Well, I made it. After a relatively uneventful day of travel, I'm safe at home, with everything intact. As promised, here is the ode to porteño culture that I promised quite some time ago. I figured that if I don't write it now, you'll never know just how much I loved the place.
1) Walk
This is immediately evident, and perhaps the most important step in becoming a true porteño. Cars are a last resort, and the ones the do use are about the size of a toaster oven. Although, in defense of our lazy asses up north, the city is set up for walking, unlike our post-Ford suburbias. Every neighborhood has a few small grocery stores that are easy walks, and bigger destinations like movie theaters, etc. are easily reached by public transportation. I've made plenty of jokes about how crazy the busses are from the outside, but once you're on one, they sure are nice.
2) Chew with your legs still
That's the best subtitle I could come up with, sorry. But the point is, when Argentines eat, they eat. They don't eat and drive, eat and walk, or eat and breath, they'd choke. They do have plenty of good conversations, though. Although, as late as they eat, that's not as nice as it sounds. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to yell, "NO, I DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU HOW A BICAMERAL CONGRESS OPPERATES, I'M FUCKING STARVING!" But I don't, my host family's nice.
3) Throw away your watch
I've been stating at my computer screen for about 20 minutes trying to think of something funny to say about this subject, but I can't. Without getting too Socratic on you, I'd like to point out that the to-the-second time concept is a purely imagined human construct, and completely arbitrary. It's a relic from the age of trains. Before then, it was, "I'll meet you sometime after noon." These days, we North Americans coordinate our schedules with railroad precision. But it doesn't have to be that way. Imagine not having to floor the accellerator to prevent a 2 minute tardiness to school or work. Two minutes! Granted, it's nice to be able to count on someone meeting you when you expect, but at what cost?
4) Know what's virtual and what's actual
People in Argentin talk in cafés, not chatrooms. The buy their books from nice old men down the street. They see the sun. Computers aren't nearly as popular as they are in the US. The economy might have something to do with that, but I think there's a difference in the people, too.
5. Buy your bread from a baker
I kind of hinted at this with the books from old men line in the last point, but small business are much more prevalent in Argentina than anywhere else I've seen. There are plenty of huge chains, both domestic and international, but they are the minority. There's a noticeable difference in the quality of food and products made by someone passionate about their work. Starbuck's hasn't broken into Argentina, yet. I was initially very surprised at that, since coffee is such a huge part of the culture, but the people are very loyal to their corner cafés, and the same can be said about the full spectrum of businesses.
6. PDA
Woah, I'm getting dangerously close to legitimacy, I think it's time for some boobies. I can't tell you how many personal displays of affection that I've seen over the course of the last several months. Old people holding hands on a walk, young couples picknicking in the park, teenagers sucking face on the busses, the list goes on and on. In general, the culture is just a bit more open than ours, and people do what they want to.
7) Moderation, moderation, moderation
This one might also be tied to the economy, but I think it's more of a cultural issue. And I don't just mean food, buy the way. I went to a computer store the other day for some CD-Rs to burn my photos onto, and the attendant asked me if I'd like them with cases or without, and I said without, so he went behind the counter and brought me back a single CD! It was actually all I needed, and was a nice surprise to not have to buy the 25+ spindles like in the US. There are a million other little stories like this, and the cumulative effect is obvious.
Of course, they don't have it all together; there's litter everywhere, the economy's junk, and they have very little regard for the lives of pedestrians. But all things considered, it's a wonderful place, and I would recommend it to anyone.
Well, that does it. This is my final posting for a while. It's the end of an adventure, or as I like to think, the beginning of the next. But don't worry, I'll be back; I have a habit of getting myself in interesting situations, I think that it's the only way to live. My next adventure is getting into med school, and that'll probably keep me away from the blog. But the next time I find myself with a story worth telling, you'll be the first to know, I promise. Talk to you all soon.
M
Friday, December 02, 2005
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Rescued!
I'm happy to report that I've made it safely to Buenos Aires! The pilot strike hasn't ended, but late last night, we were sent a giant 747 to bring back most of the stranded passengers to Buenos Aires. I tell you, it was like the last flight out of Saigon. When it was spotted in the air on its way over, everyone ran to the window, some took pictures, and I saw at least two teary eyes. Once gates opened, people started shoving their way on to the plane, fighting over seats, and yelling at the crew. It was madness, but when we landed, there was quite a collective sigh of relief and a round of applause for the pilot. I'm still not sure who that could have been, though, since supposedly no one's flying, but whoever it was did a great job getting us back! And I'm here just in time for my 10pm flight home.
Speaking of which, it still feels weird to be leaving. Six months is a long time to be away from the people you care about, and I'm very much looking forward to being home again, but I had a little twang of nostalgia as we flew into Buenos Aires last night. This has been an amazing experience, and I'm going to have so many wonderful memories for the rest of my life. Sorry, but I think I'm allowed one sentimental posting.
Next time I write, I'll be paying with dollars. Talk to you then!
M
Speaking of which, it still feels weird to be leaving. Six months is a long time to be away from the people you care about, and I'm very much looking forward to being home again, but I had a little twang of nostalgia as we flew into Buenos Aires last night. This has been an amazing experience, and I'm going to have so many wonderful memories for the rest of my life. Sorry, but I think I'm allowed one sentimental posting.
Next time I write, I'll be paying with dollars. Talk to you then!
M
Monday, November 28, 2005
Stuck at the end of the world
What some might call an inconvenience, I call a vacation extension.
Remember that pilot strike that I alluded to yesterday? Well, it just turned serious. What started out as a 50% reduction in flights (not affecting the company branch that runs my route), turned into a complete company shut down overnight. The union said that the strike will run until at least Tuesday, and the airline has responded by placing several newspaper ads calling the group a criminal organization that often resorts to threats and violence to achieve its demands. Only in Argentina. At least I took the "Argenfactor" into consideration when I booked the ticket. I still have two days until my flight back to the US on Wednesday, but it could be close.
About an hour ago, this was shaping up to be a cranky posting, but I just got back from dinner, compliments of Aerolineas Argentinas. They also gave me a room voucher that I could redeem at the hotel of my choosing. Needless to say, I'm sleeping on quite a few stars. And a box spring, something I haven't seen for 6 months. I also haven't seen a door lock or in-room electricity in a while, either. Let me tell you, there is a heaven, and it has a great view of the mountains.
I'm going to take this opportunity to offer some of my observations on travel methods in South America. I had been saving them for their own posting, but this one is as appropriate as any. Since we're already on the subject, I'll start with the air. I'm not going to bring up the strike again--because it's been said--and because it's equally likely in any industry; the economy's pretty fickle. However, there is one holiday promotion offered by the primary air carrier in Latin America (TACA) that I find particularly amusing. It offers, and I quote, "1) Our guarantee that at least two pieces of your checked baggage will arrive on the same flight that you do. [This seems like it should be assumed, but maybe that's just me] And if for any reason it doesn’t, we’ll make up for it by giving you a coupon worth $50 off future transportation! 2) Our guarantee that your excess baggage or boxes checked as baggage will be delivered to you within six days of your arrival at your destination." Six days, woo hoo! This is a promotion, mind you, after Dec. 12, anything goes.
City buses and taxis are equally treacherous to the pedestrian, but at least I feel somewhat safe inside the former. Being in the latter is strikingly similar to the wild ride of Mr. Toad, except he had a seat belt.
Long haul buses, my recent specialty, are nothing to set a watch by. The also make airplanes look quite appealing, even now. For instance, my guidebook had recommended one particular company that I used for my first trip out of Buenos Aires. It departed late, arrived later, had uncomfortable seats (and too many of them), a misanthropic driver, an even meaner passenger attendant, and food that was only rivaled in its lack of taste by its lack of substance. All in all, not my most pleasurable Argentine memory. I thought that, for the first time, my guidebook had missed a recommendation. Then I took another company.
Alright, that's all the ranting I'm going to do tonight, I've got to get up early for an exciting day of begging gate agents to stick me in the cargo hold. But first, I'm going to go run around my room naked, order some room service, take a hot shower, and steal a few towels. Talk to you soon.
M
Remember that pilot strike that I alluded to yesterday? Well, it just turned serious. What started out as a 50% reduction in flights (not affecting the company branch that runs my route), turned into a complete company shut down overnight. The union said that the strike will run until at least Tuesday, and the airline has responded by placing several newspaper ads calling the group a criminal organization that often resorts to threats and violence to achieve its demands. Only in Argentina. At least I took the "Argenfactor" into consideration when I booked the ticket. I still have two days until my flight back to the US on Wednesday, but it could be close.
About an hour ago, this was shaping up to be a cranky posting, but I just got back from dinner, compliments of Aerolineas Argentinas. They also gave me a room voucher that I could redeem at the hotel of my choosing. Needless to say, I'm sleeping on quite a few stars. And a box spring, something I haven't seen for 6 months. I also haven't seen a door lock or in-room electricity in a while, either. Let me tell you, there is a heaven, and it has a great view of the mountains.
I'm going to take this opportunity to offer some of my observations on travel methods in South America. I had been saving them for their own posting, but this one is as appropriate as any. Since we're already on the subject, I'll start with the air. I'm not going to bring up the strike again--because it's been said--and because it's equally likely in any industry; the economy's pretty fickle. However, there is one holiday promotion offered by the primary air carrier in Latin America (TACA) that I find particularly amusing. It offers, and I quote, "1) Our guarantee that at least two pieces of your checked baggage will arrive on the same flight that you do. [This seems like it should be assumed, but maybe that's just me] And if for any reason it doesn’t, we’ll make up for it by giving you a coupon worth $50 off future transportation! 2) Our guarantee that your excess baggage or boxes checked as baggage will be delivered to you within six days of your arrival at your destination." Six days, woo hoo! This is a promotion, mind you, after Dec. 12, anything goes.
City buses and taxis are equally treacherous to the pedestrian, but at least I feel somewhat safe inside the former. Being in the latter is strikingly similar to the wild ride of Mr. Toad, except he had a seat belt.
Long haul buses, my recent specialty, are nothing to set a watch by. The also make airplanes look quite appealing, even now. For instance, my guidebook had recommended one particular company that I used for my first trip out of Buenos Aires. It departed late, arrived later, had uncomfortable seats (and too many of them), a misanthropic driver, an even meaner passenger attendant, and food that was only rivaled in its lack of taste by its lack of substance. All in all, not my most pleasurable Argentine memory. I thought that, for the first time, my guidebook had missed a recommendation. Then I took another company.
Alright, that's all the ranting I'm going to do tonight, I've got to get up early for an exciting day of begging gate agents to stick me in the cargo hold. But first, I'm going to go run around my room naked, order some room service, take a hot shower, and steal a few towels. Talk to you soon.
M
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Adventures at the end of the world
Here's what I've been up to in Ushuaia.
On Friday, I explored Ushuaia and visited a few museums. The best one in town is the museum of the ex-prison. This is the interesting history that I alluded to earlier. Ushuaia got its start as an Argentine penal colony, kind of like the Australia of South America. The prison was as fortified as Alcatraz (with less escapees, actually), but the irony is that the prisoners were allowed, and often encouraged, to work in the town. The reasoning was that if they wanted to escape, there's no where to go. Look at a map, the very southernmost region of the continent is a series of islands with freezing water surrounding them. And while you're looking, you'll notice that, at the moment, I'm as close to the south pole as I am to Buenos Aires. I thought that news was kind of interesting.
That evening, I bought a boat ticket for a lap around the Beagle canal, named after the boat in which Charles Darwin sailed here. It's filled with the type of isolated islands that Darwin used to justify his theories on evolution. The most notable were a colony of sea lions, and several others with interesting species of birds. I never thought that I'd use interesting and birds in the same sentence (other than "that bird tasted interesting"), but the ones down here are really bizarre. Nothing like the crap bombers I'm used to seeing in the US.
On Friday, I explored Ushuaia and visited a few museums. The best one in town is the museum of the ex-prison. This is the interesting history that I alluded to earlier. Ushuaia got its start as an Argentine penal colony, kind of like the Australia of South America. The prison was as fortified as Alcatraz (with less escapees, actually), but the irony is that the prisoners were allowed, and often encouraged, to work in the town. The reasoning was that if they wanted to escape, there's no where to go. Look at a map, the very southernmost region of the continent is a series of islands with freezing water surrounding them. And while you're looking, you'll notice that, at the moment, I'm as close to the south pole as I am to Buenos Aires. I thought that news was kind of interesting.
That evening, I bought a boat ticket for a lap around the Beagle canal, named after the boat in which Charles Darwin sailed here. It's filled with the type of isolated islands that Darwin used to justify his theories on evolution. The most notable were a colony of sea lions, and several others with interesting species of birds. I never thought that I'd use interesting and birds in the same sentence (other than "that bird tasted interesting"), but the ones down here are really bizarre. Nothing like the crap bombers I'm used to seeing in the US.
Next day, Saturday. Along with an Italian guy and a French girl from the hostel, I explored the Tierra Del Fuego National park. It had been raining all throughout the previous night, and sporadically that day, so the place was extremely muddy. I just about lost my boots several times. We'd be walking along a trail, and the 80 lb. Italian guy would do a little jig across a wet spot, and the French girl would hop along with equal aplomb, then I'd come along with all the finesse of an elephant in free fall and be up to my waist in seconds. I'm still filthy.
Today. I went to a chairlift to view the local glacier, but it was down for repairs, so my friend-of-the-day and I decided to climb up ourselves. And once we reached the viewpoint, we decided to keep going. So I've finally done it, I've climbed a glacier. Now, this isn't the Bs As on ice that you saw last week, it was more like a high altitude snow river. But, combined with the freshly falling snow, I felt like quite the adventurer. We went up incredibly high, well past any marked paths and intelligent stopping points. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea, but we made it back and had a ton of fun. Take a look.
Click here to see how we got down.
I have a ticket back to Bs As tomorrow, but there's a pilot's strike going on right now, so we'll have to see what happens. Either way, I'm sure glad not to be taking a bus back. It took me a combined 70 hours to get here, and I'm ready for a flight! I'll let you know how it goes.
M
Thursday, November 24, 2005
I hope I don't fall off!
I've arrived at the end of the world! Ushuaia, Argentina is the southernmost city on the planet in the province of Tierra del Fuego. Land of the fire, my ass, I'm freezing! It's absolutely gorgeous, tough.
Sorry, I don't have any coherent story planned, but I'd like to fill you in on my day.
The bus ride involved a ferry trip (the bus just drove onto a boat!) in which we were surrounded by playful dolphins. The scenery was desolate but strangely alluring. It reminded me of Dr. Suess's book "The Lorax", after the factory comes to town.
The bus's pit stop was at a bakery in which there was a sort of mini-zoo exhibiting the local fauna. It was one room with several small animals wandering around. It's about time I saw some beaver!
Ahem, sorry.
The bus eventually emerged from the strange anti-forest to reveal a quaint coastal fishing town with an interesting history. More on that later.
The internet cafe is playing a smooth jazz cover of Marley's "Redemption Song". That settles it, I've heard it all.
Ok, I'm off to bed, there's a lot to do tomorrow!
M
Sorry, I don't have any coherent story planned, but I'd like to fill you in on my day.
The bus ride involved a ferry trip (the bus just drove onto a boat!) in which we were surrounded by playful dolphins. The scenery was desolate but strangely alluring. It reminded me of Dr. Suess's book "The Lorax", after the factory comes to town.
The bus's pit stop was at a bakery in which there was a sort of mini-zoo exhibiting the local fauna. It was one room with several small animals wandering around. It's about time I saw some beaver!
Ahem, sorry.
The bus eventually emerged from the strange anti-forest to reveal a quaint coastal fishing town with an interesting history. More on that later.
The internet cafe is playing a smooth jazz cover of Marley's "Redemption Song". That settles it, I've heard it all.
Ok, I'm off to bed, there's a lot to do tomorrow!
M
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Mountain Myles
Hi everyone,
My second day in El Calafate was spent navigating the glacial lakes of the region. At least, that's what I think happened. Nothing knocks me out faster than a boat trip on rolling waters, especially when I'm as sleep deprived as I am now. It was pretty much just an expensive nap punctuated with amazing scenery. Here's a sample:
I'm not doing a full day boat trip justice by describing it in three sentences, but I'm excited to tell you about the rest of the week, so here goes.
I had signed up for a highly recommended overnight trip across the Chilean border to see the Torres del Paine national park. But when I got back from the boat trip, the hostel staff told me that there weren't enough people going, and the trip was cancelled. I wasn't too upset, since the trip cost a lot of money (hostel-organized trips usually do). It was $200, which may not seem like a ton, but it goes a very long way down here. Plus, after singing up, I heard that the relatively undiscovered Argentine side of the same mountain range was even more spectacular. So there I was, with two newly-free days, and itching for an adventure. There wasn't any time to waste, so that night I bought a ticket for an early bus to El Chalten, the base camp for exploring the mountains. Even though the majority of the 4 hour trip was along a dirt road, I slept like a baby.
I got in around lunch time to the smallest town I've ever seen (Argentina's newest, by the way). There was just one road with a scattering of hostels, restaurants, and outdoor stores. I had a backpack full of food--no surprise--but I didn't have any other camping gear to speak of. Thankfully, the weather was surprisingly pleasant. (The night before, my German hostel roommates told me of their experience, "Yaah, zee vehzer vas haribul".)
I asked around for a camping store, and one was recommended as having good prices. I should have asked for one with good equipment, but that's another lesson learned. I rented a tent, a sleeping bag, and a ground pad. $10, total.
I set off around 2, alone, but it wasn't too long before I found my first hiking buddy, another German. The weather was absolutely spectacular, and the views were even better. Take a look:
We hiked into the park for a couple of hours until he had to turn back; he wasn't camping. I forged ahead, again solo, with only one semi-serious episode of "where the hell am I?" Around 7 or so, I found the campsite that I was looking for and began to set up my gear. Remember, I was fresh off of running up a mountain with the Italian national team, so I had began to think of myself as a regular Sir Edmund Hillary. This is the mindset I was in when I started constructing my comically undersized mancoon of a tent, so you can imagine my frustration at taking almost an hour to put it together. It was a crappy tent, already in rough shape, but my ineptitude just about destroyed it. Notice the duct tape.
Embarrassed by showing just how much of a greenhorn I was, I sheepishly looked around, expecting army grade gear and rugged, trail-worn faces. What I saw were otherwise peaceful people just about at blows with their camping partners over which piece goes where. I wasn't alone.
A Belgian guy that was on my boat trip recognized me and came over to chat. He was an interesting guy that's been all over the world, but what really held my attention was his camping stove. The sun was starting to set, cooling off the forest dramatically. Not to mention, the campsite was right at the snowline, so it got pretty chilly. Besides, the can of creamed corn that I brought for dinner would have tasted awful if I ate it cold.
Once night fell, an amazing day quickly turned into a harrowing night. After making plans with the Belgian, I retired to my "tent" to discover that the sleeping bag that I had rented barely made it up to my nipples. And it stunk. By this point, the sun had completely set and I was violently shaking, wondering how bad things might get. Now, for those of you who have never warded off hypothermia at high altitude, it puts some pretty crazy ideas into your head. First one: I could borrow the Belgain's camping stove and build the world's most poorly placed space heater. That one didn't stick around too long, don't worry. At the same time, I wasn't yet comfortable enough with my Belgian buddy to ask to share his tent, but the idea did cross my mind. What I ended up settling on was putting on every piece of clothing that I had brought. Two shirts, two socks, two pairs of boxers (ever so important), pants, a fleece, and a windbreaker. I had even considered putting on my shoes, but they wouldn't have fit in my sleeping bag.
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep for a few minutes (a testament to how tired I was), but even then, my mind was playing games with me. I had the most vivid dream of an early sunrise and a warm morning, and was halfway out of my tent before I realized what happened. And I wasn't happy about it. I didn't really fall asleep until after the sun came up, only to wake up to the alarm clock that I forgot to turn off. The morning wasn't much better than the night, so I literally ran laps around the campsite to warm up while waiting for my friend to rise. He had his own gear, so his peaceful, warm slumber was cut short by a temporarily insane Myles violently shaking his tent. I still don't feel sorry for him.
Our hike that morning warmed me up quite well. The prize of the park is a 500 meter trek to the closest and best viewpoint of the giant granite cliffs you saw in the background of the last photo. But here's the kicker, the altitude change was also just about 500 meters, so it was like climbing 5 football fields' worth of stairwells. It was tough. But, as is the theme, the view was well worth the effort. The climb led to a secluded lake that had formed in the crater on the side of one of the mountains. Imagine reaching the summit of a very tough hike and immediately being surrounded with more natural beauty than you've ever thought possibe. Giant granite cliffs, a water fall, a secluded lake, snow capped mountains and wind swept plains all in one amazing panarama. The photos don't do it justice.
The afternoon consisited of a relatively calm hike back, which was entirely resisted by my exhausted legs, but I made it back. A cup of tea, a nap on the bus, and a warm shower had never sounded so good. Now, if anyone's wondering, it had been 4 tough days since my last bathing, so I was like human paint thinner Not that I'm bragging.
I've got one more tale to tell, but it's mostly pictures, so I might as well include them in this posting. Yesterday was spent on the ground, touring of the world's only non-receding glacier, Perito Moreno. It's the size of Buenos Aires, and absolutely incredible, take a look:
Tonight, I'm off to the end of the world, talk to you then!
M
My second day in El Calafate was spent navigating the glacial lakes of the region. At least, that's what I think happened. Nothing knocks me out faster than a boat trip on rolling waters, especially when I'm as sleep deprived as I am now. It was pretty much just an expensive nap punctuated with amazing scenery. Here's a sample:
I'm not doing a full day boat trip justice by describing it in three sentences, but I'm excited to tell you about the rest of the week, so here goes.
I had signed up for a highly recommended overnight trip across the Chilean border to see the Torres del Paine national park. But when I got back from the boat trip, the hostel staff told me that there weren't enough people going, and the trip was cancelled. I wasn't too upset, since the trip cost a lot of money (hostel-organized trips usually do). It was $200, which may not seem like a ton, but it goes a very long way down here. Plus, after singing up, I heard that the relatively undiscovered Argentine side of the same mountain range was even more spectacular. So there I was, with two newly-free days, and itching for an adventure. There wasn't any time to waste, so that night I bought a ticket for an early bus to El Chalten, the base camp for exploring the mountains. Even though the majority of the 4 hour trip was along a dirt road, I slept like a baby.
I got in around lunch time to the smallest town I've ever seen (Argentina's newest, by the way). There was just one road with a scattering of hostels, restaurants, and outdoor stores. I had a backpack full of food--no surprise--but I didn't have any other camping gear to speak of. Thankfully, the weather was surprisingly pleasant. (The night before, my German hostel roommates told me of their experience, "Yaah, zee vehzer vas haribul".)
I asked around for a camping store, and one was recommended as having good prices. I should have asked for one with good equipment, but that's another lesson learned. I rented a tent, a sleeping bag, and a ground pad. $10, total.
I set off around 2, alone, but it wasn't too long before I found my first hiking buddy, another German. The weather was absolutely spectacular, and the views were even better. Take a look:
We hiked into the park for a couple of hours until he had to turn back; he wasn't camping. I forged ahead, again solo, with only one semi-serious episode of "where the hell am I?" Around 7 or so, I found the campsite that I was looking for and began to set up my gear. Remember, I was fresh off of running up a mountain with the Italian national team, so I had began to think of myself as a regular Sir Edmund Hillary. This is the mindset I was in when I started constructing my comically undersized mancoon of a tent, so you can imagine my frustration at taking almost an hour to put it together. It was a crappy tent, already in rough shape, but my ineptitude just about destroyed it. Notice the duct tape.
Embarrassed by showing just how much of a greenhorn I was, I sheepishly looked around, expecting army grade gear and rugged, trail-worn faces. What I saw were otherwise peaceful people just about at blows with their camping partners over which piece goes where. I wasn't alone.
A Belgian guy that was on my boat trip recognized me and came over to chat. He was an interesting guy that's been all over the world, but what really held my attention was his camping stove. The sun was starting to set, cooling off the forest dramatically. Not to mention, the campsite was right at the snowline, so it got pretty chilly. Besides, the can of creamed corn that I brought for dinner would have tasted awful if I ate it cold.
Once night fell, an amazing day quickly turned into a harrowing night. After making plans with the Belgian, I retired to my "tent" to discover that the sleeping bag that I had rented barely made it up to my nipples. And it stunk. By this point, the sun had completely set and I was violently shaking, wondering how bad things might get. Now, for those of you who have never warded off hypothermia at high altitude, it puts some pretty crazy ideas into your head. First one: I could borrow the Belgain's camping stove and build the world's most poorly placed space heater. That one didn't stick around too long, don't worry. At the same time, I wasn't yet comfortable enough with my Belgian buddy to ask to share his tent, but the idea did cross my mind. What I ended up settling on was putting on every piece of clothing that I had brought. Two shirts, two socks, two pairs of boxers (ever so important), pants, a fleece, and a windbreaker. I had even considered putting on my shoes, but they wouldn't have fit in my sleeping bag.
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep for a few minutes (a testament to how tired I was), but even then, my mind was playing games with me. I had the most vivid dream of an early sunrise and a warm morning, and was halfway out of my tent before I realized what happened. And I wasn't happy about it. I didn't really fall asleep until after the sun came up, only to wake up to the alarm clock that I forgot to turn off. The morning wasn't much better than the night, so I literally ran laps around the campsite to warm up while waiting for my friend to rise. He had his own gear, so his peaceful, warm slumber was cut short by a temporarily insane Myles violently shaking his tent. I still don't feel sorry for him.
Our hike that morning warmed me up quite well. The prize of the park is a 500 meter trek to the closest and best viewpoint of the giant granite cliffs you saw in the background of the last photo. But here's the kicker, the altitude change was also just about 500 meters, so it was like climbing 5 football fields' worth of stairwells. It was tough. But, as is the theme, the view was well worth the effort. The climb led to a secluded lake that had formed in the crater on the side of one of the mountains. Imagine reaching the summit of a very tough hike and immediately being surrounded with more natural beauty than you've ever thought possibe. Giant granite cliffs, a water fall, a secluded lake, snow capped mountains and wind swept plains all in one amazing panarama. The photos don't do it justice.
The afternoon consisited of a relatively calm hike back, which was entirely resisted by my exhausted legs, but I made it back. A cup of tea, a nap on the bus, and a warm shower had never sounded so good. Now, if anyone's wondering, it had been 4 tough days since my last bathing, so I was like human paint thinner Not that I'm bragging.
I've got one more tale to tell, but it's mostly pictures, so I might as well include them in this posting. Yesterday was spent on the ground, touring of the world's only non-receding glacier, Perito Moreno. It's the size of Buenos Aires, and absolutely incredible, take a look:
Tonight, I'm off to the end of the world, talk to you then!
M
90 pesos to run up a f*ing mountain?
Wow, where to start?
I set off for Rio Gallegos from Puerto Madryn several days ago on an overnight bus that shouldn't have taken more than 18 hours, but for some reason, the police were out in full force. Almost every bus I've ever been on has had to pass through a police checkpoint at some time along the journey. Generally, they're just a bureaucratic relic from the days of military dictatorships, but they were actually used this trip. Thrice. Police stormed the bus each time and asked for everyone's papers and recorded the passengers on board. Because of this, and an unusually late departure (even for this country), I arrived at my destination 6 hours late. So I missed my connection and had to kill the day in the capital city of the Santa Cruz province. Way less interesting than it sounds. I did meet a few interesting travellers, though. Catching the last bus, I arrived in El Calafate, Argentina at 1am with 2 shirts, one fleece, one windbreaker, and a pair of shoes. Not much, considering that this city is generally regarded as the glacier capital of the world. After a very solid slumber, I woke up early and asked the staff at my hostel for a few good side trips. The first one was a trek up to a very scenic vista overlooking the city. It included dinner and departed that afternoon.
I was picked up at my hostel by some employees of the estancia that hosted the hike. Looking around the bus, I realized that I had again met up with another branch of the traveling geriatrics. Wonderful. I wondered what kind of "adventure" could be in store for me and the octogenarians. We stopped at a few other hostels, at one point picking up a guy who was probably in his lower thirties. Even though he looked Italian, I was at least happy to have someone to relate with, if not speak the same language. It turns out, though, that we ended up picking up his wife downtown, so I was once again the lone ranger.
We arrived at the estancia around 6pm (no problem, since the sun doesn't set until 10:30 this far south). It turns out that there were several options to reach the vista. Most of the other travelers went off to the horse stables or Land Rovers, but the Italian couple and I stuck around to climb up on our own power. This is where things started getting ugly.
So, our guide turned out to be an Argentine professional basketball player, so of course he's in shape. And the couple? They're two members from the Italian Alps professional mountain climbing team scouting out locations for their next practice center. And then there's me, the out of shape yankee exchange student who's been sucking down cows' legs for the past six months. They hauled ass. To make things worse, I was lugging around my backpack, since I didn't have a lock to store it in my room. We scaled the first 1000 meters (of altitude change, not trail length) in thirty minutes. For those of you that think in yards, that's fast! And for the kicker, the guide asked us if we wanted to run the last 300. Sergio and Monica didn't even need to think about their answer, so all three heads immediately turned to me. Of course I was going to say yes; I'm a guy, mildly competitive, and full of myself. I thought I could handle it. What followed is a little fuzzy, but I can remember thinking, "and I'm paying for this shit?!" All jokes aside, though, the view at the top was well worth the effort, but I'll let you decide.
And yes, that's a skull in my hand. I found it on the way up. It's probably a puma. I had to leave it behind, though, it was smelling up my backpack, and I definitely don't need any help with that.
Ok. I've got a whole day to kill before my 3am bus out of here, so I'm going to go get some lunch and give you a chance to digest this. I'll be back in a bit with the best part of the week.
M
I set off for Rio Gallegos from Puerto Madryn several days ago on an overnight bus that shouldn't have taken more than 18 hours, but for some reason, the police were out in full force. Almost every bus I've ever been on has had to pass through a police checkpoint at some time along the journey. Generally, they're just a bureaucratic relic from the days of military dictatorships, but they were actually used this trip. Thrice. Police stormed the bus each time and asked for everyone's papers and recorded the passengers on board. Because of this, and an unusually late departure (even for this country), I arrived at my destination 6 hours late. So I missed my connection and had to kill the day in the capital city of the Santa Cruz province. Way less interesting than it sounds. I did meet a few interesting travellers, though. Catching the last bus, I arrived in El Calafate, Argentina at 1am with 2 shirts, one fleece, one windbreaker, and a pair of shoes. Not much, considering that this city is generally regarded as the glacier capital of the world. After a very solid slumber, I woke up early and asked the staff at my hostel for a few good side trips. The first one was a trek up to a very scenic vista overlooking the city. It included dinner and departed that afternoon.
I was picked up at my hostel by some employees of the estancia that hosted the hike. Looking around the bus, I realized that I had again met up with another branch of the traveling geriatrics. Wonderful. I wondered what kind of "adventure" could be in store for me and the octogenarians. We stopped at a few other hostels, at one point picking up a guy who was probably in his lower thirties. Even though he looked Italian, I was at least happy to have someone to relate with, if not speak the same language. It turns out, though, that we ended up picking up his wife downtown, so I was once again the lone ranger.
We arrived at the estancia around 6pm (no problem, since the sun doesn't set until 10:30 this far south). It turns out that there were several options to reach the vista. Most of the other travelers went off to the horse stables or Land Rovers, but the Italian couple and I stuck around to climb up on our own power. This is where things started getting ugly.
So, our guide turned out to be an Argentine professional basketball player, so of course he's in shape. And the couple? They're two members from the Italian Alps professional mountain climbing team scouting out locations for their next practice center. And then there's me, the out of shape yankee exchange student who's been sucking down cows' legs for the past six months. They hauled ass. To make things worse, I was lugging around my backpack, since I didn't have a lock to store it in my room. We scaled the first 1000 meters (of altitude change, not trail length) in thirty minutes. For those of you that think in yards, that's fast! And for the kicker, the guide asked us if we wanted to run the last 300. Sergio and Monica didn't even need to think about their answer, so all three heads immediately turned to me. Of course I was going to say yes; I'm a guy, mildly competitive, and full of myself. I thought I could handle it. What followed is a little fuzzy, but I can remember thinking, "and I'm paying for this shit?!" All jokes aside, though, the view at the top was well worth the effort, but I'll let you decide.
And yes, that's a skull in my hand. I found it on the way up. It's probably a puma. I had to leave it behind, though, it was smelling up my backpack, and I definitely don't need any help with that.
Ok. I've got a whole day to kill before my 3am bus out of here, so I'm going to go get some lunch and give you a chance to digest this. I'll be back in a bit with the best part of the week.
M
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Hang in there
I've been accumulating quite a few stories over the last couple of days in El Calafate. [Sneak preview: the Italian mountain climbing team, police searches, missed bus, wild cattle, and a 3 hour tour that lasted almost as long as Gilligan's.] Unfortunately, I've got neither the time nor internet connection to relate them all just yet. As it is, I've hiked for an hour to find the only internet cafe in town, and I'm being charged a rate appropiate for house rental on the beach. So I've got to keep it brief. Not to mention, I've got get ready for a a 7 am bus that will take me to an even more remote part of Patagonia for an overnight hike. I'll be alone, rediculusly underprepared, and undoubtedly starving, so I should have a few more stories by the time I return. Before you get too worried, Mom, there will be plenty of other hikers out on the trail, I just won't know any of them. Wish me luck.
M
M
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
¡Muchos penguinos!
That about sums up my day! A group of people from the hostel and I set out for Punto Tombo, Argentina, the largest penguin reserve in the world. Now, before you get your hopes up, all 1,200,000 of them weren't agregated in a giant waddling herd, as I expected. They are during part of the year, but this is the month when the babies are born. The familes stray from the herd and pick a piece of the tundra to hatch their eggs, so visitors can see them up close. Really close, as in a momentary lapse in concentration means you're going to step on one. Well, on with the show. Enjoy.
Monday, November 14, 2005
One less joke
Well, I've got to cross one joke off my list. The hostel is finally getting a younger clientele; It must have been a tour group or something. Either way, I'm no longer the baby of the place. I'm still in a minority though, since about every country is represented here, even Australia. That's how you can tell a travel destination is really world class. If they're going to pay the $2000 to get off their island, they're going to be damn sure it's worth it. Americans (the northern variety) travel more than anyone in the world, but we really don't know our ass from the Eiffel tower. That's to say is that Americans travel on reputation and buzz factor more than actual destination worthiness. My recommendation: go to Argentina!
Ok, I shouldn't wander, there's plenty to talk about today. I woke up early again to head out for a tour along the coast. It started out with a quick bus ride to the water to meet a whale watching boat. And let me tell you, Greenpeace was right, Willy's really got something going for him. We also saw sea lions, penguins, seals, and dolphins. I'd really love to show you a picture of the last group, but they're quick little suckers. They were swimming alongside our boat and jumping out of the water for a few entertaining minutes. Of course, most of these species are just a few Captain Ahabs away from extinction. I'm not going to go on a big diatribe, because I sure do love sushi, but the planet's oceans are in worse shape that its forests, so lets give them a break.
We spent the afternoon checking out another interesting ecosphere, but from the land. It was a unique beach formation that seals love to play on. I debated making up some bullshit about how they form, but I don't even know enough to make stuff up. Besides, I know a few marine biologists that might be reading this. I'd better just show some photos.
This is it, but I'm not sure what it's called. It sure is cool, though.
And another one.
(Technical difficulties on this one, sorry)
The obligatory whale one, although it was a bit harder to take one of these guys (actually girls, mother and daughter) because they kept moving. They really could have flipped our boat if they wanted.
This photo is of one of the largest, most beautiful specimens of its kind. And of a big fossil, too. Did anyone not see that coming?
I should have some good penguin ones tomorrow.
Ok, I shouldn't wander, there's plenty to talk about today. I woke up early again to head out for a tour along the coast. It started out with a quick bus ride to the water to meet a whale watching boat. And let me tell you, Greenpeace was right, Willy's really got something going for him. We also saw sea lions, penguins, seals, and dolphins. I'd really love to show you a picture of the last group, but they're quick little suckers. They were swimming alongside our boat and jumping out of the water for a few entertaining minutes. Of course, most of these species are just a few Captain Ahabs away from extinction. I'm not going to go on a big diatribe, because I sure do love sushi, but the planet's oceans are in worse shape that its forests, so lets give them a break.
We spent the afternoon checking out another interesting ecosphere, but from the land. It was a unique beach formation that seals love to play on. I debated making up some bullshit about how they form, but I don't even know enough to make stuff up. Besides, I know a few marine biologists that might be reading this. I'd better just show some photos.
This is it, but I'm not sure what it's called. It sure is cool, though.
And another one.
(Technical difficulties on this one, sorry)
The obligatory whale one, although it was a bit harder to take one of these guys (actually girls, mother and daughter) because they kept moving. They really could have flipped our boat if they wanted.
This photo is of one of the largest, most beautiful specimens of its kind. And of a big fossil, too. Did anyone not see that coming?
I should have some good penguin ones tomorrow.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
A little exploring
Hi everybody,
I woke up today to the geriatric society popping in their teeth around 7am. S-E-V-E-N. How do these people live like this?! But it did allow me to get in a full day of exploring.
I went to a small Welsh settlement called Trelew, where there was a surprisingly well developed dinosaur museum. And that's about it. But at least it allowed me to get a feel for the area and plan out the next couple of days. I travelled with one of my roommates that had the same plans for today. Besides, we thought that us young ones should stick together. She's 50. And don't give me a hard time, or call me Oedipus, there are slim pickings for travel buddies. She actually turned out to be pretty cool, though. She's an Argentine doctor from Bs. As. that is interested in natural remedies, so we had plenty of things to talk about. We spoke in Spanish all day, which was great practice.
I've got a few pics from the museum that I'll post as soon as I can. Tomorrow's going to be a very cool day, so I'll post any whale photos that I can get.
I'm tying up the only computer in a big hostel, so I'd better keep this short. I don't want to keep grandpa up too late. Talk to you all tomorrow.
Myles
I woke up today to the geriatric society popping in their teeth around 7am. S-E-V-E-N. How do these people live like this?! But it did allow me to get in a full day of exploring.
I went to a small Welsh settlement called Trelew, where there was a surprisingly well developed dinosaur museum. And that's about it. But at least it allowed me to get a feel for the area and plan out the next couple of days. I travelled with one of my roommates that had the same plans for today. Besides, we thought that us young ones should stick together. She's 50. And don't give me a hard time, or call me Oedipus, there are slim pickings for travel buddies. She actually turned out to be pretty cool, though. She's an Argentine doctor from Bs. As. that is interested in natural remedies, so we had plenty of things to talk about. We spoke in Spanish all day, which was great practice.
I've got a few pics from the museum that I'll post as soon as I can. Tomorrow's going to be a very cool day, so I'll post any whale photos that I can get.
I'm tying up the only computer in a big hostel, so I'd better keep this short. I don't want to keep grandpa up too late. Talk to you all tomorrow.
Myles
Saturday, November 12, 2005
And I'm off
Well, I've safely arrived at my first destination, Puerto Madryn, Argentina. It's a small fishing town with the bluest water I've ever seen. I'm in love with the place, and I haven't even gone whale-watching yet. My hostel is clean, quiet, and safe, which begs one question: where the fuck am I? My apologies the easily bothered readers out there, but if you saw this place, you'd be just as confused. The first thing I noticed (and really my only point of discontent) is that I'm the youngest person here. By a lot. I just came back from dinner with a group of women old enough to have given birth to me. (That's to say, about 35-40, right Mom?) This is the weirdest hostel dynamic I've ever seen. It's really more like a retirement center with ash trays. Don't get me wrong, it really is a nice place, it's just not...well, fun. That's probably not a bad thing--since I'm here for the nature, and there will be plenty of time for that. Actually though, an early bed time is fine with me, I slept about 20-30 seconds on the bus over here. To give you some perspective as to what it takes to keep me up, I've slept through three earthquakes and a tornado. It was quite a bumpy one. As such, I'm way too wiped out to carry this posting much further, but I'm got some cool things planned, and I'll keep you posted.
M
M
Friday, November 11, 2005
Woo hoo!!!
Hey everybody,
There's no better feeling for a college student than the one that comes after turning in your last final of the semester. Except, perhaps, the one that comes the day you leave for a three week trek through Patagonia. Lucky me!
After a week marked with awkward goodbye dinners and one-upping comparisons of travel plans, I'm off. Well, not quite; I'm sitting in the bus terminal, but I'll be on my way soon enough. I'm planning on seeing the biggest glaciers in the world, the southernmost city in the world, and the largest migration of penguins in the world. Without, of course, amounting the biggest debt in the world.
I don't have time to go into too much detail, but after i arrive at my first destination (a mere 24 hours from now), I'll post something that does the location justice. Talk to you all then!
Myles
There's no better feeling for a college student than the one that comes after turning in your last final of the semester. Except, perhaps, the one that comes the day you leave for a three week trek through Patagonia. Lucky me!
After a week marked with awkward goodbye dinners and one-upping comparisons of travel plans, I'm off. Well, not quite; I'm sitting in the bus terminal, but I'll be on my way soon enough. I'm planning on seeing the biggest glaciers in the world, the southernmost city in the world, and the largest migration of penguins in the world. Without, of course, amounting the biggest debt in the world.
I don't have time to go into too much detail, but after i arrive at my first destination (a mere 24 hours from now), I'll post something that does the location justice. Talk to you all then!
Myles
Friday, November 04, 2005
I'm really not in Kansas, anymore
Buenos Aires is just modern enough to occasionally trick me into complacency, and I forget that I'm really in another culture. And then there are times when the shock winds up and slaps me in the face. Last night was one of them. I went to the graduation dance of my host sister's high school, the closest equivalent we have up north is the prom, but going into it with that expectation was what really floored me.
The "prom" was held in a standard disco that had closed its doors to the public that night. It started at 10, so of course we didn't even leave until 11. By we, I mean the whole family; it's for everyone, not just the students. There was supposed to be food, so I didn't eat, which left me absolutely starving by the time the tiniest ham and cheese sandwiches I've ever seen were served at midnight. I lost count of exactly how many I ate, but it was much closer to triple digits than I'd like to admit.
The sandwiches were part of a cocktail-type setting, with the families all chatting with each other. That was pretty ho-hum for me, since I didn't know any of them, but there was a little comic relief when a long lost friend of my host family came up to me and was absolutely astounded with how much I'd grown. Then I pointed her in the direction of my significantly shorter host brother. Her guffawed response was enough to keep me chuckling for the rest of the night.
Around 1, all the students piled into decorated buses to take a lap of the city while shouting out their accomplishment. I've seen a few of these buses cruising the city before, so it was nice to know that wasn't just me choosing the wrong tour company. While they were gone, the parents and siblings went to a nearby bar to kill time until the students returned. It wasn't to hard to hear their return, and ran to meet them at the club. One girl was too drunk to make it off the bus, and once my host dad/doctor made sure she was ok, all the parents gave her a hard time. She'll be pretty embarrassed when she goes back to school.
At this point most of the parents went home to at least get an hour of sleep before work. My host siblings and I went back to the club to hang out with the students for a bit, and it looked more like a riot than any school dance I've ever seen. There was a hired group that was pounding beats out on marching drums with all of the students dancing around them. If anyone's seen footage of a Brazilian carnival, you know what it looked like. Then the band gave way to a DJ, and the place turned into an normal (invite only) club. We only hung around for a bit longer, since the people I was with actually did stuff during the day, but it was a lot of fun. Considering that my host sister hadn't woken up by the time I left the house at 4 (I didn't rise too early, myself), I'd be really surprised if it ended a second before 7am. I'd like to see that at my high school!
M
The "prom" was held in a standard disco that had closed its doors to the public that night. It started at 10, so of course we didn't even leave until 11. By we, I mean the whole family; it's for everyone, not just the students. There was supposed to be food, so I didn't eat, which left me absolutely starving by the time the tiniest ham and cheese sandwiches I've ever seen were served at midnight. I lost count of exactly how many I ate, but it was much closer to triple digits than I'd like to admit.
The sandwiches were part of a cocktail-type setting, with the families all chatting with each other. That was pretty ho-hum for me, since I didn't know any of them, but there was a little comic relief when a long lost friend of my host family came up to me and was absolutely astounded with how much I'd grown. Then I pointed her in the direction of my significantly shorter host brother. Her guffawed response was enough to keep me chuckling for the rest of the night.
Around 1, all the students piled into decorated buses to take a lap of the city while shouting out their accomplishment. I've seen a few of these buses cruising the city before, so it was nice to know that wasn't just me choosing the wrong tour company. While they were gone, the parents and siblings went to a nearby bar to kill time until the students returned. It wasn't to hard to hear their return, and ran to meet them at the club. One girl was too drunk to make it off the bus, and once my host dad/doctor made sure she was ok, all the parents gave her a hard time. She'll be pretty embarrassed when she goes back to school.
At this point most of the parents went home to at least get an hour of sleep before work. My host siblings and I went back to the club to hang out with the students for a bit, and it looked more like a riot than any school dance I've ever seen. There was a hired group that was pounding beats out on marching drums with all of the students dancing around them. If anyone's seen footage of a Brazilian carnival, you know what it looked like. Then the band gave way to a DJ, and the place turned into an normal (invite only) club. We only hung around for a bit longer, since the people I was with actually did stuff during the day, but it was a lot of fun. Considering that my host sister hadn't woken up by the time I left the house at 4 (I didn't rise too early, myself), I'd be really surprised if it ended a second before 7am. I'd like to see that at my high school!
M
Monday, October 31, 2005
Finals? Really?
Hi everybody,
I'd like to apologize for depriving you of your bi-weekly dose of Argentine mishaps, but apparently they do take finals here. Actually, as much as I like to joke about the school, it got hard as hell! I'm about halfway through the 30 pages I have to write for all my classes. I'd much rather write this.
I don't really have much to write about, since I've been holed up in an internet cafe all week, but I'm slowly regaining my social skills and should have something interesting to tell you all soon.
M
I'd like to apologize for depriving you of your bi-weekly dose of Argentine mishaps, but apparently they do take finals here. Actually, as much as I like to joke about the school, it got hard as hell! I'm about halfway through the 30 pages I have to write for all my classes. I'd much rather write this.
I don't really have much to write about, since I've been holed up in an internet cafe all week, but I'm slowly regaining my social skills and should have something interesting to tell you all soon.
M
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Beach Day!!!
I just got back from a little beach town a few hours outside of Buenos Aires, and I'm sorry to say that I've nothing to report. No condecending government employees, no crazy haircuts, and no insane futból fans. Just a very pleasing weekend in a town very similar to San Diego.
Well, there was a casino, and anyone remotely familiar with my gambling history should know how that ended. To save what cash I had remaining, I decided to cook dinner at the hostel. For everyone. I've had plenty of ambitious ideas before, but cooking dinner for a dozen people is up there with the best of them. I figured that a stir-fry couldn't be much harder than my usual PB&J. It was, but the meal turned out to be remarkably edible.
The town I was in, Mar Del Plata, will host the Summit of the Americas in a few weeks. Besides making it very difficult to find a room, this gave the town a very politically charged feel. I was asked about my thoughts by anyone who knew I was from the US, and I was even interviewed for a documentary. [Note: I've been staring at the computer screen for 20 minutes trying to come up with some joke incorporating Miguel Moore, because I think that's too good of a pun to waste, but I'm really tired. Any suggestions are welcome.]
I've got a busy week of final papers ahead of me, but I'll update you all as soon as I can.
M
Well, there was a casino, and anyone remotely familiar with my gambling history should know how that ended. To save what cash I had remaining, I decided to cook dinner at the hostel. For everyone. I've had plenty of ambitious ideas before, but cooking dinner for a dozen people is up there with the best of them. I figured that a stir-fry couldn't be much harder than my usual PB&J. It was, but the meal turned out to be remarkably edible.
The town I was in, Mar Del Plata, will host the Summit of the Americas in a few weeks. Besides making it very difficult to find a room, this gave the town a very politically charged feel. I was asked about my thoughts by anyone who knew I was from the US, and I was even interviewed for a documentary. [Note: I've been staring at the computer screen for 20 minutes trying to come up with some joke incorporating Miguel Moore, because I think that's too good of a pun to waste, but I'm really tired. Any suggestions are welcome.]
I've got a busy week of final papers ahead of me, but I'll update you all as soon as I can.
M
Sunday, October 16, 2005
El Super Bowl
Wow.
I've been in tornadoes. I've been in earthquakes. None of them comes close to the pulsing of a 10 story stadium to the beat of almost a hundred thousand people. Well, not really people, futbol fans. They're a different breed.
Until recently, I've never really been too into soccer. To be honest, my midwestern upbringing kind of biased me against the sport. Boys played football, girls played futbol. The truth is, though, that I've never been surrounded by more people that could kick my ass. Easily. It didn't hurt that, no surprise, I went about everything wrong.
First of all, every local that knew I was going to the game told me two things. 1)Be careful. 2)Don't sit in "el popular". The general admission section has a notorious reputation, and it's even worse for big games. Guess where my ticket was. Knowing that we could be heading towards certain doom, my friends and I arrived two hours before the game started, to get there in time to find some good "seats". By the time we got there, the B team was playing and unnecessarily warming up the crowd. There was a decent amount of people, but we could still pick which general area we sat in. We chose a relatively free area that the locals seemed to be avoiding. We assumed it was because it was by a wall, and therefore lame. We were wrong. As soon as we got situated, we felt the beating of several drums. It was The Superfans.
Now, I'd better clarify my word choice here, because my buddies in high school used to call themselves The Superfans. They had a cardboard "D" and fence that they'd bring to our basketball games. Here, they'd get the shit kicked out of them. By the grandmas.
The Argentine Superfan has no more than 7 teeth (a strict requirement), Adidas shoes (equally worn down from chasing balls and foreigners), several accessories that I'll get to in a bit, and only the minimum amount of clothing required by law. He is a direct descendant of the Colosseum fans that would settle for nothing less than a visit from the lions. He has seen death and victory, and would choose either one over a loss. He is barely human.
The pack entered from the tunnel that we were using as a safety wall. There were enough to fill Yankee Stadium, and they engulfed us like hyenas on a wounded deer. With military efficiency, they proceeded unrolling banners that could cover a football field. Some were run across the stands as a type of patriotic roof, others were strung from the top to the field and acted as express transports for people and supplies. Once the decorations were in place (this description would warrant a stabbing according to Superlaw), they started distributing the paper rolls. A small forest's worth of cash register rolls were thrown (hard) at every man, woman, and child in reach. They were courteous enough to send several offerings my way.
Just a little reminder: the game hasn't even started yet.
The crowd was given strict instructions to wait until the team emerged (with several violent reminders to those who jumped the gun). When the players emerged, what little bit of the field I could see through the banners was covered with a sea of white. The stadium erupted with cheers, and Helen Keller would have had to cover her ears.
Once the game got started, nothing else mattered. There wasn't a jumbotron, there weren't cheerleaders, there wasn't even music. Just futbol. There were, however, soda hawkers, and they deserve special mention. When Coke cadets graduate from stadium boot camp, only the most talented even have a chance at getting into the Latin American soccer scene.
I, however, couldn't see shit. As mentioned, I was right behind some guys that were a little excited. They stood on the railings in front of us so that I was forced to look between legs and banners to even get a glimpse of the action. But fighting for one's life sure passes the time. The first half ended pretty quickly, and we snuck out as quietly as possible the first chance we got. We went to the outermost fringe of el popular to get some semblance of civility. What I could see was actually pretty good soccer. The game ended with the anti-climatic score of 0-0, exemplifying my only problem with the sport, their acceptance with a tie. Oh well, at least it's another story!
M
I've been in tornadoes. I've been in earthquakes. None of them comes close to the pulsing of a 10 story stadium to the beat of almost a hundred thousand people. Well, not really people, futbol fans. They're a different breed.
Until recently, I've never really been too into soccer. To be honest, my midwestern upbringing kind of biased me against the sport. Boys played football, girls played futbol. The truth is, though, that I've never been surrounded by more people that could kick my ass. Easily. It didn't hurt that, no surprise, I went about everything wrong.
First of all, every local that knew I was going to the game told me two things. 1)Be careful. 2)Don't sit in "el popular". The general admission section has a notorious reputation, and it's even worse for big games. Guess where my ticket was. Knowing that we could be heading towards certain doom, my friends and I arrived two hours before the game started, to get there in time to find some good "seats". By the time we got there, the B team was playing and unnecessarily warming up the crowd. There was a decent amount of people, but we could still pick which general area we sat in. We chose a relatively free area that the locals seemed to be avoiding. We assumed it was because it was by a wall, and therefore lame. We were wrong. As soon as we got situated, we felt the beating of several drums. It was The Superfans.
Now, I'd better clarify my word choice here, because my buddies in high school used to call themselves The Superfans. They had a cardboard "D" and fence that they'd bring to our basketball games. Here, they'd get the shit kicked out of them. By the grandmas.
The Argentine Superfan has no more than 7 teeth (a strict requirement), Adidas shoes (equally worn down from chasing balls and foreigners), several accessories that I'll get to in a bit, and only the minimum amount of clothing required by law. He is a direct descendant of the Colosseum fans that would settle for nothing less than a visit from the lions. He has seen death and victory, and would choose either one over a loss. He is barely human.
The pack entered from the tunnel that we were using as a safety wall. There were enough to fill Yankee Stadium, and they engulfed us like hyenas on a wounded deer. With military efficiency, they proceeded unrolling banners that could cover a football field. Some were run across the stands as a type of patriotic roof, others were strung from the top to the field and acted as express transports for people and supplies. Once the decorations were in place (this description would warrant a stabbing according to Superlaw), they started distributing the paper rolls. A small forest's worth of cash register rolls were thrown (hard) at every man, woman, and child in reach. They were courteous enough to send several offerings my way.
Just a little reminder: the game hasn't even started yet.
The crowd was given strict instructions to wait until the team emerged (with several violent reminders to those who jumped the gun). When the players emerged, what little bit of the field I could see through the banners was covered with a sea of white. The stadium erupted with cheers, and Helen Keller would have had to cover her ears.
Once the game got started, nothing else mattered. There wasn't a jumbotron, there weren't cheerleaders, there wasn't even music. Just futbol. There were, however, soda hawkers, and they deserve special mention. When Coke cadets graduate from stadium boot camp, only the most talented even have a chance at getting into the Latin American soccer scene.
I, however, couldn't see shit. As mentioned, I was right behind some guys that were a little excited. They stood on the railings in front of us so that I was forced to look between legs and banners to even get a glimpse of the action. But fighting for one's life sure passes the time. The first half ended pretty quickly, and we snuck out as quietly as possible the first chance we got. We went to the outermost fringe of el popular to get some semblance of civility. What I could see was actually pretty good soccer. The game ended with the anti-climatic score of 0-0, exemplifying my only problem with the sport, their acceptance with a tie. Oh well, at least it's another story!
M
Friday, October 14, 2005
Who needs sleep, anyway?
So, this Sunday is the biggest futbol game of the year, pretty much El Super Bowl around here. The game's between the two biggest teams in the country, and it's almost a religious affair. The futbol season is one big tournament, so every game counts like it's the playoffs. This one's an especially big deal, and I hear that it's quite a spectacle.
Tickets to this game are just about impossible to get, but they release them a little bit differently than in the US, so you don't need to get them years ahead of time. The assigned seats were offered a few weeks ago, and got nabbed up quick. There are several thousand standing room only tickets that get distributed through various channels (like at the opposing team's stadium, by mail to club members, etc.), but never online or anything. If you want a ticket, you have to work for it. This morning, 4000 standing room tickets were released (the only ones offered to the public, and the last available spots anywhere in the stadium). I knew this would be too good to miss.
Yesterday afternoon, some friends and I were talking about camping out at the stadium to get our tickets, but no solid plans were made. Around 1:00am, I called the only one who's phone number I knew. No answer. [This particular group of North Americans all live in a dormitory, the alternative to a homestay. It's kind of like a brewery, but with more alcohol. Needless to say, they're not really here for the language. But they are fun!] So, I called again in a bit; my friend picked up and once I heard the noise in the back ground, I knew this was going to be tough. "Woooo!!!! Myles!!!!! Yeah, so, like, someone bought a few liters, and we're having a dorm party." You don't say. I reminded her about the game, and she said she'd call me in a bit. Now, I just had to keep myself awake.
The minutes pass like hours, and I ran out of crosswords. I decided to go over to the stadium around 3, to see how busy it was. Even then, there was a pretty decent sized pack of people forming. Around 4:30, I gave up on her and succumbed to my sleepiness. I was pissed, but too tired to put up much of a fight. But just as I was falling asleep, beep-beep, she calls. I told her that I was down for the count and to go ahead without me. I went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep because of the ass kicking Bad Myles was giving Good Myles. "Well, I could do homework tomorrow...You pansie, how many riotus soccer games will you get the chance to go to...but I'm so tired..." Bad Myles won.
I called my friend and told her that I'd meet them at the stadium. After a minor wrong-bus scare, I found my way back to the stadium, and the crowd was huge. Thankfully, my friends beat the big after-club rush, so I hopped in line with them, to the undoubted irritation of several porteños, but nobody said anything, I was hardy the first. Of course, my friends were trashed, so us gringos stood out like, well, like 5 Americans at a soccer game. By 6:00, we were all nestled in our spots watching the sun come up over River Plate Stadium.
Well, some of us saw it.
Around 8:00, things atarted getting interesting. About every twenty minutes, or so, there'd be some murmuring in the crowd, and all of the sudden, everybody would stand up and start running. All we ended up doing was packing more and more people into an already small space, but at least it offered some excitement. The police showed up about then, too, in full riot gear, no less. Every third one had what was more of a portable cannon than a shotgun, so nothing serious broke out, but every now and then, we'd see them go into the crowd and pull out a few drunks. This sobered up my friends quite well.
The stadium was conveniently located right next to a pedestrian overpass, so there was quite a bit of heckling to keep me entertained. Most of it was harmless whistling at the girls that walked by, but when a fan for the other team walked by, I learned about 8000 new insults in Spanish.
At 9:30, the gates opened, and mass chaos broke out. People were running at full sprint, although the pack was way too dense for anyone to move. Saying that it was the worst crowd control that I've ever seen implies that there was some degree of crowd control. But after about 2 hours of pushing--and getting pushed--through the crowd, I finally got to the ticket counter. I asked them who was playing, they didn't find it funny. But I got a ticket. As I was walking out to regroup with my friends, I was offered several times more than what I paid ($5), but no amount of money could have convinced me. I worked my ass off for that ticket, and I'm going to the game!
I got home at 11:00am, and with the exception of the time taken to write this positing, I plan on sleeping straight up to the game. I'll let you all know how it goes, but if the ticket line was any indication, it should be quite a story!
M
Tickets to this game are just about impossible to get, but they release them a little bit differently than in the US, so you don't need to get them years ahead of time. The assigned seats were offered a few weeks ago, and got nabbed up quick. There are several thousand standing room only tickets that get distributed through various channels (like at the opposing team's stadium, by mail to club members, etc.), but never online or anything. If you want a ticket, you have to work for it. This morning, 4000 standing room tickets were released (the only ones offered to the public, and the last available spots anywhere in the stadium). I knew this would be too good to miss.
Yesterday afternoon, some friends and I were talking about camping out at the stadium to get our tickets, but no solid plans were made. Around 1:00am, I called the only one who's phone number I knew. No answer. [This particular group of North Americans all live in a dormitory, the alternative to a homestay. It's kind of like a brewery, but with more alcohol. Needless to say, they're not really here for the language. But they are fun!] So, I called again in a bit; my friend picked up and once I heard the noise in the back ground, I knew this was going to be tough. "Woooo!!!! Myles!!!!! Yeah, so, like, someone bought a few liters, and we're having a dorm party." You don't say. I reminded her about the game, and she said she'd call me in a bit. Now, I just had to keep myself awake.
The minutes pass like hours, and I ran out of crosswords. I decided to go over to the stadium around 3, to see how busy it was. Even then, there was a pretty decent sized pack of people forming. Around 4:30, I gave up on her and succumbed to my sleepiness. I was pissed, but too tired to put up much of a fight. But just as I was falling asleep, beep-beep, she calls. I told her that I was down for the count and to go ahead without me. I went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep because of the ass kicking Bad Myles was giving Good Myles. "Well, I could do homework tomorrow...You pansie, how many riotus soccer games will you get the chance to go to...but I'm so tired..." Bad Myles won.
I called my friend and told her that I'd meet them at the stadium. After a minor wrong-bus scare, I found my way back to the stadium, and the crowd was huge. Thankfully, my friends beat the big after-club rush, so I hopped in line with them, to the undoubted irritation of several porteños, but nobody said anything, I was hardy the first. Of course, my friends were trashed, so us gringos stood out like, well, like 5 Americans at a soccer game. By 6:00, we were all nestled in our spots watching the sun come up over River Plate Stadium.
Well, some of us saw it.
Around 8:00, things atarted getting interesting. About every twenty minutes, or so, there'd be some murmuring in the crowd, and all of the sudden, everybody would stand up and start running. All we ended up doing was packing more and more people into an already small space, but at least it offered some excitement. The police showed up about then, too, in full riot gear, no less. Every third one had what was more of a portable cannon than a shotgun, so nothing serious broke out, but every now and then, we'd see them go into the crowd and pull out a few drunks. This sobered up my friends quite well.
The stadium was conveniently located right next to a pedestrian overpass, so there was quite a bit of heckling to keep me entertained. Most of it was harmless whistling at the girls that walked by, but when a fan for the other team walked by, I learned about 8000 new insults in Spanish.
At 9:30, the gates opened, and mass chaos broke out. People were running at full sprint, although the pack was way too dense for anyone to move. Saying that it was the worst crowd control that I've ever seen implies that there was some degree of crowd control. But after about 2 hours of pushing--and getting pushed--through the crowd, I finally got to the ticket counter. I asked them who was playing, they didn't find it funny. But I got a ticket. As I was walking out to regroup with my friends, I was offered several times more than what I paid ($5), but no amount of money could have convinced me. I worked my ass off for that ticket, and I'm going to the game!
I got home at 11:00am, and with the exception of the time taken to write this positing, I plan on sleeping straight up to the game. I'll let you all know how it goes, but if the ticket line was any indication, it should be quite a story!
M
Saturday, October 08, 2005
What a night!
Working at a free health clinic in Mexico has provided me with countless experiences that I'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else: receptive patients, amazing food, latent tuberculosis. Well, the last one's kind of a bitch, but at least it's treatable, although the cure may be worse than the disease. For the last seven months, I've been taking a daily antibiotic that apparantly can do quite a number on my liver if I combine it with excess alcohol. (The definition of excess is, of course, generally dependant on how cheap it can be obtained.)
So how does any of this relate to last night? Well, losing my liver would be quite a pisser. And as such, I've been pretty picky with the nights that I go out, with the obvious exceptions of my first few epic weeks. I did however, decide to go out last night for the birthday of a friend of a friend of a friend. Here's how the night unfolded:
11:00pm - I received a text message from a friend with the address of the party we had talked about earlier that day. All Buenos Aires addresses have a street name followed by a number, no east or west. If a street runs the length of the city, its name changes as it crosses the center. If it doesn't, it's numbers start and stop at apparently random values. (At this point, is anybody surprised?) So, one number means one location. Unless the same street name exists in one of Buenos Aires' many suburbs (I think you know what's coming). The next three hours would have passed much smoother had I just called my friend to clarify, but student-traveler commandment #17 is: Thou shalt conservath thy cell minutes (even if that means sending a small fortune's worth of 10-cent messages). Who ever said religion makes sense?
11:10pm - I set off on a bus towards downtown, and felt the beginings of an intense I-really-gotta-pee sensation develop in my bladder. The latter event being severly compounded by the first, shock absorbers haven't quite caught on here.
12:10am - I got of the bus as close as I could get to my destination, but by now my bladder was screamming, "you'd better walk fast, dumbshit, I told you to go before we left."
12:15am - I arrived at LaValle 1498, as planned. Although the neighborhood didn't have quite the suburban feel that was described to me. I didn't care, as long as the place had a bathroom. I walked up to the building, and this is where things got interesting. Once I got close, I could see that the building didn't appear to have been occupied since the cold war, at least not by anything with less than 4 legs. In fact, the whole neighborhood had an erily empty feel. In my haste to find a toilet, I hadn't really noticed my surroundings, but I was in a place I really shouldn't have been. I sent a note to see where they were, and my friend told me to come up the 11th floor. In a fit of inginuity, I walked across the street and started counting windows, only nine. That's not right. Through a series of text messages, I realized that I was at the wrong LaValle, no surprise. But at least this address fiasco took my mind off having to pee. I noticed that the pain went away, and at first I thought, "great, my bladder probably just hit capacity and popped." Really, I did, I'm not quite as smart as you think I am. I then realized that a popped bladder would probably hurt more than having to pee, so I (no joke) felt my pants to make sure there wasn't any leakage. Don't worry, I was safe. Maybe I just didn't have to pee anymore.
12:18am - I was wrong. The pain came back at a level that would justify pissing myself on the spot. I couldn't quite run without making things worse, but I performed the clumsy piss-gallop that anyone who's put back a couple of big gulps knows firsthand.
12:25am - I arrived at McDonald's, the American embassy of cheap drinks and free bathrooms. Abroad, their signs read, "4 billion flushed."
12:26am - Unzip.
12:32am - Ahh, much better.
2:15am - After quite a long walk and bus ride, I arrived at the intersection where we were supposed to meet. With my two friends with me, I showed up to a house in which there wasn't a single person I knew. I wasn't too worried, though, Argentines are generally very social, and my Spanish is improving. We spent the next couple of hours chatting and playing ping-pong, only one of which was facilitated by the alcohol.
4:00am - Somewhere around the 30th time my ass was handed to me on the ping-pong table, there were murmurings of going out to a club. There was a time on this trip when that would have surprised me, but not anymore. The problem was, however, that there is only one thing harder than getting nine Argentines focused on one plan: doing that while they're drunk. I just took a backseat on this one and went to town on the pretzels until something developed.
4:45am - With a destination known and taxi called, we went outside and peed on all the neighbors' yards. I wasn't even drunk (really!), it's just not a big deal here. If I only would have known that a few hours ago!
5:15am - We entered a club that was actually very close to my house. After about half of us paid the cover, the other half decided they didn't like the way that place felt that night. No enough people. Here's a thought, perhaps they're sleeping. Thankfully, the bouncers, in a rare showing of humanity, gave us our money back. It didn't hurt that there were a few cute girls with us.
5:30am - We moved to another place, one just as close to my house. We all pay and enter, no problem, yet.
5:45am - No more than 15 minute after we enter (and pay $10), the house lights come one and the bar tender tells us that the place is closing. Us Americans, the hard asses that we are, jumped right up, but our Argentine friends started arguing with the guy, telling that no one told us they were about to close when we paid. So they get all animated, like Argentines do, and half the bar staff comes over, giving us to-go cups for our drinks, the works. No effect. A couple of cops came out of no where, and the locals start yelling at them that they're no better than private security. It's no secret that Latin American police officers are available to the highest bidder, but that's neither here nor there, I'm about to get sent to jail. Here we yankies are, like, "Ahem, cough cough, uh, arrest means deportation for us." So we, with the help of the Argentines that weren't too upset, dragged out the rest.
6:00am - A couple of the guys start asking where we shold go next, but I was way too wiped out to think of anything but home. I wasn't alone, but the other two Americans lived to far too walk. So my only links to the group took a cab home, leaving me with a group of wild natives that we're still iching for more. In my haste to break off before the next near-arrest, I said my goodbyes and took off without paying attention to the direction in which I was heading. Good thing there was pleny of sun light to see the signs!
6:30am - I got home and did a samurai-crawl to my room, so as to not wake up the rest of the family. Although, knowing them, they probably weren't even back yet! By that point, I had already passed the sleepiness hump and wasn't too tired, although I knew I would be the next day.
3:00pm - Yep, I was right.
M
So how does any of this relate to last night? Well, losing my liver would be quite a pisser. And as such, I've been pretty picky with the nights that I go out, with the obvious exceptions of my first few epic weeks. I did however, decide to go out last night for the birthday of a friend of a friend of a friend. Here's how the night unfolded:
11:00pm - I received a text message from a friend with the address of the party we had talked about earlier that day. All Buenos Aires addresses have a street name followed by a number, no east or west. If a street runs the length of the city, its name changes as it crosses the center. If it doesn't, it's numbers start and stop at apparently random values. (At this point, is anybody surprised?) So, one number means one location. Unless the same street name exists in one of Buenos Aires' many suburbs (I think you know what's coming). The next three hours would have passed much smoother had I just called my friend to clarify, but student-traveler commandment #17 is: Thou shalt conservath thy cell minutes (even if that means sending a small fortune's worth of 10-cent messages). Who ever said religion makes sense?
11:10pm - I set off on a bus towards downtown, and felt the beginings of an intense I-really-gotta-pee sensation develop in my bladder. The latter event being severly compounded by the first, shock absorbers haven't quite caught on here.
12:10am - I got of the bus as close as I could get to my destination, but by now my bladder was screamming, "you'd better walk fast, dumbshit, I told you to go before we left."
12:15am - I arrived at LaValle 1498, as planned. Although the neighborhood didn't have quite the suburban feel that was described to me. I didn't care, as long as the place had a bathroom. I walked up to the building, and this is where things got interesting. Once I got close, I could see that the building didn't appear to have been occupied since the cold war, at least not by anything with less than 4 legs. In fact, the whole neighborhood had an erily empty feel. In my haste to find a toilet, I hadn't really noticed my surroundings, but I was in a place I really shouldn't have been. I sent a note to see where they were, and my friend told me to come up the 11th floor. In a fit of inginuity, I walked across the street and started counting windows, only nine. That's not right. Through a series of text messages, I realized that I was at the wrong LaValle, no surprise. But at least this address fiasco took my mind off having to pee. I noticed that the pain went away, and at first I thought, "great, my bladder probably just hit capacity and popped." Really, I did, I'm not quite as smart as you think I am. I then realized that a popped bladder would probably hurt more than having to pee, so I (no joke) felt my pants to make sure there wasn't any leakage. Don't worry, I was safe. Maybe I just didn't have to pee anymore.
12:18am - I was wrong. The pain came back at a level that would justify pissing myself on the spot. I couldn't quite run without making things worse, but I performed the clumsy piss-gallop that anyone who's put back a couple of big gulps knows firsthand.
12:25am - I arrived at McDonald's, the American embassy of cheap drinks and free bathrooms. Abroad, their signs read, "4 billion flushed."
12:26am - Unzip.
12:32am - Ahh, much better.
2:15am - After quite a long walk and bus ride, I arrived at the intersection where we were supposed to meet. With my two friends with me, I showed up to a house in which there wasn't a single person I knew. I wasn't too worried, though, Argentines are generally very social, and my Spanish is improving. We spent the next couple of hours chatting and playing ping-pong, only one of which was facilitated by the alcohol.
4:00am - Somewhere around the 30th time my ass was handed to me on the ping-pong table, there were murmurings of going out to a club. There was a time on this trip when that would have surprised me, but not anymore. The problem was, however, that there is only one thing harder than getting nine Argentines focused on one plan: doing that while they're drunk. I just took a backseat on this one and went to town on the pretzels until something developed.
4:45am - With a destination known and taxi called, we went outside and peed on all the neighbors' yards. I wasn't even drunk (really!), it's just not a big deal here. If I only would have known that a few hours ago!
5:15am - We entered a club that was actually very close to my house. After about half of us paid the cover, the other half decided they didn't like the way that place felt that night. No enough people. Here's a thought, perhaps they're sleeping. Thankfully, the bouncers, in a rare showing of humanity, gave us our money back. It didn't hurt that there were a few cute girls with us.
5:30am - We moved to another place, one just as close to my house. We all pay and enter, no problem, yet.
5:45am - No more than 15 minute after we enter (and pay $10), the house lights come one and the bar tender tells us that the place is closing. Us Americans, the hard asses that we are, jumped right up, but our Argentine friends started arguing with the guy, telling that no one told us they were about to close when we paid. So they get all animated, like Argentines do, and half the bar staff comes over, giving us to-go cups for our drinks, the works. No effect. A couple of cops came out of no where, and the locals start yelling at them that they're no better than private security. It's no secret that Latin American police officers are available to the highest bidder, but that's neither here nor there, I'm about to get sent to jail. Here we yankies are, like, "Ahem, cough cough, uh, arrest means deportation for us." So we, with the help of the Argentines that weren't too upset, dragged out the rest.
6:00am - A couple of the guys start asking where we shold go next, but I was way too wiped out to think of anything but home. I wasn't alone, but the other two Americans lived to far too walk. So my only links to the group took a cab home, leaving me with a group of wild natives that we're still iching for more. In my haste to break off before the next near-arrest, I said my goodbyes and took off without paying attention to the direction in which I was heading. Good thing there was pleny of sun light to see the signs!
6:30am - I got home and did a samurai-crawl to my room, so as to not wake up the rest of the family. Although, knowing them, they probably weren't even back yet! By that point, I had already passed the sleepiness hump and wasn't too tired, although I knew I would be the next day.
3:00pm - Yep, I was right.
M
Saturday, October 01, 2005
City Slickers III
Hi all,
I know that I promised an ode to Buenos Aires, but that post is taking longer than I thought it would, and I want to tell you what I did today.
Well, as the title implies, the exchange program took all 40 (or so) of us metropolitan yuppies-in-training out to a dude ranch in the country. These are known here as "estancias", and this one was very livestock oriented, as are all the farms in the interior of Argentina.
The trip started after a grueling 6:30am wake up, followed by a bus ride out into the country. Needless to say, I didn't get to take in most of the trip, since I was finishing what I started at 2am. I'm no quitter. We eventually arrived in a place called New Holland, which, as the name implies is the remnants of a dutch settlement founded after WWII. It feels just like any other part of the farmlands, but many of the workers there can trace their roots back to the land of weed and honey.
We all ate a breakfast of delicious homemade bread, and then broke off to different activities. Horses were available, but only for ten people at a time. My enthusiasm got the best of me and I volunteered to be one of the first. For all comedic purposes, this was definitely the highlight of the day, although that's much easier to say now that I'm resting on a non-living item. During the adventure, I probably would have wet my pants, if I didn't fear upsetting the four-legged demon that I was sitting on. Where to begin...
Well, as I said, there were ten horses available in the first group, but there weren't too many people running to get in line--everyone else clearly knew something that I didn't--but I thought I'd give it a try. We were told to stay close, since the horses would be ready in a few minutes. An hour later (this is Argentina, after all), two very sun-worn, tough looking dudes mounted a couple of horses and galloped off to round up our rides. Apparently, cowboys don't die, they just move to Argentina. A few minutes later, John Wayne and Butch Cassidy returned, circling a pack of horses in a scene straight out of a beer commercial. At this point, I began wondering what the hell I got myself into. I didn't stop wondering that until I was back on my own two feet.
Señor Wayne came up to us and told us that these were actual, responsive horse that weren't like the kind we've ridden before. (Oh God, he thinks I've ridden a horse before.)
[Actually, for the sake of humor, I've omitted my few encounters of the four-legged kind, I'm really not an absolute novice. My equestrian career: 1) A few lessons in summer camp about 10 years ago (of which I remember nothing about), 2) A trip with my uncle and cousin on top of a rented horse that made a city bus driver look enthusiastic, and 3) the knowledge of how things turned out for Christopher Reeves, Genghis Khan, and just about everybody in Gone With the Wind. Not the best combination. With that out of the way, on with the story]
Our guides continued to ease our worries by telling us that a few of the horses never really responded well to training, and they should be handled by experienced riders. They asked if anyone knew how to ride a horse, and a few hands went up, but none of them belonged to me. He told a girl with some horseback experience that she'd have her hands full with the first horse he brought over. If the Trojans used an actual horse, this would be the one. As he was helping her up (and up, and up), he noticed me, and I knew what was coming. No, don't say it. "You," he said, pointing at me. Crap. "You should take this horse, it'll fit you better." Fit better? I won't be fitting too well in the tree he throws me into!
I got on it, relatively uneventfully, and we proceeded as a group though the surrounding forest. Well, they proceeded as a group. I had some problems keeping up. My horse didn't quite get the concept of a gradual turn, it had two modes: straight away, or a move that I called toilet-bowling. It was like a living tilt-a-whirl. I eventually caught up to the group only to find them stuck at a stream. There was a bridge a few meters away, and it seemed like the better option to most of the horses, but not mine. Of course. My horse (oblivious to any of my instructions given in last-ditch desperation) came to what felt like a full gallop, and perfectly cleared a 2 yard gap. I can't possibly convey that feeling in words (at least in polite company), but now I know what it feels like to be truly breathless. I wish I were joking. I was at once thrilled, bewildered, and poop-my-pants afraid. My horse (and everyone else within earshot) was lucky I couldn't find the breath to express myself. It really was an unreal experience.
The ride continued with a few more glitches and hijinks, but I've got to move on with the story. We came back to a lunch that I'm lucky wasn't served before the ride of doom. But it was absolutely delicious, at least until I started asking questions. Here's a sample of a few exchanges between my server and me (in Spanish, of course):
Me: Mmmm, this is delicious, what is it?
Server: Cow pituitary gland.
Me: Oh.
Me: Mmmm, this sausage tastes great, but why is the texture so different? What's in it, refried beans?
Server: No, congealed cow's blood.
Me: Aaackk, bleegggg, guurrff. Oh.
The rest of the afternoon actually passed in a surprisingly tranquil manner. I spent the first part of the afternoon scaling a mobile climbing wall that was set up on the grounds. After all, nothing says "relaxing day in the Argentine pampas" quite like clinging on to ceramic nipples for dear life. I also played in a great game of soccer which wouldn't be very funny at all if the field hadn't been littered with the biggest cow pies I've seen in my life. It was kind of like playing soccer in a mine field, although this one was just a little bit worse. Afterwards we played some volleyball, and although the court wasn't dotted with poo-bombs, was inhabited by several ostriches that were pretty reluctant to give up their stomping grounds.
The day ended up being very fun, and I've got quite a decent tan to show for it. I apologize about the length, but, as Tom Robbins says, the details make the story. If you don't know who he is, look him up, it's worth it. Talk to you all soon.
M
I know that I promised an ode to Buenos Aires, but that post is taking longer than I thought it would, and I want to tell you what I did today.
Well, as the title implies, the exchange program took all 40 (or so) of us metropolitan yuppies-in-training out to a dude ranch in the country. These are known here as "estancias", and this one was very livestock oriented, as are all the farms in the interior of Argentina.
The trip started after a grueling 6:30am wake up, followed by a bus ride out into the country. Needless to say, I didn't get to take in most of the trip, since I was finishing what I started at 2am. I'm no quitter. We eventually arrived in a place called New Holland, which, as the name implies is the remnants of a dutch settlement founded after WWII. It feels just like any other part of the farmlands, but many of the workers there can trace their roots back to the land of weed and honey.
We all ate a breakfast of delicious homemade bread, and then broke off to different activities. Horses were available, but only for ten people at a time. My enthusiasm got the best of me and I volunteered to be one of the first. For all comedic purposes, this was definitely the highlight of the day, although that's much easier to say now that I'm resting on a non-living item. During the adventure, I probably would have wet my pants, if I didn't fear upsetting the four-legged demon that I was sitting on. Where to begin...
Well, as I said, there were ten horses available in the first group, but there weren't too many people running to get in line--everyone else clearly knew something that I didn't--but I thought I'd give it a try. We were told to stay close, since the horses would be ready in a few minutes. An hour later (this is Argentina, after all), two very sun-worn, tough looking dudes mounted a couple of horses and galloped off to round up our rides. Apparently, cowboys don't die, they just move to Argentina. A few minutes later, John Wayne and Butch Cassidy returned, circling a pack of horses in a scene straight out of a beer commercial. At this point, I began wondering what the hell I got myself into. I didn't stop wondering that until I was back on my own two feet.
Señor Wayne came up to us and told us that these were actual, responsive horse that weren't like the kind we've ridden before. (Oh God, he thinks I've ridden a horse before.)
[Actually, for the sake of humor, I've omitted my few encounters of the four-legged kind, I'm really not an absolute novice. My equestrian career: 1) A few lessons in summer camp about 10 years ago (of which I remember nothing about), 2) A trip with my uncle and cousin on top of a rented horse that made a city bus driver look enthusiastic, and 3) the knowledge of how things turned out for Christopher Reeves, Genghis Khan, and just about everybody in Gone With the Wind. Not the best combination. With that out of the way, on with the story]
Our guides continued to ease our worries by telling us that a few of the horses never really responded well to training, and they should be handled by experienced riders. They asked if anyone knew how to ride a horse, and a few hands went up, but none of them belonged to me. He told a girl with some horseback experience that she'd have her hands full with the first horse he brought over. If the Trojans used an actual horse, this would be the one. As he was helping her up (and up, and up), he noticed me, and I knew what was coming. No, don't say it. "You," he said, pointing at me. Crap. "You should take this horse, it'll fit you better." Fit better? I won't be fitting too well in the tree he throws me into!
I got on it, relatively uneventfully, and we proceeded as a group though the surrounding forest. Well, they proceeded as a group. I had some problems keeping up. My horse didn't quite get the concept of a gradual turn, it had two modes: straight away, or a move that I called toilet-bowling. It was like a living tilt-a-whirl. I eventually caught up to the group only to find them stuck at a stream. There was a bridge a few meters away, and it seemed like the better option to most of the horses, but not mine. Of course. My horse (oblivious to any of my instructions given in last-ditch desperation) came to what felt like a full gallop, and perfectly cleared a 2 yard gap. I can't possibly convey that feeling in words (at least in polite company), but now I know what it feels like to be truly breathless. I wish I were joking. I was at once thrilled, bewildered, and poop-my-pants afraid. My horse (and everyone else within earshot) was lucky I couldn't find the breath to express myself. It really was an unreal experience.
The ride continued with a few more glitches and hijinks, but I've got to move on with the story. We came back to a lunch that I'm lucky wasn't served before the ride of doom. But it was absolutely delicious, at least until I started asking questions. Here's a sample of a few exchanges between my server and me (in Spanish, of course):
Me: Mmmm, this is delicious, what is it?
Server: Cow pituitary gland.
Me: Oh.
Me: Mmmm, this sausage tastes great, but why is the texture so different? What's in it, refried beans?
Server: No, congealed cow's blood.
Me: Aaackk, bleegggg, guurrff. Oh.
The rest of the afternoon actually passed in a surprisingly tranquil manner. I spent the first part of the afternoon scaling a mobile climbing wall that was set up on the grounds. After all, nothing says "relaxing day in the Argentine pampas" quite like clinging on to ceramic nipples for dear life. I also played in a great game of soccer which wouldn't be very funny at all if the field hadn't been littered with the biggest cow pies I've seen in my life. It was kind of like playing soccer in a mine field, although this one was just a little bit worse. Afterwards we played some volleyball, and although the court wasn't dotted with poo-bombs, was inhabited by several ostriches that were pretty reluctant to give up their stomping grounds.
The day ended up being very fun, and I've got quite a decent tan to show for it. I apologize about the length, but, as Tom Robbins says, the details make the story. If you don't know who he is, look him up, it's worth it. Talk to you all soon.
M
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Another day in Buenos Aires
Well, I'm up way too late, but I've prepaid another hour at the internet café, and I'd hate to waste it. Lucky you.
I've been collecting a few of my photos that represent Buenos Aires life pretty well. [At this point, I'm tempted to say something cheezy about how the pictures are necessary, since there really is no way to convey the city's spirit through words. But that's lame, and it actually isn't too hard to do: it's a dirty Paris.]
I've mentioned that Argentina had a big European immigration boom a couple hundred years ago, and then proceeded to become one of the world's 10 richest countries. A position that it held until about 50 years ago. (It's ok that you didn't know that, there's no movie about it, yet.) So, all that money and a heavy French accent contributed to the development of a full blooded Eurotown. The famous (to anyone outside the USA) Teatro Colón is a good testament to that; it was the biggest theater in the Southern Hemishphere until the Sydney opera house was built. However, after the boom, Argentina suffered through a series of seriously crappy governments. You might remember Madonna as Evita Peron, she was the wife of the last decent president. But after him, Argentina made the Middle East look stable. There was even a period where the country went through five presidents in two weeks. As a result of this grown up version of musical chairs (and a few decades of military dictatorships), many Argentine landmarks were left to crumble. This is shown very well by the National Congress building. At first glance, it looks pretty majestic, but click on the photo and look at the zoomed in version; it's covered with graffiti.
Modern Buenos Aires has picked and chosen which European roots that it wanted to revive, and one of them is it's fashion sensibility. Every top international designer has a store here, and the domestic duds can be even more expensive. Accessories are also important, and none of them are as crucial as the dog. It seems that everyone in the city has one. But of course, they put their own twist on it. The porteños (that's a less-clunky way of saying Buenos Airesans) buy the dogs at their cutest, brightest-eyed phase, and then seem shocked when they grow up and start taking grown up-sized dumps. This is when the pups get relegated to the back porch, but don't feel too bad for them just yet. The majority of them are given to professional dog walkers a few times a week to go on little tours of the city. With a little addition of Buenos Aires charm, these collective romps are turned into roving shit machines. Watch your step. Really.
The dog walkers are a good example of Argentina's under-employed. A lack of social security prevents anyone from being truly unemployed. So the people take up casual labor, such as the employees of this fruit stand outside a large grocery store. It gets the job done, but a stable government really would go quite a long way for these people.
This is Avenida 9 de Julio, the World's largest boulevard. All I have to say about this is that if you want to cross it on foot, you'd better have balls the size of watermelons, and about an hour and a half. Good luck.
Well, with my money going to good use, I feel like I can duly retire. It must have been the time of night that brought out this mildly-bitter, bitingly-sarcastic, hyphenation-employing tone, but the truth is that I really do love this place, and my next posting will show you why.
M
I've been collecting a few of my photos that represent Buenos Aires life pretty well. [At this point, I'm tempted to say something cheezy about how the pictures are necessary, since there really is no way to convey the city's spirit through words. But that's lame, and it actually isn't too hard to do: it's a dirty Paris.]
I've mentioned that Argentina had a big European immigration boom a couple hundred years ago, and then proceeded to become one of the world's 10 richest countries. A position that it held until about 50 years ago. (It's ok that you didn't know that, there's no movie about it, yet.) So, all that money and a heavy French accent contributed to the development of a full blooded Eurotown. The famous (to anyone outside the USA) Teatro Colón is a good testament to that; it was the biggest theater in the Southern Hemishphere until the Sydney opera house was built. However, after the boom, Argentina suffered through a series of seriously crappy governments. You might remember Madonna as Evita Peron, she was the wife of the last decent president. But after him, Argentina made the Middle East look stable. There was even a period where the country went through five presidents in two weeks. As a result of this grown up version of musical chairs (and a few decades of military dictatorships), many Argentine landmarks were left to crumble. This is shown very well by the National Congress building. At first glance, it looks pretty majestic, but click on the photo and look at the zoomed in version; it's covered with graffiti.
Modern Buenos Aires has picked and chosen which European roots that it wanted to revive, and one of them is it's fashion sensibility. Every top international designer has a store here, and the domestic duds can be even more expensive. Accessories are also important, and none of them are as crucial as the dog. It seems that everyone in the city has one. But of course, they put their own twist on it. The porteños (that's a less-clunky way of saying Buenos Airesans) buy the dogs at their cutest, brightest-eyed phase, and then seem shocked when they grow up and start taking grown up-sized dumps. This is when the pups get relegated to the back porch, but don't feel too bad for them just yet. The majority of them are given to professional dog walkers a few times a week to go on little tours of the city. With a little addition of Buenos Aires charm, these collective romps are turned into roving shit machines. Watch your step. Really.
The dog walkers are a good example of Argentina's under-employed. A lack of social security prevents anyone from being truly unemployed. So the people take up casual labor, such as the employees of this fruit stand outside a large grocery store. It gets the job done, but a stable government really would go quite a long way for these people.
This is Avenida 9 de Julio, the World's largest boulevard. All I have to say about this is that if you want to cross it on foot, you'd better have balls the size of watermelons, and about an hour and a half. Good luck.
Well, with my money going to good use, I feel like I can duly retire. It must have been the time of night that brought out this mildly-bitter, bitingly-sarcastic, hyphenation-employing tone, but the truth is that I really do love this place, and my next posting will show you why.
M
Monday, September 19, 2005
The open road beckons
Hi everybody,
Sorry about the absence, but I had a ten page paper due (in tango, of all classes), and I felt bad doing anything at a computer besides working on it. I know, I was surprised, too.
Well, first things first, I have oficially ended my quest for immigration papers. I woke up way too early today to go down to the new immigration office, which was surprisingly close to the first, not surpisingly far from the second. I walked up to the lineless building and saw one couple being told to return that afternoon. Oh man. Surprisingly, I was let in, although it seemed like we needed the same thing. I'm done thinking logically. I walked almost straight to the counter and proceed with the usual vomiting of relevant papers, hoping the clerk knows more than me; he seemed to. He asked what country I was from, so I made the foolish mistake of getting excited. He then took out a scrap of paper and started scribling something down. My ID? After all this, I wouldn't be surprised. He finished and handed me the paper and told me that the date on it was the day that people from my country could come in for processing. It said December 1st, 2005 11am (my return flight is on November 30). Unbelievable. I couldn't have made up a better ending. So I asked the guy if there was some alternative, since I'm leaving the day prior. He asked me when I was returning and and I told him that this was a flight home, and I don't have another trip planned. He seemed amused and asked me why I was trying to get my papers if I was leaving so soon. I had absolutly nothing to say.
Ok, on to happier news. I spent Saturday in a small colonial port town in Uruguay. The town is appropriatly named Colonia and has some of the oldest remaining euro-buildings. It was cute and quaint, but I was about 50 years too young to really apreciate it. Instead, I rented a moped and cruised along the coast and to the interior fmarland. I've never felt so cool in my life.
When I rented the bikes, there were some for $10 and others for $15. The more expensive ones had electronic ignition, but I couldn't imagine why I would want that! Oops. I think I stopped about twice all day, each time so pissed that I'd have to give up another 20 minutes to get the thing going again. When running, though, they were actually quick little suckers. A quick flick of the wrist, and they were up to 45-50 km/h (about 30 mph). If anyone's near my mom, please pick her up off the floor. Yes it was dangerous, but the town was pretty. The only traffic was other tourists just as excited as me live out those Harley fantasies.
Ok, I'm off to bed, but I've got a few more posts in the pipeline, so check back soon.
M
Sorry about the absence, but I had a ten page paper due (in tango, of all classes), and I felt bad doing anything at a computer besides working on it. I know, I was surprised, too.
Well, first things first, I have oficially ended my quest for immigration papers. I woke up way too early today to go down to the new immigration office, which was surprisingly close to the first, not surpisingly far from the second. I walked up to the lineless building and saw one couple being told to return that afternoon. Oh man. Surprisingly, I was let in, although it seemed like we needed the same thing. I'm done thinking logically. I walked almost straight to the counter and proceed with the usual vomiting of relevant papers, hoping the clerk knows more than me; he seemed to. He asked what country I was from, so I made the foolish mistake of getting excited. He then took out a scrap of paper and started scribling something down. My ID? After all this, I wouldn't be surprised. He finished and handed me the paper and told me that the date on it was the day that people from my country could come in for processing. It said December 1st, 2005 11am (my return flight is on November 30). Unbelievable. I couldn't have made up a better ending. So I asked the guy if there was some alternative, since I'm leaving the day prior. He asked me when I was returning and and I told him that this was a flight home, and I don't have another trip planned. He seemed amused and asked me why I was trying to get my papers if I was leaving so soon. I had absolutly nothing to say.
Ok, on to happier news. I spent Saturday in a small colonial port town in Uruguay. The town is appropriatly named Colonia and has some of the oldest remaining euro-buildings. It was cute and quaint, but I was about 50 years too young to really apreciate it. Instead, I rented a moped and cruised along the coast and to the interior fmarland. I've never felt so cool in my life.
When I rented the bikes, there were some for $10 and others for $15. The more expensive ones had electronic ignition, but I couldn't imagine why I would want that! Oops. I think I stopped about twice all day, each time so pissed that I'd have to give up another 20 minutes to get the thing going again. When running, though, they were actually quick little suckers. A quick flick of the wrist, and they were up to 45-50 km/h (about 30 mph). If anyone's near my mom, please pick her up off the floor. Yes it was dangerous, but the town was pretty. The only traffic was other tourists just as excited as me live out those Harley fantasies.
Ok, I'm off to bed, but I've got a few more posts in the pipeline, so check back soon.
M
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
The Interlochen of the South
If Buenos Aires is the Paris of the South, as it's often referred to, it's not too hard to think of what to call Bariloche. Sitting atop the Andes mountains just east of the border with Chile lies one of Argentina's most popular winter retreats. I would have joined the masses on the world class ski slopes had I possessed just an ounce of talent or coordination, but I'm a bit young to become one with a Pine tree. As such, I spent most of my time hiking the spectacular trails in search of my testicles. It turns out than they were, in fact, nestled somewhere in between by stomach and liver, but the scenery was well worth the scare.
The bus ride was a mere 24 hours, broken up in to about a hundred 20 minute segments. The ride was punctuated by so many pick ups and drop offs that sleeping was nearly impossible, but at least I had plenty of time to think of how bad I had to go to the bathroom. Apparently, I'm expected to drop the goods into a filthy plastic bowl at 60 miles an hour with no tp in sight. I don't think so.
All jokes aside, the place was amazing. The region is called the lake district, and for good reason. A quick look around makes this very clear. I met a couple of friends there, and we walked around the Swiss village that is downtown Bariloche, and found a nice little hostel a few blocks away from the main square. We spent the day walking around stopping for chocolate every block or two.
The next day was spent hiking the trails around Llau Llau, one of the most famous resorts in Argentina. I didn't want to waste the my disk space with a picture, but I highly recommend that you google it.
After a night hanging out with the Argentines in out hostel, we pulled ourselves out of bed for a trip to the famous Black Glacier. Despite it's extremely alluring name, the place ended up being no more than dirty ice. The scenery along the way was well worth the trip, though. Here are some highlights:
That about does it for me, I've got "homework" to do, but I've got a lot of cool side trips planned for the next few weekends, so I might actually have something more interesting than visas to write about! Talk to you soon.
M
The bus ride was a mere 24 hours, broken up in to about a hundred 20 minute segments. The ride was punctuated by so many pick ups and drop offs that sleeping was nearly impossible, but at least I had plenty of time to think of how bad I had to go to the bathroom. Apparently, I'm expected to drop the goods into a filthy plastic bowl at 60 miles an hour with no tp in sight. I don't think so.
All jokes aside, the place was amazing. The region is called the lake district, and for good reason. A quick look around makes this very clear. I met a couple of friends there, and we walked around the Swiss village that is downtown Bariloche, and found a nice little hostel a few blocks away from the main square. We spent the day walking around stopping for chocolate every block or two.
The next day was spent hiking the trails around Llau Llau, one of the most famous resorts in Argentina. I didn't want to waste the my disk space with a picture, but I highly recommend that you google it.
After a night hanging out with the Argentines in out hostel, we pulled ourselves out of bed for a trip to the famous Black Glacier. Despite it's extremely alluring name, the place ended up being no more than dirty ice. The scenery along the way was well worth the trip, though. Here are some highlights:
That about does it for me, I've got "homework" to do, but I've got a lot of cool side trips planned for the next few weekends, so I might actually have something more interesting than visas to write about! Talk to you soon.
M
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
I'm still here!
Hi all,
Sorry about the absence, I've been up in the Andes mountains. Although computers weren't impossible to find, free time was. I'm working on an update that will tell all about the trip (it was amazing), but this computer is having a hard time with the photos, and it should be clear by now that my words alone can't carry a post.
In the meantime, I thought I'd start a group email to tell you all when there is a new posting. It's something I should have done a long time ago, but I guess it's better late than never. If you'd like me to send you a note when I put up a new post to the blog, send me an email at myles9%gmail*com. If you were referred by someone and I don't know know you, don't be shy, I'm just glad to have you following along. Obviously replace the % with a @ and the * with a dot. I switched the symbols so that I don't get picked up by the spambots, although I wouldn't mind taking them up on a few of their offers. But something tells me it's not really Penelope Cruz...
Sorry about the absence, I've been up in the Andes mountains. Although computers weren't impossible to find, free time was. I'm working on an update that will tell all about the trip (it was amazing), but this computer is having a hard time with the photos, and it should be clear by now that my words alone can't carry a post.
In the meantime, I thought I'd start a group email to tell you all when there is a new posting. It's something I should have done a long time ago, but I guess it's better late than never. If you'd like me to send you a note when I put up a new post to the blog, send me an email at myles9%gmail*com. If you were referred by someone and I don't know know you, don't be shy, I'm just glad to have you following along. Obviously replace the % with a @ and the * with a dot. I switched the symbols so that I don't get picked up by the spambots, although I wouldn't mind taking them up on a few of their offers. But something tells me it's not really Penelope Cruz...
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Visa woes
Hi all,
I woke up at 8:00 today (yes, that's 8am, believe it or not) to take care of what should have been the last step in my visa paperwork. But because of the never ending bureaucracy-fest that is Argentine government, I'm no closer that I was when I went to bed about 6 hours prior. To fully convey the humor of my morning, I have to back the story up a bit. If you already know the beginnings, my apologies. It's going to be a long one.
In the interest of time, I won't go into too much detail about all the types of visas, but there is a tourist one given automatically upon entry that expires too soon, and a student one that requires my school have an exchange agreement with an Argentine school, which it doesn't. The one remaining option was to gather a ton of my papers and get the permanent resident visa (in the US, it's called a green card). The trials of climbing the bureaucracy ladders in three states to secure all the required documents is a story in itself, but you'll just have to believe me, it wasn't easy.
With forms in hand, I proceeded to the Argentine embassy in Los Angeles without calling beforehand. Of course, they close at noon, they're on Argentine time. And thus begins my love affair with Latin American bureaucracy. Second trip: An hour long wait just to find out that I'm missing a form. This particular form was never brought to my attention on any literature about obtaining visas (this theme will continue). With a month remaining before my trip, I left a self-addressed FedEx envelope (and all my papers, including my passport) at the embassy telling them that I will send in the last part. I stewed for almost a month as I wondered if I was going to get my passport back in time. Two days before I left, I finally received my passport with a large, worldly-looking visa on one of the pages. It came with two envelopes, and of course, no instructions. "Oh well", I thought, "I'll figure things out there".
Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, I went up to the immigration agent and hand him the two envelopes and my passport with a big, dumb look on my face (that translates internationally). He took the larger envelope and I haven't seen it since (I think it had my birth certificate in it, I hope I have a copy!). When he hands me back the smaller one I try to ask him what I should do with it, but he just looked back at me like I asked him if pigs fly. Looking back at how bad my Spanish was at the time, I probably did. But I wasn't deterred, I was in Argentina and everything else would take care of itself. Ha!
After literally weeks of asking anybody with a government job (including our postman) what I was supposed to do with the envelope, I finally found out where I should take it. So I went to a very well hidden government building and wait in line for an hour to learn that this particular department no longer does the paperwork for foreigners. The desk clerk tells my this as if it's common knowledge. Ok, at least I found out where I could have gone last month, that's a start. Before leaving the office I asked around until I found the one person who seems to have known who takes care of it now. Bueno. Problem is, I have to go before 1:00 in the afternoon. By now, I think you all know what precious activity that's bound to interferes with. Crap. After two weeks of procrastination, I squeak out of bed in the wee hours of the late morning and take the 45 minute train ride to a distant part of town. From blocks away, I see a huge line and know that with my luck, it's where I need to go. Of course. This time, though, I ask a security guard if I'm in the right place before I go through the hassle of waiting in line. I am, that's a good start, but I need to get a certificate of residency. Again, I'm told as if I should know this. So I ask him how one might go about getting this certificate of residency? As for his response, Charlie Brown's teacher would have been easier to understand.
Thankfully, this form is a lot more common, and my host mom told me I have to go to the police headquarters that presides over our neighborhood and ask them for it. So I go, pay the $3 fee and am told that I can return the next day between 2 and 6 to pick it up. Wow, that was too easy. Where am I? As you all should have picked up by now, there's going to be a catch. I returned the next day, gave the clerk my name and waited a few minutes. She comes back in a bit and simply tells me that "there isn't one here in your name, NEXT!" Pissed, I leave the police station, it's the last place I want to make a scene. I go home, and guess what's waiting for me, my certificate. Somehow, I managed to mistranslate the instructions. What a surprise.
Hang in there, we're almost done.
I had to allow a few days to recover from the early wakeup before I could go again, but I had renewed excitement. It turns out that the type of visa I got allows me to receive an Argentine ID. It looks like a small passport and will make quite a nice souvenir. So now we get to today and I switch to present tense. I wake up at the ungodly hour mentioned above and trek my way downtown. I'm not quite awake enough to be upset, but I definitely wasn't happy. I go to the same office as before to turn in what should have been everything, and there's not even a line, how nice! There is however a single poster hanging on the gate that I now see is locked. Uh oh. A rough translation is as follows:
"Attention all suckers, starting today, Sept. 1, 2005, we will no longer be processing the paperwork for foreigners at this location, call this number after Sept. 12, 2005, to figure out where it will be handled then. Not like it matters, though, you're missing a form."
M
I woke up at 8:00 today (yes, that's 8am, believe it or not) to take care of what should have been the last step in my visa paperwork. But because of the never ending bureaucracy-fest that is Argentine government, I'm no closer that I was when I went to bed about 6 hours prior. To fully convey the humor of my morning, I have to back the story up a bit. If you already know the beginnings, my apologies. It's going to be a long one.
In the interest of time, I won't go into too much detail about all the types of visas, but there is a tourist one given automatically upon entry that expires too soon, and a student one that requires my school have an exchange agreement with an Argentine school, which it doesn't. The one remaining option was to gather a ton of my papers and get the permanent resident visa (in the US, it's called a green card). The trials of climbing the bureaucracy ladders in three states to secure all the required documents is a story in itself, but you'll just have to believe me, it wasn't easy.
With forms in hand, I proceeded to the Argentine embassy in Los Angeles without calling beforehand. Of course, they close at noon, they're on Argentine time. And thus begins my love affair with Latin American bureaucracy. Second trip: An hour long wait just to find out that I'm missing a form. This particular form was never brought to my attention on any literature about obtaining visas (this theme will continue). With a month remaining before my trip, I left a self-addressed FedEx envelope (and all my papers, including my passport) at the embassy telling them that I will send in the last part. I stewed for almost a month as I wondered if I was going to get my passport back in time. Two days before I left, I finally received my passport with a large, worldly-looking visa on one of the pages. It came with two envelopes, and of course, no instructions. "Oh well", I thought, "I'll figure things out there".
Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, I went up to the immigration agent and hand him the two envelopes and my passport with a big, dumb look on my face (that translates internationally). He took the larger envelope and I haven't seen it since (I think it had my birth certificate in it, I hope I have a copy!). When he hands me back the smaller one I try to ask him what I should do with it, but he just looked back at me like I asked him if pigs fly. Looking back at how bad my Spanish was at the time, I probably did. But I wasn't deterred, I was in Argentina and everything else would take care of itself. Ha!
After literally weeks of asking anybody with a government job (including our postman) what I was supposed to do with the envelope, I finally found out where I should take it. So I went to a very well hidden government building and wait in line for an hour to learn that this particular department no longer does the paperwork for foreigners. The desk clerk tells my this as if it's common knowledge. Ok, at least I found out where I could have gone last month, that's a start. Before leaving the office I asked around until I found the one person who seems to have known who takes care of it now. Bueno. Problem is, I have to go before 1:00 in the afternoon. By now, I think you all know what precious activity that's bound to interferes with. Crap. After two weeks of procrastination, I squeak out of bed in the wee hours of the late morning and take the 45 minute train ride to a distant part of town. From blocks away, I see a huge line and know that with my luck, it's where I need to go. Of course. This time, though, I ask a security guard if I'm in the right place before I go through the hassle of waiting in line. I am, that's a good start, but I need to get a certificate of residency. Again, I'm told as if I should know this. So I ask him how one might go about getting this certificate of residency? As for his response, Charlie Brown's teacher would have been easier to understand.
Thankfully, this form is a lot more common, and my host mom told me I have to go to the police headquarters that presides over our neighborhood and ask them for it. So I go, pay the $3 fee and am told that I can return the next day between 2 and 6 to pick it up. Wow, that was too easy. Where am I? As you all should have picked up by now, there's going to be a catch. I returned the next day, gave the clerk my name and waited a few minutes. She comes back in a bit and simply tells me that "there isn't one here in your name, NEXT!" Pissed, I leave the police station, it's the last place I want to make a scene. I go home, and guess what's waiting for me, my certificate. Somehow, I managed to mistranslate the instructions. What a surprise.
Hang in there, we're almost done.
I had to allow a few days to recover from the early wakeup before I could go again, but I had renewed excitement. It turns out that the type of visa I got allows me to receive an Argentine ID. It looks like a small passport and will make quite a nice souvenir. So now we get to today and I switch to present tense. I wake up at the ungodly hour mentioned above and trek my way downtown. I'm not quite awake enough to be upset, but I definitely wasn't happy. I go to the same office as before to turn in what should have been everything, and there's not even a line, how nice! There is however a single poster hanging on the gate that I now see is locked. Uh oh. A rough translation is as follows:
"Attention all suckers, starting today, Sept. 1, 2005, we will no longer be processing the paperwork for foreigners at this location, call this number after Sept. 12, 2005, to figure out where it will be handled then. Not like it matters, though, you're missing a form."
M
Monday, August 29, 2005
Remember handmade?
Hi everybody,
I went to my favorite fair again yesterday (but I approached it from the other side). Not having my life seriously threatened took a little bit of magic out of the arrival, but I still enjoyed it, nonetheless. My big purchase was a handmade drum by a local artisan. He starts from scratch out of a single piece of wood and makes them one at a time. The finished result is as much a piece of art as it is a musical instrument. Of course, it was incredibly affordable, like everything else here. In comparison, my drums back home are machined out of a blend of several woods which creates a perfectly consistant result every time, but sometimes the little imperfections can add a nice feel to the drum, and definately some personality.
I went by the drum maker's studio to pick up my drum and it was just what I'd imagine a drum maker's studio to look like. Wood shavings everywhere, traditional music on the stereo, and a handful of drums in the corner for repair and maintenence. Here's a pic:
The craftsman's name is Ruben, and he was a really nice guy. I have his contact information if anyone's interested.
Now, how am I going to get this home?
M
I went to my favorite fair again yesterday (but I approached it from the other side). Not having my life seriously threatened took a little bit of magic out of the arrival, but I still enjoyed it, nonetheless. My big purchase was a handmade drum by a local artisan. He starts from scratch out of a single piece of wood and makes them one at a time. The finished result is as much a piece of art as it is a musical instrument. Of course, it was incredibly affordable, like everything else here. In comparison, my drums back home are machined out of a blend of several woods which creates a perfectly consistant result every time, but sometimes the little imperfections can add a nice feel to the drum, and definately some personality.
I went by the drum maker's studio to pick up my drum and it was just what I'd imagine a drum maker's studio to look like. Wood shavings everywhere, traditional music on the stereo, and a handful of drums in the corner for repair and maintenence. Here's a pic:
The craftsman's name is Ruben, and he was a really nice guy. I have his contact information if anyone's interested.
Now, how am I going to get this home?
M
Friday, August 26, 2005
It's been a while
Hi everybody,
As I mentioned last post, I was going to rant for a bit how indigenous
communities like the Guarani in Northwest Argentina need our money and
our sympathy a whole lot less than they need us to stop messing up
their land, but I'm not in the mood, anymore. Besides, you didn't
really want to hear that anyway; you want goofy haircuts and poop jokes, of which I have plenty.
Aside from being in too good of a mood for a "Save the (insert cause
here)" speech, I don't really have much of a direction for this post.
I've just found myself in an internet cafe with plenty of free time.
Shocking, huh? The guy in the booth next to me is smoking, which is
really no surprise in this country. (Well, it looks like you are
going to get a rant, sorry.) I have so few complaints about this
country, but one of them is that everyone smokes a whole lot. Even my
doctor/host dad smokes--talk about culture shock! Outside it's
no big deal, but in restaurants and cafés in can get anoying. They
even allow smoking in discos, where you're already shoulder to
shoulder with everybody else. At last count it was:
Myles's arms: 0
The business end of a lit cigarrette: 8,072 (or so)
Alright, I'm in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and I'm
sitting in an internet café. That's no good. I've got to get out of
here, but I'll talk to you all soon.
Myles
Monday, August 22, 2005
The real Jurassic Park
I just got back from a vacation within a vacation to Northeast Argentina (I know, life is tough). It was amazing. The region is covered by a tropical jungle with several rivers flowing throughout, and they all culminate at Iguazu Falls, the most spectacular natural reserve I have ever seen. This posting's going to be a doosie, so get comfortable.
Day 1: Went to school and swiped my attendance card (after all, I had a class to pretend to be at). Because I had to swing by "school" first, I couldn't leave with the rest of my group. Instead, I would meet them at the bus station. Bad move. I took a bus that should have taken half as long as it did, but I left right at rush hour. I got downtown at the exact time that I was supposed to be at the bus station (10 blocks away). I ran my ass off through the cities parks and busy intersections, stopping every few blocks to confuse the hell out of a police officer. Here's a sample conversation:
Me: Huff...Puff...Excuse me, where is Retiro Station? (In English, my thoughts were way scattered)
Cop: Huh?
Me: Oh yeah, I'm in Argentina.
Cop: Huh?
Me: ¿Donde está la estación Retiro?
Cop: Huh?
Me: Con los autobuses, collectivos, micros, whatever you call them here.
Cop: Ah, por alla. (That way)
Repeat 2x
I finally arrived--panting way more than I should have been. My big backpack and heavy hiking shoes took quite a toll. After I found the group, I was told in the ever-so-laid-back Argentine fashion that the bus company had decided to push back the departure time one hour. Oh.
The bus trip was a relatively pleasant 12 hour ride with seats that fully reclined and would have been quite comfortable for a normal-sized person. Sigh.
Day 2: We arrived at our destination around 8am. From here on out, the trip would only become more amazing. We transferred to a private bus that took us to the ruins of an old mission. The colony was set up to convert (read: deal with) the very large native population based in this part of the country. Celebrating the cultural massacre that defined early colonialism isn't exactly my cup of tea, but there's always something cool about walking through the remains of 400 year old buildings. Here's a pic:
We spent the afternoon hanging out at a working farm/yerba mate plant. It was kind of like a very laid back dude ranch. The farm grew citrus, tea trees, and yerba mate--a similar plant that is brewed in its own special way to produce the national drink. It is heated in an oven an shipped to vendors for packaging and marketing. Here's what the "factory" looked like, I wouldn't expect anything less from this place.
Day 3: We spent the day in the Iguazu National Park, and "amazing" doesn't even come close. The morning was spent exploring the jungle and seeing some smaller falls, I took a ton of pictures, here are a few:
We finished up our time in this area by boarding power boats that took us very close to some of the bigger falls. We got ripped around by the current, and soaked by the spray at the base of the falls. Very fun!
The afternoon was spent taking a train to a different part of the park and seeing the big one, La Gargatua del Diablo (throat of the devil). This is a giant hole in the ground that swallows up the water at the meeting point of three large rivers. It's essentially the meeting point of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, and yt's one of the biggest falls in the world. The falls consume 1,000,000 liters every second. Pictures don't even come close, sorry.
Day 4: We spent the morning (after a third night of almost no sleep and an early wake-up) going to a native reservation. Obviously, the population is a tiny fraction of its original number, but the culture still exists as well as it can in our modern world. Until a few years ago, it was closed to the public and was a true cultural preserve, but the growth of tourism chased out many of the large animals that the tribe ate, so they needed to find another way to feed themselves. They are now supported by the very tourists that once threatened their existencence. How ironic. Of course, I have many thoughts on the subject, but this posting's already long enough! I'll post again after I get some sleep!
Talk to you soon,
Myles
Day 1: Went to school and swiped my attendance card (after all, I had a class to pretend to be at). Because I had to swing by "school" first, I couldn't leave with the rest of my group. Instead, I would meet them at the bus station. Bad move. I took a bus that should have taken half as long as it did, but I left right at rush hour. I got downtown at the exact time that I was supposed to be at the bus station (10 blocks away). I ran my ass off through the cities parks and busy intersections, stopping every few blocks to confuse the hell out of a police officer. Here's a sample conversation:
Me: Huff...Puff...Excuse me, where is Retiro Station? (In English, my thoughts were way scattered)
Cop: Huh?
Me: Oh yeah, I'm in Argentina.
Cop: Huh?
Me: ¿Donde está la estación Retiro?
Cop: Huh?
Me: Con los autobuses, collectivos, micros, whatever you call them here.
Cop: Ah, por alla. (That way)
Repeat 2x
I finally arrived--panting way more than I should have been. My big backpack and heavy hiking shoes took quite a toll. After I found the group, I was told in the ever-so-laid-back Argentine fashion that the bus company had decided to push back the departure time one hour. Oh.
The bus trip was a relatively pleasant 12 hour ride with seats that fully reclined and would have been quite comfortable for a normal-sized person. Sigh.
Day 2: We arrived at our destination around 8am. From here on out, the trip would only become more amazing. We transferred to a private bus that took us to the ruins of an old mission. The colony was set up to convert (read: deal with) the very large native population based in this part of the country. Celebrating the cultural massacre that defined early colonialism isn't exactly my cup of tea, but there's always something cool about walking through the remains of 400 year old buildings. Here's a pic:
We spent the afternoon hanging out at a working farm/yerba mate plant. It was kind of like a very laid back dude ranch. The farm grew citrus, tea trees, and yerba mate--a similar plant that is brewed in its own special way to produce the national drink. It is heated in an oven an shipped to vendors for packaging and marketing. Here's what the "factory" looked like, I wouldn't expect anything less from this place.
Day 3: We spent the day in the Iguazu National Park, and "amazing" doesn't even come close. The morning was spent exploring the jungle and seeing some smaller falls, I took a ton of pictures, here are a few:
We finished up our time in this area by boarding power boats that took us very close to some of the bigger falls. We got ripped around by the current, and soaked by the spray at the base of the falls. Very fun!
The afternoon was spent taking a train to a different part of the park and seeing the big one, La Gargatua del Diablo (throat of the devil). This is a giant hole in the ground that swallows up the water at the meeting point of three large rivers. It's essentially the meeting point of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, and yt's one of the biggest falls in the world. The falls consume 1,000,000 liters every second. Pictures don't even come close, sorry.
Day 4: We spent the morning (after a third night of almost no sleep and an early wake-up) going to a native reservation. Obviously, the population is a tiny fraction of its original number, but the culture still exists as well as it can in our modern world. Until a few years ago, it was closed to the public and was a true cultural preserve, but the growth of tourism chased out many of the large animals that the tribe ate, so they needed to find another way to feed themselves. They are now supported by the very tourists that once threatened their existencence. How ironic. Of course, I have many thoughts on the subject, but this posting's already long enough! I'll post again after I get some sleep!
Talk to you soon,
Myles
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Mr. Stone goes to Gino's
I know that I just posted yesterday, but this one's just too good to put off.
So, my hair was getting a little fro-y, and I thought it was about time for a cut. I asked my host sister where I should go and she recommended a place called Gino Lozani's a few blocks away. I wandered around for a bit and eventually found the place (it's in a really nice building; I felt my wallet shudder). I asked if they had time to cut me, and they did, so I sat down. A couple of minutes later, they took me back to get washed. I'm told that Gino himself is going to cut my hair. What an honor. After the washing, I sat down and waited for him at his cubicle. Eventually, an upstairs door swung open and the whole place went silent (I swear). This old guy came strolling down the stairs into the salon, and half the place ran over there to give him a kiss (it's how they say hi, no big deal), and he comes over to me.
Now for some necessary background: Buenos Aires--especially my part of it--is very fashion conscious. Everyone dresses in the latest eurotrends, has all the right accessories, etc. So the haircut is an almost religious affair.
Back to the cut. So Gino came strutting over with his tool belt of scissors, looked me over thoroughly, and without one word said, started going to town on my hair. There's a cloud of brown fuzz all around and I could barely see Gino's hands. So much for a little off the top. Gino ever so bluntly tells me that he's going to trim my unibrow, and I say ok. This was the first time that he had heard me talk, and he instantly picked up on my accent. He said, "You're not from Argentina?" (in Spanish, of course), and I was so happy that I had fooled him thusfar, that I could barely answer. I say, "No, I live in California". He acknowledged, and not another word from Gino. He finished up, and sent me to get another shampoo. Needless to say, I'm rocking some high, high fashion at the moment.
How much did my adventure in salonland cost me? $10, including tip. I love this place.
M
So, my hair was getting a little fro-y, and I thought it was about time for a cut. I asked my host sister where I should go and she recommended a place called Gino Lozani's a few blocks away. I wandered around for a bit and eventually found the place (it's in a really nice building; I felt my wallet shudder). I asked if they had time to cut me, and they did, so I sat down. A couple of minutes later, they took me back to get washed. I'm told that Gino himself is going to cut my hair. What an honor. After the washing, I sat down and waited for him at his cubicle. Eventually, an upstairs door swung open and the whole place went silent (I swear). This old guy came strolling down the stairs into the salon, and half the place ran over there to give him a kiss (it's how they say hi, no big deal), and he comes over to me.
Now for some necessary background: Buenos Aires--especially my part of it--is very fashion conscious. Everyone dresses in the latest eurotrends, has all the right accessories, etc. So the haircut is an almost religious affair.
Back to the cut. So Gino came strutting over with his tool belt of scissors, looked me over thoroughly, and without one word said, started going to town on my hair. There's a cloud of brown fuzz all around and I could barely see Gino's hands. So much for a little off the top. Gino ever so bluntly tells me that he's going to trim my unibrow, and I say ok. This was the first time that he had heard me talk, and he instantly picked up on my accent. He said, "You're not from Argentina?" (in Spanish, of course), and I was so happy that I had fooled him thusfar, that I could barely answer. I say, "No, I live in California". He acknowledged, and not another word from Gino. He finished up, and sent me to get another shampoo. Needless to say, I'm rocking some high, high fashion at the moment.
How much did my adventure in salonland cost me? $10, including tip. I love this place.
M
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