole in the middle of the earth with a incredible thundering force of water. Definitely one of the great wonders of the world! We visited the site, explored the rainforests all around the park for hours watching these blackbirds swoop down against one waterfall, where they had made their nest right in the crest of the fall, and then took a speedboat that crashed us right under several waterfalls, soaking everything in sight within 1/2 a second! Around 4 o´clock, we were exploring San Martin´s Island when this monsoon of a storm crashed in, the rain thundering down like bullets, you couldn´t see a foot ahead of you. Hundreds of tourists started running toward the shore, people were cowering underneath rocks while thunder and lightning streaked violently across the sky. I am so prepared...I brought my trusty CVS emergency poncho which we wrapped around our heads and tried to blindly make our way toward the mile long line for the first boat off the island. The monsoon lasted for 30 minutes...it was so powerful. And then the sun came out like nothing had happened but we were all drenched to bone, with mud splattered all over. We finally made it out of the park, took the bus to the town center, and in our dirty and wet clothes, sat down and had the best meal ever...steak and fries and salad with red wine and bread. Hmm. I´ve never eaten so good. That adventure deserved a nap and at 3 in the morning, we woke up to go clubbing at Cuba Libre, a latin hot spot, before we crashed again at 6 am. What a life! See this link for cool pictures of Iguazu http://gosouthamerica.about.com/od/topdestiguazu/ig/Iguazu-Falls-Photo-Gallery/index.htm.

I bid Paul farewell this morning, he is going back to the States to open up a bar in San Francisco. It´s been really fun. Travelling buddies, they just come and go unfortunately, it is what it is. And now I just wait for my 2 o´clock cama bus back to Buenos Aires. What a place...Iguazu. Absolutely great. I am having dinner tomorrow night in Palermo with my Norwegian travelling buddy so hopefully we´ll connect well. Pictures to come soon when they are emailed to me. I need to get a camera, huh... Til next time. Suerte!

It is my seventh day in Buenos Aires and I´m already starting to lose track of days of the week. I arrived on Friday I think after a very chaotic adventure with United Airlines. I had a layover in Washington DC and the outbound Newark flight got in an hour late. With seven of us on board trying to get to Buenos Aires, the stewardess pledged that we could make the BA flight, as long as we ¨ran like mad¨. So the plane lands and we start running through Dulles like lunatics, I get body slammed a few times by oncoming traffic but, bygone it, I´m going to make this flight. So we arrive at the gate and find a morose looking flight attendant shaking his head at us. The plane is boarded. The door just closed. My partners in crime start begging this guy to let us on -- they talk about missed weddings and hundreds of dollars lost--and finally, this poor guy breaks down and walkie talkies the pilot and gives us the go ahead to get on the plane. We open the door and start sprinting down the jetway when all of a sudden, this ear piercing alarm starts going off and a little lady with yellow hair jumps in front of us and starts yelling, at which point, the nice guy comes out and they start yelling at each other. It seemed that the jetway had already started pulling away from the plane and that if we had continued, we would have ran right off onto the pavement! So we turn around and walk to the customer service desk where two women in the group start yelling about bringing United back into bankruptcy and organizing a missed-flights-revolucion while I just sit there quietly, hoping I can get a free meal out of the whole thing. Two hours later, one in the morning, we are shuttled to a hotel that is booked and then shuttled to another hotel that is not, where I sleep until 2 in the afternoon, go visit the Air and Space Museum, and catch the next flight that evening. Woowee.

When I finally got settled on the flight, I got sat next to another solo traveller, Paul, 27 (we quickly changed his name to Paulo. I am Seeban) from San Francisco, who was doing a 2 week tour of the region. It was very lucky to find someone else in my situation and we immediately became travelling buddies for the next week. For the last week, I have been staying in Portal del Sur, a gorgeous hostel on Hipolito Yrigoyen in Microcentre, the financial district of BsAs. BsAs is absolutely beautiful. The architecture is breathtaking, beautiful renaissance style buildings splattered all throughout every block, hundreds of small cafes, churches, parks. It´s like Europe but with more spice. BsAs doesn´t have any one or two particular must see´s, though in my opinion the whole city is a must see, but it does have dozens of neighborhoods, each one with its own distinct personality. To name a few, I have visited Palermo (the rich artisty area), San Telmo (touristy antique and student area), Puerto Madero (gorgeous harbor) and so on and so forth. We visited the Cementerio del Norte on Wednesday, a huge maze of old mausoleums and imposing sculptures, where Eva Peron and other notables are buried.

The days are very hot and very humid, reportedly the hottest summer in many years. So because it´s so hot, it´s hard to pack a lot in in one day. Okay, this also could be because the nightlife does not start until 2 am, so by the time you recover from the night, the whole day is shot. On Tuesday, we went to a disco where we met a lot of local portenos, but we didn´t get home until 5. That goes for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday too (we were good on Monday). So my days, like most other young travellers here, are spent strolling around cobblestone streets, taking in a café doble at a restaurant, trying to muster up conversations with locals who are very patient with me, and taking sunny naps in brilliantly green parks while parents chase their kids around. You can definitely get used to this kind of lifestyle. If you can believe it, I had an awesome steak dinner this week. I haven´t eaten red meat in years but the parillas (steak restaurants) here are among the best in the world. So we headed over to Disnivel, a famous parilla in San Telmo, where I had a 14 oz flank steak with french fries, huge mixed salad, bottle of wine, and yummy crusty french bread, all for $10 US. We were there for 4 hours. I can´t figure out which is more amazing: the price or the fact that I ate a steak the size of me.

Paul (oh sorry..Paulo) and I are getting along very well- we are good travelling partners. We´ve only had one fight so far, when I got us on the wrong bus headed 10 miles north of the city and refused to admit it, so we got abandoned at some dark park at night and, while waiting for the right bus, Paul dropped his water bottle on the ground, and I kicked it across the sidewalk. He then pretended I was invisible for the next 15 minutes, which is the absolute worst thing you can ever do to a youngest child. So you can tell we´re on the same maturity level..hehe...I blame it on the heat. I´ve also met tons of people in my hostels, a mix of Brits, Aussies, Germans, and Americans. The other day, the Americans and Germans dared to play futbol against the locals, and they came back very quietly with scratches and blood all over their legs and faces. The end lesson is to NEVER take futbol lightly…. No conclusions yet about solo women travellers...they´re not very common definitely, but then again, you´re constantly meeting people, so it´s difficult to figure out who came alone. But I feel absolutely safe at all times.

My spanish is improving very slowly. I´m pretty competent at getting across what I need (ordering food, directions, schedules) but real conversations are hard. I´ll chatter away and then the person replies and I have no idea what they´re saying. That´s when you resort to sign language and/or nodding your head a lot AS IF you understand, which most people catch on to after they ask you “which do you like better, window or aisle?” and you reply “yes!”. Yesterday, we went to visit Jonah, a friend from college who has been living in BsAs for the last year teaching English and playing in a band that has quite the following down here. He and his roommate took us to a book reading by a local named Chris Brush who just wrote a book about alcohol and punk rock and who has a band named Chris Brush and The Broken Wines. The band used to be called The Broken Hearts but then one fated day, Chris was drunk onstage and made a dive for the bar, that was wet, and crashed into all the bottles of wines, breaking them, and then having to pay for them. It was really awesome to see Jonah, who seems to be completely proficient in Spanish, and I plan on going to his band´s show tonight, though it may be sold out. I am also taking a tango lesson today, so I´m pumped to look like an idiot. But seriously I´m very excited.

I hope to meet up with my Norwegian travelling friend sometime this week so I can get to know her better before heading down south to The End of the World, the tip of South America. We keep missing each other…it´s very strange not having a cell phone, but it´s ultimately a good thing. You don´t realize how much of a slave you are to your cell phone, until you no longer have to check your messages every 5 minutes or worry about it ringing in museums, cemeteries, etc.

My readers have requested an itinerary of my trip. Since I listen to my audience (despite my demanding schedule, mind you), here goes. First off, yes, BsAs is in Argentina...good job! The plan is to leave BsAs on Sunday (20th) to go to Iguazu Falls, one of the great wonders of the world, return back south, hit up Cordoba, Bariloche, go to the very tip of the continent to see glaciers and then cross over to Chile, which is on the western coast of the continent. That means BEACHES for the next few weeks until I get to Peru, where I continue north to Ecuador, where the plan is to do some volunteer work for a month or so? It´s all very vague. That´s another aspect of travelling alone, staying flexible, so you can latch on to other people´s itineraries. That´s right...I´m a big LEECH.

Oh yes, and I´m proud to report that my backpack is the lightest I´ve seen around. That´s right, suckas!

Thanks for all the support...looking forward to your comments. Hasta luego.

So this is the big day. A lot of excitement mixed with of course nervousness because I don't know what I'm doing. I finally finished packing. Don't worry... this isn't another entry about packing! But I will say this- that 10 lb thing was a total underestimate. The final poundage is 20 lbs and that's with just the bare essentials. That is one fifth of me. My brother strapped me into the backpack last night and I keeled over backwards (onto the bed) and just flailed around like a turtle for a while and he just observed the scene and said "um. yeah. you're in trouble."

So the plan is to arrive in BsAs (that's the insider's way of writing Buenos Aires, yo) find my hostel, and get my bearings. I will only speak in Spanish, that is my one condition. This may mean that I might not always be able to manage to do some things, like eat or use the bathroom, but I'm stickin to it.

I also found a few travelling companions! The first is Michael who will be accompanying me to Iguazu Falls. In case I go missing, he is from LA. Michael from LA. Great. I have an acquaintance down there also, an American who lives in the city and who has started a band that has quite a following already. He invited me to their show on the 17th so I'll stay for that. And after that, I leave BsAs (it's addictive) for the rest of the continent with a nice Norwegian girl who likes architecture. Remember that one too, just in case! We might go down to Patagonia to see the penguins, but who really knows.

So today, the final day being home, is the day of "lasts". This refers to the melodramatic way I approach my usual routine everytime I leave for a big trip. "Oh! This is the LAST turkey sub with mayo that I'll EVER have!!". Or, "Awww...this is the LAST time I'll EVER load the dishwasher". It makes my trip sound really important and final. But then I also get sad and start missing my bathroom mat or something. Speaking of, I should get to it.

Wish me buena suerte! Til next time, from BsAs!