Argentina

(Sorry! Long entry...)

The final leg of my journey toward the end of the world, otherwise known as Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire), set out from El Calafate at 4am on Thursday. The plan was to take a 4 hour bus east, switch buses south for another 10 hours, and then take the final 3 hour bus to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. There, I had a very important mission: to get myself on a boat to Antarctica. More on that later.

For once in my world of south american transport, everything went ALMOST according to plan, but of course with a few aventuras along the way. First bus, no hitch. But on the second part of the journey, we had to travel through Chile for a bit of 2 hours, which necessitated going through FOUR border checks. Argentina customs-Chile customs-Chile customs-Argentina customs. Note that the Argentinian and Chilean customs people cannot even be in the same building together, the hatred is that strong (usual land wars), so they build two separate buildings at each border, making us poor travellers go through the one hour process four times. The rules are that you cannot bring fruit and vegetables to Chile, even en route, which is followed in a ridiculously strict way if only to simply piss off the Argentinians…hehe. This poor French couple had just bought bags and bags of fruit and had to enlist our help in hiding it in our clothing. Imagine a bus full of old ladies with bananas and apples in their sweaters.

The landscape looked more and more menacing as we continued. No more guanacos. No cute roadrunners. Just barren mountains. We finally drove until we could drive no more, that is, until there was water in front of us. What water, you ask? The infamous Strait of Magellan, which connects the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean, and was actually not discovered by Magellan but rather by his surviving crew of 18 men. (Do you like how I insert historical tidbits in fun paragraphs, just so you continue reading? I´m so clever.) We drove the bus onto a large ferry boat, along with 3 scary looking trucks (I asked in a very important way about weight limits and the captain pinched my cheek) and set out across the strait. The 3 meter high waves made for a rocky ride, but the gorgeous dolphins somersaulting next to us made it awesome. We finally arrived on the other side, drove through a snow storm in the dark, stopped at a weird pastry shop with beavers playing with a hose in the back room (what the…) and arrived in Ushuaia at midnight.

Ushuaia is set along the icy Beagle Channel and is completely surrounded by spectacularly white mountains, with a large port holding huge European cruise ships carrying wealthy people to Cape Horn and Antarctica. Up until 1947, it was home to a jail where many criminals, including political prisoners, were sent to suffer in the cold. You can still visit the old Presidio, creepy. My hostel was set on Avenue Antarctica Argentina (noone owns Antarctica....definite political play on words). Let´s talk about Antarctica for a bit.

In the world of backpacking, there is always a slew of mysterious rumors flying around… mysteriously. Exhibit A: Before arriving in Bariloche, an adamant Brit named Kip (why would I believe someone named Kip??) told me that I could take a 10 hour fishing expedition completely FREE of charge. Unless that is, I caught a fish, in which case I would have to fork over $250 US. Upon hearing this ridiculous story, I excitedly added fishing to my itinerary even though I have no interest in it with the plans of throwing back any fish caught before Sir Captain had a chance to see it. When I arrived in Bariloche, of course no free fishing, ma`am. Sigh. But I´m an optimist, right? So when I´m told in hushed tones in a dark corner of a hostel that I, cheapskate backpacker girl, can get to Antarctica, I know that finally only I, Silvana Joseph, have the scoop. This is purely underground knowledge. So here´s the plan, man. There are two ways of getting to Antarctica on the cheap. One: get a standby ticket on one of those $5,000 cruises. Someone always cancels. You then take a $900 15-day cruise with a lot of old people who have been researching snowboots their whole lives. The second? You contact the Chilean navy who will escort you to Antarctica and won´t even make you scrub the deck. Well, both of these sound great. A cruise is preferable but I know the chances are slim, so I prepare for the Chilean navy experience by recruiting two Canadian mountain boys named Clayton and Peter (!) to escort me onto the Chilean navy ship. The deal is that I charm us onto the boat and they provide us protection as only Canadian mountain boys can do (I don´t know what that means). We talk about this in a very excited way but we make sure not to tell anyone, because from this point on, everyone is…competition.

So what did I do my first two days in Ushuaia? I ran from tourist office to tourist office, trying to get us standby tickets to Antarctica. Which do not exist of course On to Plan B! I acquire the email address of the Chilean navy (the whole navy has ONE email address?) which bounces back, leaving me to wander around hassling every person dressed in a navy uniform and/or costume. No luck. What would you do at this point? Well, first I had some chocolate of course. And then I went to the only place that could give me comfort during this hard time. The Isle of the Penguins. Woohoo! We set out on a 1 hour bus through entirely dead forests (the gusts of winds are too strong for the trees) to arrive at Haberton Estancia, an historic ranch with access to the island. We got on a speedboat and cut through the icy waters to arrive at the island, where all the penguins were waiting for us with open…wings. They were so cute…waddling around…. swimming… looking all cute…you know, doing what penguins do so well. I wish I could tell you some facts about penguins but I actually wasn´t paying attention to the guide, they were just so damn cute. We crawled around the island taking pictures and then crept along the nesting grounds where all these stupid tourists kept trying to pet the penguins. And then it was time to go. They waddled goodbye to us and we sped off. I got to talking to our guide Luis who leads protests in Cordoba against the American companies that have been seizing farmers´ lands with the aid of corrupt local police factions…very depressing but important to hear. Unfortunately, I´ve heard this type of story one too many times from the locals in the last 2 months.

The next day, I went to the National Park with Olivier (France) and we hiked along the still lake, chased the hundreds of rabbits everywhere, took a nap on the pebbly shore, and then climbed small green hills where the rabbits dig their holes, which wind their way along dead forests and black lagoons. Absolutely gorgeous. The following day, I went with Eyal (Israel) to the Museo del Fin del Mundo to get our passports stamped with the official “End of the World” stamp, which is indeed very official and may get me banned from several countries. And other than that, I guess there´s not much else to do in Ushuaia. But a beautiful town and definitely worth the journey.

I calculated that I had taken over 70 hours worth of busses down here to Ushuaia and that it might be worth it to spend the extra $20 and take a flight back north. I was lucky enough to get a flight out that week (they say that the first thing you should do in Ushuaia is get a flight out of Ushuaia) and arrived in WARM Buenos Aires at 2 in the morning, with my taxista flying down the street at 70 mph, “skillfully” avoiding city buses and small children who shouldn´t be out. Ahh…Buenos Aires.

I had arrived just in time for the 30 year anniversary of the military coup that had seized the country on March 24, 1976. This coup (which was by the way supported by Kissinger and the US govt, in the name of “regional security”) led to the atrocious years of terror during which an estimated 30,000 Argentinian citizens, everyday people, were made to “disappear” by the government. This is the central part of the Argentinian identity….hopeful but eternally distrustful of government, wary of what the future holds. In observance of this sad day, there were demonstrations all day at Plaza de Mayo (where the head of government is located), by various orgs including the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo (You may have heard of Madres de Plaza de Mayo, who protest in the plaza every Thursday in memory of their disappeared children). I watched a radical org covered in head rags and carrying bats burn down dummies of policemen in the plaza and the more hopeful Movimiento Popular lead songs about el Peronismo and Che Guevara. Politics aside, it was a very emotional day, even for us outsiders. A news team came to interview me (why me, why me) and I`m hoping that my Spanish mess made more sense than my famously dumb newspaper quotes back home. (October, 2002-- “I think literacy is…good.”) That night, we all went out on the town and got home at 7am, and a few hours later I caught a bus to Santiago, Chile.

Yes, Argentina is complete. What a trip! It´s time to start exploring the rest of this incredible continent.

Drawing upon my many years of technical experience as a Marketing Coordinator for the lovely VSUW, I have provided you with a high tech map of my route. Rebecca, are you proud?? Beto and Corrinna, I couldn´t figure out the whole editing in Paint...as usual.

I left Bariloche at 7 am, just when all the bars were letting out streams of loud young people. The sun was just coming up over the mountainous cordillera of Bariloche and it was absolutely beautiful…and cold. Thankfully, I had bought not one but TWO ski jackets from the thrift store down the street so I was able to burrow myself in. The minivan that was to take me for a 2 day journey toward the south squeaked down the street. It was a block of rusty metal with two bullet holes in the windshield. The first bullet hole was at the eye level of the driver, and the second was at the eye level of the passenger (in case he felt left out). Neither party looked too concerned.

We boarded the limo and headed down the infamous and unpaved Ruta 40, which actually goes all the way from north of Salta (very northern Argentina) to the very southern tip of the continent, Ushuaia, a mere 4,000 km from the South Pole. Once out of the city, we were pretty much in the middle of vast, endless plains, with snowcapped mountains looming over the horizon. The whole ride was bumpy on gravel and mud, and at many points, we drove on the ditch of the road because it was smoother. After a few hours, our only companions were packs of wild horses, condors, hundreds of guanacos (relative of the llama) and the occasional roadrunner, (which for the record can run pretty damn fast when there´s a rusty minivan with bullet holes barreling toward it…but it doesn´t say meep meep, sorry Navoosh). I made the mistake of befriending a Swiss/Italian girl who insisted on keeping me updated about her digestive problems for the whole trip. That night, we camped out at the “city” of Perito Moreno, a dusty one street town. The next morning, we headed out to Cueva de Las Manos (Cave of the Hands), the archaeological jewel of Patagonia (southern region of Argentina). It is a collection of handprints, geometric figures, and drawings of guanacos on a side of a mountain that are believed to be 9,000 years old. The drawings were made with guanaco blood and calafate berry juice. Yum! To see the drawings, visit this place http://www.patagonia.com.ar/santacruz/cuevamanos.php. I met Orin, an Israeli hitchhiking his way around the continent. In true Israeli style, he kept insisting that the site was a fake, yelling “how do you say STENCIL in Spanish?!?” but lordy lord, I believe it. After that, dusty and content, we continued down Ruta 40 the whole day until we finally reached the town of El Chalten at 11 pm.

El Chalten, another one-dusty-road town, was actually not dusty at all, but rather under 8 feet of mud, because it just wouldn´t stop raining…EVER. The plan was to hike up Fitz Roy, an incredible mountain with rivers and glaciers, one of the most panoramic treks in Patagonia, but when we woke up the next day, rain and mud and mud and rain. Not just that but also fog and 50 mph winds, howling like a tornado, it took 30 minutes to walk down the one road because the winds were so strong. I had befriended some really good folks, two hilarious Irish girls named Clare and Siofra, so we spent the day visiting the one chocolaterie in town, playing cards and eating…well…chocolate of course. Any day which involves chocolate is a good day, I think. Chalten is overrun by Israeli backpackers so we learned the Israeli card game that is currently taking the backpacking world by storm, Yaniv. Very addictive. I also hung about a nice Argentian couple, Fito, a forensic pathologist and Miriam, a librarian, who decided to adopt me as their own, with Fito lecturing me about the dangers of travel and Miriam giving me perfumy kisses and empanada recipes. The next day, we had had enough of the rain so we set out for Fitz Roy anyway, me, Clare, Siofra, and a grumpy philosophy PhD student named Igor. It was sunny and beautiful for the first 3 hours of the trek, we marveled at our luck, drank from the river, took nice pictures of the far off icy plains and then all of a sudden, BOOM, the storm of all storms. Monsoon rain, howling winds, the whole shebang. We were one hour from the top (not of the mountain, mind you, just one of its peaks. I´m not that hard core), at the refuge camp, and just had to turn around lest we get blown off into the abyss. The journey down was hard but Siofra and Clare brightened it up in their usual way by trying to teach me Irish rebel songs. I know it´s English but I had no idea what those two were saying so I resorted to keeping the beat by energetically clapping my hands all the way down (which also helped keep them warm). We finally returned to the hostel 8 hours later, soaking wet and cold and very thankful for the hot chicken soup.

The next morning, Clare, Siofra, Igor, and I boarded a bus for El Calafate, 5 hours south and more “cosmopolitan” than our lovable one-horse town. We arrived at hostel America del Sur, a big open space of a thing with heated hardwood floors and huge bay windows facing the wonderfully blue lake, Lago Argentino. The reason people come to El Calafate is to see El Perito Moreno, the most famous glacier on the continent and one of the few accessible by land. Well, it turned out that the week we arrived was the week the glacier was supposed to BREAK. This happens only once in a decade. When we arrived, the hostel was desolate because everyone had headed out to the glacier, hoping to witness the momentous event. We quickly booked a bus and headed out.

I have never seen a glacier in my life and it is one of the most incredible sights. Perito Moreno is 20 km long, 4 km wide, and 120 meters high. It is a surface of thousands of 20-story high icy peaks, white and blue and turquoise, that change color with the sun and the rain. There are icebergs floating all around it, which Clare aptly called “Nature´s Margarita”. When you first arrive upon it, you´re left speechless. We took a boat out to the bay that gets within 30 meters of the glacier. Because a large part of the glacier was about to break, chunks of ice (weighing several tons each, some the size of houses) were falling rapidly off the glacier. Every 3 minutes or so, you would see this huge piece of ice fall off into the water and then 4 seconds after, there would be a huge thundering noise all around the valley. It was absolutely amazing. We stayed there in the frigid cold with the news cameras until 8 pm and then we had to leave on the last bus out. The glacier broke 3 hours later. Apparently, there were only a dozen or so people there to witness it. Ahh…nature does not follow tourist visiting hours J To see El Perito Moreno, visit this page. http://www.argentour.com/PeritoMorenoe.htm

Days 3 and 4 in El Calafate were spent walking around, eating calafate berry ice cream (tastes like a mix of lemon and cherries), and trying with no success to keep Clare and Siofra from buying up every “indigenous” piece of art in the ritzy downtown area (Siofra bought something that ended up being made in China). On our last night, we visited Nibepo Aike, an Argentinian estancia (ranch) nestled on the border of Argentina and Chile. We sat by the fire in front of a window overlooking the sun setting against Lago Argentino, snowpeaked mountains, and a sliver of the Perito Moreno glacier. We then went out for a horseride by the lake, which was a major event for me because I´ve been scared of horses ever since the infamous Italian horseriding incident of 99 (Melissa and me in the middle of a ranch in northern Italy, her champion stallion sees a dog and gallops off, throwing her off into a mud puddle) but Octubre was very well behaved and even let me pet his hair. We watched the gauchos (cowboys) shear a fuzzy sheep and ended the night with a big dinner with a French Canadian couple and a Spanish girl who did the dubbing voice for Ann Hathaway in the spanish version of Brokeback Mountain. The dinner was a typical estancia asado of beef, sausage, and cordero (lamb). They spread the lamb carcass over an opèn fire pit and let it cook and smoke for hours. I know I swore off asados but this was my absolute last one. For real this time.

The next day, I bid Clare and Siofra farewell (back to Ireland for them!) and caught the 4 am bus to Ushuia, the southernmost city in the world, where los penguinos and Antarctica and the Beagle Channel all hang out. The 18 hour journey consisted of 3 buses, 4 border crossings, and one very rocky boat ride across the stormy strait of Magellan, but that´s all in the next entry. (Is that building up suspense? Huh?? Huh?? I need to work on those endings...)

My last few days in Mendoza were spent wandering around with no particular purpose, as a way to recover from my adventure travel fad. Back at our cute little hostel, the old timers, aka those of us who had been staying there for more than three days, had formed a little exclusive gang made up of 4 Scots, 2 Brits, 2 Irishmen, 1 Canadian, and me. We gambled bottles of wine on Connect-4 and UNO championship tournaments, compared travel horror stories, and shot dirty looks at the wave of Australian athletes that had just come in, whispering amongst ourselves "What are they doing at OUR hostel....".

Being that I renewed my room reservation late, I was banished to the basement, a dark room with no windows, where my roommate was Franco, a chatterbox Chilean/Canadian who tells lively stories where he is, suspiciously enough, always the hero. The main example of this was when Franco went whitewater rafting on Tuesday and some "Americano!" fell out of the boat and freaked out, forgetting to assume the safety position of pointing your toes toward the current. Quick on his feet, Franco grabbed the poor sucker by the shirt and yelled "Look at me, man! Look at me! There is a rock coming our way...you need to CALM down." This speech somehow had a great calming effect on the victim and Franco eventually pulled him to safety. I didn´t believe this story so Franco made us go to the travel agency and buy a CD of pictures of that day that show the heroic moment, shot by shot. On Wednesday, Franco and Claudia (Holland) convinced me to go to the zoo, where me and Claudia got depressed by the small cages and Franco kept getting lost looking for the tigers. We hit an incredible monsoon ONCE AGAIN (these things are following me), where we hid under a vendor´s umbrella as 1 inch pieces of HAIL slammed down onto the pavement. The storm lasted for 30 thundering minutes so we had to entertain ourselves by listening to a fellow zoo patron sing "I´m sigggneee in da rain!" and by staring at the elephant that was picking up falling branches and hitting himself over the head with them (not a good sign) so then it was time to leave. Leave Mendoza that is, I caught the 8 pm bus that night for Bariloche. It was the end of the week and I already owed a total of 9 bottles of wine (that´s 18 games of UNO, mind you), so I had to quickly skip town before someone came (to the basement) to break my knees.

I got on my Andesmar bus (because it goes from the Andes to the mar or ocean) and sat down next to Luis, a really sweet 70 year old porteno, and for the next 5 hours, he practiced his English and I practiced my Spanish. I learned that I have been mixing up the words for religious and hairy. We also played Andesmar Bingo, where the steward hands out Andesmar Bingo cards and when you have two vertical or horizontal lines, you have to yell out ANDESMAR BINGO! while everyone stares at you in contempt. The prize is a bottle of wine that you have to share with the rest of the bus. Neither Luis nor I won, so we went to sleep and woke up the next morning in Nuqueyen, my layover en route to Bariloche. Luis and I exchanged emails and parted ways. While waiting for the bus, I met Paula, a pastry chef from Rio Gallegos. We exchanged emails. I continued onwards south, where on my second bus, we played yet another exciting game of Andesmar Bingo. Well, lo and behold, I got two vertical lines so I mustered up all my courage and said quietly..."Andesmar...Bingo??". The steward didn´t hear me and continued calling the numbers in excitement. My fellow passengers (who had looked suicidal up to that point) suddenly found a cause, MY cause, and rallied to my defense, repeatedly yelling Andesmar Bingo! until the steward stopped the game and collected my card. Everyone held their breath. He shook his head sadly. If I had listened to the instructions, he said, I would have understood that I need to fill up the entire grid to win. All the passengers shook their head at me....poor turista...and the game continued! Onward to Andesmar Bingo!!

I arrived in Bariloche in late afternoon, to a stunning view of dozens of bright blue lakes snaking around green patches of forest, all against the backdrop of the snowcapped Andes. The weather was noticeably cooler, probably 60 degrees or so. While waiting for the bus, I met two Chilean hippies. They emphatically decided they would be my hosts in Santiago and we exchanged emails. This whole email exchange...it´s kind of silly...everyone does it but noone ever follows up. Maybe that´s a good thing? I arrived in Hostel 41 Below (that´s a reference to latitude), an awesome hostel run by a laid back New Zealander named Paul. Imagine a modern ski lodge with red leather couches, fully equipped kitchen, and Coldplay playing in the background. Snowboarder-Skater dude Miguel was working the front desk and, with zero pity for my 24 hour journey, he immediately sent me off on a trek up Cerro Otto, an amazing panoramic view of the area. But not before we sat down to drink some mate, the official tea of Argentina, the official hobby of Argentina. Everyone has their own nicely decorated mate cup with a metal straw, and you´re usually not allowed to drink from someone else´s mate unless you have permission. There are a lot of rules concerning mate. Miguel limited our lesson to yelling at me to not touch the straw..."You foreigners...you´re always touching the straw...just leave the damn straw alone." Okay, okay!

The next few days were pretty fun. I went white water rafting in Rio Mansu, a relaxing current with some pretty exciting rapids, all against the backdrop of the mountains. We all dutifully rowed and ducked when leader Alan told us to. Half of the boat spoke English and the other Spanish so Alan kept getting confused, and getting us confused, with the captain´s commands. Alto! No, stop. No, the left. derecha, derecha!! No, no, no!! DUCK!!! We ended the day with some hot chocolate and torta frita with dulce de leche in some random wood cabin in the woods. Very nice. The nights were spent hanging out with the hostel people, going out to jazz bars, and gorging myself on Bariloche´s famous chocolateries, most notably Mamuschka´s. On the third day in Bariloche, I received a dramatically mysterious note from Miguel telling me to go to El Boliche de Alberto, a famed Barilochean parilla, at 9 pm. When I arrived, Paul and his friend Daniel were there, fresh from the Chilean beaches, and we sat down to a steak dinner, eating 1800 grams of sizzling steak which Paul swore was served by white haired Alberto himself. We ate so much that I swore off steak for the rest of my life, which I´m pretty sure I can now do. I guess it was just a fad, sorry mom and dad. We went night clubbing to bad eighties music (think ABBA but none of their famous songs) and the next day, we visited the casino where I found a magic poker machine and the Villa Sofia spa, where we got one hour massages (I fell asleep so I guess it was good) and ran from the hot tub to the pool to the hot tub to the pool approximately 35 times. Paul left for good this time (I swear!) so it was sad to see him go but he´s excited about starting his own bar so we high fived and promised to keep in touch.

Tuesday was so bad that I have describe it in an organized way. I had signed up for a boat excursion out to Isla Victoria, an island that has the very famous Arreyanes forest with very old tree and plant forms. I was supposed to be there at 2 pm. The journey to Puerto Panuelo, the port where the ship is harbored, is a 30 minute bus ride. I left the hostel at 10. This is what happened:

10:00- I leave my hostel.
10:15- I catch bus #21 to Puerto Panuelo
10:30- I realize that I have 14 pesos on me. The park entry is 12 pesos. The bus ride back is 2 pesos. Too close.
10:45- I get off at Merito, a port with a huge kindergarten smack in the middle of it. I look for a bank. No banks.
11:00- I catch bus #21 back to the center of town. The winds are insane today, 45 mph. This cuts out all the electricity in every bank in town. The ATMS are out. I wait 45 minutes for them to come back on.
11:45- I catch bus #21 back towards Puerto Panuelo. It does not go to Puerto Panuelo, instead heading south through every dusty town in Argentina. At the end of the route, it is just me and the driver in an empty field. I say "Puerto Panuelo?" and he just laughs.
12:00- The driver has finished his lunch and we head on back.
12:10- 75 kindergarteners get on the bus. The bus capacity is 52.
12:45- I get dropped off at, you guessed, Merito, along with all the kindergarteners. The crossing guard helps us across the street.
1:30- I catch bus #20 toward Puerto Panuelo.
1:50- I arrive. Fernando will not let me on the boat, saying I am not on the list. "Sivan Yosef", I say to him repeatedly. He shakes his head. As I watch my boat leave the harbor, Fernando says "Oh...Sivan Josef?". I stomp off, wishing the worst for Fernando, that the milk in his fridge will go bad, or that he will get bitten by a monkey.
2:10- In my rage, I decide to hike up Mount Liao Liao, a muddy, jungly island which happens to be right there.
3:00- Still mad, I am stomping up the muddy mountain.
3:10- I hear a bear approx 3 meters from me. I run down Mount Liao Liao. I take back all the bad things I thought about Fernando.
4:00- The continous rain that has been falling for the last four hours turns into a shower. It is cold and I am wet. I find a church on top of a hill and hide out there in the warmth. I make a promise to find Jesus in exchange for a cup of hot chocolate. They are sweet, but there is no hot chocolate, so I decide to stay a Jew. They seem okay with that.
4:30- Home sweet home.
4:33- I learn that there are no bears on Mount Liao Liao.

After this day, the only thing left to do was to go to my magic poker machine at the casino, which did not let me down. 8 US dollars, baby!

The remaining days in Bariloche were unfortunately rainy so trekking was out of the question. One day, I explored the "unknown Bariloche" with Susie (USA) and Pablo (BsAs). We wandered around dusty streets which Pablo insisted were not safe. I tried in vain to explain to him my 3 rules of safety.

1. Look pissed off. I´ve perfected this look and I use it most of the time when I´m walking alone. This works for minor dangers, like when someone is looking at you.
2. Pretend you have a cell phone earpiece in your ear and start talking loudly. This works if someone is following you...they´ll usually walk away, either because they think you´re talking on your cell phone or because they think you´re a weirdo.
3. Find an old lady. This is for really unsafe situations. Just find an old lady and start walking with her, because noone, anywhere in the world, will ever mess with someone´s grandma.

I thought these rules were pretty damn good but Pablo did not seem convinced, especially after we passed a carful of boys sniffing glue, so he ushered us back to the main plaza. Sigh...

On Thursday, I said goodbye to the awesome hostel staff and boarded a 7 am bus to El Chalten, a 2 day, 32 hour bus ride through Ruta 40, a desolate, unpaved road that goes from Bariloche to El Calafate, the home of Perrito Moreno, one of the most famous glaciers on the continent. As I move south, the landscape is getting more and more barren, but also more spectacular. It is bitterly cold and the winds easily reach 60 mph...quite the difference from the tropical climate of Iguazu, huh. I´ve almost reached The End of the World...very exciting. Stay tuned!

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.