Heaven and Hell

Editors note: If youve read Adams post from the past blog, youll notice that I left out names in the previous posting. I usually do this for the sake of anonymity (not that it matters that much) but apparently I have offened my dear friend Adam. In the name of full disclosure, Adam is the name of the guy from South Africa. And don´t worry Adam, you weren´t just ¨that guy from South Africa,¨ you were my only guy from South Africa. Since Ive held back to much here´s a bit more info about Adam: he used to live in London, he wears mankinis, and his favorite drink is a cosmopolitan :)

AM I DREAMING?

The third day of our trek through the desert we reached the much awaited destination: the salt flats of Uyuni. 12,000 km in area and up to 10m deep, this ancient dried out lake is a site for the ages. Most of the fun we had was with depth perception, since you are surrounded by white, putting things/objects in the background can make them seem smaller. For example:


A picture that appears if GoGo Jonas and I are shrunk and holding up Adam.



We also had a little bit of fun with this one:



A little Angel and Devil on the shoulder


This last one doesnt quite capture it all the way as I was at the wrong angle with the sun, but it almost appears if Im free falling.




We also stopped by the Isla de Pescados (Fish Island), smack in the middle of the salt flats. It gets its name in that it´s shaped like a fish if viewed from above. It´s most known for its cacti, some as high as 16 meters and old as 1,000 years old. Eating lunch hear was almost surreal. It seems as if you are surrounded by snow, but it´s really just tons and tons of salt. More photos in the web album.


ALL GOOD DREAMS MUST COME TO AN END

After our trek through we stopped by the train graveyard, which wasnt too much to see. The train rememnants were those left over from around the 1850s when the spanish used to export materials out to sea through the northern coast of Chile.

Once we arrived in Uyuni the real fun began. Jose, our nineteen year old driver found my passport and handed it over to the office official, along with two numbers to call to get my visa...neither number worked. Apparently there is no translation needed for the look I gave her, which was probably something to the tune of ¨if we don´t get my visa today Im going to bury you in the salt flats.¨ After about ten tries she finally got through and the visa was taken care of with relative ease. Its pretty by the way, the bolivian visa, but not worth $135 by any means.

As I was now free to move throughout the country and ready to get the hell out of Uyuni, I met up with some of my fellow desert trekkers and we went to book a night bus to La Paz. The news wasn´t good: police and army had closed the already poor roads due to rain. Having no other options we booked our tickets for the following morning and were told to check back in around 7pm in case something opens up.

Nothing opened up, but that didnt seem to matter. We were told to meet at a sketchy gas station outside of town to bypass the road block and that we would be leaving tonight. By now I am traveling with two ladies from Bolivia and we were eager to get to La Paz so we went. Upon our departure I noticed the police were there, though they left after about fifteen minutes. I assume they took a bribe.

Turns out we probably shouldnt have left. I think we crossed at least three rivers. Not on bridges, actually going through the rivers. One of them was at least 30m long and another had trucks washed up in the river bed. Our bus broke down twice and stopped a third time. The additional stop was after crossing a river, hitting a hole, and the bus tossing back and forth at about 45 degree angle, so close to tipping over. The bus behind us saw this and slowed down, then got stuck in the riverbed. They had to evacuate the bus at 5am, build fires and wait for another bus. We made our 300 mile journey in 18 hours and the group that got stuck took 25, so it was bad but could have been a lot worse. If there is a hell, Id imagine it something close to this.

LA PAZ
In all fairness, I dont think I gave it enough time. After the delayed bus ride and spending a bit too long in Chile, I only had two days for La Paz and two more for La Titicaca. The city is visually astonishing as its over 10,000 ft high and essentially built into mountainsides. There is one main road that is relatively flat and all the others go uphill from there. The city itself doesnt have too terribly much to offer. By day it is really just one big open air market, everybody is selling everything. So much so that it seems supermarkets dont really exist in the city center. There isnt too much in the way of culture, except for the Coca Museum, which I visited and burshed up on my history of the coca leaf and its popular byproduct: cocaine. The food was rather mediocre as well. That said, the one upside is that its absurdly cheap. A night in a basic hotel was about $6US. I also bought a swiss army night (though not brand name) for $3.50. It was nice to live in a place where everything was so cheap and I feel as if I had stayed longer I could have appreciated it more. ç

OH THOSE BEAUTIFUL BOLIVIAN WOMEN...

Not so much. I think its the altitude but they kind of resemble cupcakes. High cheek bones, a low center of gravity, and a bit of a waddle...not really a recipe for attraction. I do like their traditional garb though and hope to have a picture of it up soon.

THE CRIME SIDE

Although I felt relatively safe Bolivia still has a lot of work to do in terms of security. A few things that might startle foreigners are the shoe shine boys and taxis. The shoe shine boys were ski masks and hats to completely cover their face and most taxi/buses are old school VW type vans. When the buses come by, someone opens the door quickly and starts screaming out the destinations. If you put the two of those together, it seems like a great recipe for an express kidnapping (where they take you hostage until you draw as much money out of the ATM as you can). Come to think of it, those vans look an awful lot like the one the terrorists used in Back to the Future, so youve got that to worry about too.

One side note: Bolivia really appears to be a country without consequences. I used to feel the same about Argentina and sort of still do, but at least Argentina maintains the illusion of consequnces. Its well know to travelers where you need to go to buy all sorts of illegal contraband, including dynamite. There´s also a pretty famous prison just outside la paz, filled with all sorts of violent criminals, that is known for its cocaine production. You can take a very unofficial tour of this prison, ending with a sample of their product...I passed.

NOT QUITE THE HOTTEST PLACE SOUTH OF HAVANNA
Ok, so my man Barry was probably singing about the one in Rio, but Brazil´s Copacabana was actually named after Bolivia´s, though Im not quite sure why. The Copa was nice, though much smaller than I invisioned. There´s a hill overlooking the lake where I caught a beautiful sunset. The next day I headed to Isla del Sol, where I planned to spend the night. The island gets its name from the Incas as they thought the sun was born from there (again, not sure why as the sun neither rises nor sets over it). I had planned to spend the night on the island for a change of scenery, but this too was quite small. My friends and I arrived around 10am and hiked our way across the island in a few hours, returning around 5pm.

On our return trip we stopped by the floating island, which was one of the bigger tourist traps Id ever seen. There are apparently some real floating islands on the other side of the lake, the Peruvian side. In Peru, people apparently live on these man made floating islands. In Bolivia, they dont even make it look like they are trying. You can see the wooden bouys below the straw and a big sign saying WELCOME TO LAKE TITIHUANA (in English!). It was pretty funny as everyone on our boat was fed up with tourist traps and didnt go on the island (as we knew admission would be charged)

In sum, Im not really sure how I feel about Bolivia, said that it was exhausting. Its great in that its really cheap, but terrible and that people nickel and dime you for everything! Id rather pay 20% more than having to pay a dollar to step on the island, fifty cents to use the bathroom, a quarter for toilet paper, etc. That said, I do feel like I rushed it and would like to return at some point. My visa is good for five years so who knows.

Terribly sorry, my web albums cant make it up today. The computers here in Cusco are terribly slow so it will probably have to wait until next weekend in Lima.

Bye bye Southern American Pie

Im officially north! Or at least in the middle.

LA SALIDA

Argentina didnt want to let me leave without two final kicks to the nards. I was heading to San Pedro de Atacama, in northern chile, and its a relatively small destination. I went to the bus station early that morning to get cash and my ticket, so as not to have to wait two more days. Five cash machines later, I finally had the money. An hour and a half later, I fortunately had my ticket.

Fast forward to the next day. Six hours into the trip, just before the Chilean border, a small town- of maybe 100 people- decides to protest lord knows what and shuts down the highway. One hour delay, but really not too bad.

SAN PEDRO DE ATACAMA

Is really a cool town. Nothing is more than a story high and the population is only abour 4000. Its supported almost completely by tourism, meaning there were some great things to do and great places to eat. As we couldnt find any hostels online, we rolled the dice and waited until we cleared customs. They came up seven. Our group of three managed to multiply to eleven and we filled out Marcelinos hostel. It wasnt until later that we found out that Marcelino was a former high level body guard with knowledge of several types of martial arts. We decided to celebrate all of our various discoveries with an asado and more than a few cervezas. If youre looking through my web album (title: chile and bolivian salt flats) you may seem strange pictures, these were all from a fun drinking game we played called 13. Ill save the details for later and will probably teach many upon my return. It was just such a highlight as we had people from columbia, chile, norway, south africa, ireland, and switzerland all playing, making it quite the multicultural affair.

There was a group of five of us, though, that stuck together for the next few days. Two girls from Norway, one from Ireland, and a guy from South Africa. The following day we did an excursion to the Valley of Death (unfortunately not as cool as it sounds) and the Valley of the Moon for a sunset. Also not as great as expected, but still a nice excursion. The next evening we had Marcelino take us to one of his familiar spots, thermal baths about 30km outside the city. The waters were warmed by a nearby volcano and we couldnt stay more than a few hours due to the sulfur. We did, however, make use of our time, even if the water wasnt as hot as we wanted (about 75f).

SALT FLATS

The next morning we started on our three day, four by four excursion through the bolivian salt flats. I knew I was in for an adventure when I had to hand by passport over to bolivian customs. Americans require a visa (i now hate the word reciprocity) and Bolivia doesnt trust its border officals with the $135US I needed to pay. Therefore, my passport was put into a rather unofficial looking package and turned over to the care of our rather unoffical 19 year old guide, Jose. Three days and twenty blood pressure points later I was to get it back in Uyuni where the visa could be processed.

Nonetheless, we proceeded with out journey as planned. As I mentioned before, there were five of us, but the jeep needed six. We picked up one more random guy, a brazilian named Jonas. It proved not only a good chance for me to practice my portuguese but also a ton of fun. We traveled in a caravan of three jeeps. Not that it really mattered, one breakdown and we were screwed, this was complete desert. Every so often we stopped off at a laguna, there was the white one and the green one. The white one almost purely reflected the sky, while the green one changed colors from blue to teal as we watched (check it out in the photos). We also stopped at more thermal baths (this time about 95f) which was warmly welcomed, pun intended. Our main stop was the geysers, which were not only magnificent and dangerous, but also marked the maximum altitude of our journey at 4900m (over 15000 ft). A few shrubs was all the flora and the fauna was little more than pink flamengos and vicunas, a cousin of the deer. We ended our day at the colored lake, which was a sulfur red, full of flamengos and surrounded by llamas. Everyone was a bit shocked at a 7pm dinner time (about 3 hours earlier than we were used to) and the fact that we were at a campground with nothing else to do. Solution: cards.

The next day was more grueling than eventful. 280 km (about 168 miles) through the desert is no simple task. Id even hesitate to call this off roading because that would imply that at some point there was a road. Our first stop was the Arbol de piedra (Rock Tree) which was cool to see, but there was little else to do. We followed that with a trip through three of four lagunas, which we were a bit sick of by the end as there isn{t much to distinguish them. The last stop was an active volcano before we raced a storm to our next nights habitat.

I feel it necessary to mention that two days in the desert can take its tole on people. You can see many examples of this in my photos as we tried to spice up our sand and rock surroundings. We also started to create our own fun in other ways. The brazilian I mentioned earlier, Jonas, didnt speak much english. As he was hurrying us for a picture he said GO GO! and thus the name GoGo Jonas was born. We all ended up with nicknames by the end, mine was West Virginia (john denver is too damn popular internationally). Our team name was GoGo Jonas and can be seen extched into our jeep in various photos. More fun was had than should have been. It was like one of those times you cant stop laughing at something that isnt too funny and it was great. It was probably a good thing we pulled into our hotel when we did as who knows how far it would have gone.

When I say hotel I really mean basic accomadation. But after two days in the desert, even the mildy hot shower could have convenced every guest it was 5 star lodging. The other cool thing about the hotel was the inside was made completely out of salt. The walls were salt bricks, the floor was covered in salt and the tables and chairs were also compacted salt. Fun, novel, and suprisingly comfortable. Though I guess after the grueling day we had, a bed of nails would have been welcomed with open arms.

Day 3 was the big day, the salt flats. Unfortunately I havent uploaded my pictures from here yet, and in this case mroe than every, a picture really is worth a thousand words. Therefore, the story will have to end here and be continued within a week.

If youve made it this far, today is March 10th and Im hoping to have the photos and the second half up by the 16th. I also dont have time to inbed pictures right now but will hopefully go back and put some in by the 16th. Until then, Ill try to label a few on my web album to give a better sense of direction (they are all mixed).

The North

Dear Reader, I´ll say this only once: please keep in mind I´m on the road. I´ll probably only be able to post pictures once every few weeks or so, and even though I hope to update this at least once a week, who the hell knows. Also, given that chances are Im probably sweltering in a computer lab as locals are screaming at each other over some video game they are playing (like right now for example) please forgive the lack of editing.

That being said, it´s good to be back. Im not sure if it was the city or just feeling sedetary that made me feel as if my creativity was being stifled. Nothing gets the creative juices flowing like 90 degree heat and 100% humidity right?

TUCUMAN

I chose this as my starting off point as I had met someone from Tucuman on my last trip through europe. We kept in touch during my time in Buenos Aires and I promised her I would check out the north. Surprise surprise, when it came down to it and the ticket was booked, not a word from her. I wasnt looking for a hand out, a place to stay or anything of the like, perhaps just to meet up and grab a beer or something. She, however, went dumb over the last month and this never came to fruition. I really don´t mind as I managed to enjoy myself just fine in the city. It did, however, come to symbolize my impression of Argentina: unfulfilled promises. I´m speaking mainly in terms of people (not all of them) but suppose this could easily be applied to the government, economy, history, et al. I realize this may sound a bit bitter but I don´t really think of it in that way, it´s more of just putting things in there correct place. Knowing this will make it much easier when a local is a no show or doesnt do as they said. But I digress.

Tucuman is a big city with a small town feel. I enjoyed it as everybody seemed to be a bit more outdoorsy and healthy...lots of runners and many people on bikes. It was technically the first city in Argentina but it´s lack of museums could fool even the most historic-minded tourist. Nonetheless, it was a nice break after a 17 hour bus ride and gave me a little chance to unwind from big city life.

Getting away from the cities is kind of out there. Not quite as out there as the sheep farm, but close. At one of the bus stations I witnessed them syphoning off gas from one bus to the other. Not only that, but it appeared that this was such a common occurance that they built a ramp for one bus to back up onto. The next day I made my way up to Tafi del Valle, a town three hours north that would probably be described more as a lake with some houses around it instead of a town. As I still hadn´t shaken the rust off and come back into my own as a traveler, I wasnt willing to forge down to town to figure out what there was to do. The reasons for this were many as I was still stiff from the bus ride, lugging 60 lbs on my back, and there is very little info in guide books on this city. I decided instead to continue on to Cafayate after a two hour lunch break overlooking the lake.

Cafayate is the start of the northern wine country. It doesn´t have quite as good wine, nor the appeal of Mendoza, but is still worthy in it´s own right. They are actually known for their Torrentes there, a white wine that I can actually tolerate. Another fun part about the town is that one of their more entreprenuerial members decided to patent wine flavored ice cream. I tried both, the white and the red, and actually liked the white a little bit better as it was smoother. This, by the way, is no ¨hint of wine.¨ It´s in your face and packs a punch. I also managed to swing by a vineyard to take a tour and try some of their samples.

Also in Cafayate I took a tour of the Quebradas, a series of deserts and gorgers. Im not sure how to really place it in the US but some of it looked like Utah I guess. Some pretty amazing things that have been carved out by the elements, hopefully the pics will be up in a week or two. Somehow along the way we also managed to pick up a spaniard who was absolutely ridiculous. He was fifty years old and dressed in a salmon t shirt with wine bottles all over it, euro-short salmon shorts with goldfish (think peppridge farm) all over it, and salmon colored crocks. As I slowly work through who and what I never want to be, he helped me as I could check him off the list.

My last adventure in Cafayate was a trip to the waterfalls. Given that no excursions were offered from the hostel or guide book, I took this as a sign that I could do it solo. I should have known when the one hour trip there took 25% longer. I also should have known when the person signing people in said I should have a guide, but I thought he was blowing smoke up my ass and I was having none of it. The trail is about two hours each way and poorly marked. Not poorly marked as in ¨wow I can´t beleive there is only a sign every 400 meters¨ but poorly marked as in sometimes a machete could have been useful to help make your way through.

One of the most difficult parts was the river. I think I had to cross it about 25 times total, sometimes hopping on rocks, other times having to take off my shoes and wade through. Finally I just said screw it and went in with my boots on, which actually helped a lot more with traction. Between that, scaling rocks, walking along ledges 100ft up, and the sun beating down on me I learned my lesson. I also have several reminders of said lesson as it looks as if I got in a fight with a coked up cat. Highlight of the trek: getting lost on my way back and running into a ¨mountain boy¨ who guided me back to the trail. It sounds silly but this was literally like something out of Indiana Jones, I was dehydrated and delirious and this little shirtless boy comes out of the woodwork, bouncing off rocks like they were a flat surface. He seemed rather intrigued by me and was more than helpful, so I take it they don´t get too many yankees up in the mountains there.

One of the coolest parts thus far is getting complete use out of my spanish. Up in the north, at least right now, the only travelers are spanish speakers. I befriended two argentine ladies and their 3 year old son (who may have been the coolest three year old ever), a spanish chica, and several others. Days and nights were spent speaking spanish and I couldnt help but think how cool it was to be conversing amongst a group of people whose only similar trait was spanish. Random side note: speaking with a drunk argentine from tucuman who has a wad of coca leaf in his mouth is great practice...in patience if not spanish.

Im in Salta now but have spent more time preparing for the rest of my journey than appreciating the city, which Im ok with. I head out to San Pedro de Atacama tomorrow and Bolivia shortly thereafter. Hope to update from Bolivia but who knows what the internet will be like there.

Pictures from the South

So I ran out of time and didn´t get the chance to do the write up I wanted to about my trip down south so you´ll have to settle for my previous post (the journal). Below I will post some pictures, video, and commentary though if that helps.

Unfortunately I can´t seem to download the videos off of my site, which means im going to need another way to embed them within the blog. Until I figure that out, I have all the videos (with one notable exception) a caption, so just go into my photos and look under the ¨Patagonia¨ album. I´d recommend perusing all the photos but a 150 can be quite daunting. There´s only about 10 videos or so and they all have titles so you can pick them out. Here´s a sampling of the photos:

Let´s start with some of my more artistic pictures:


Title: Achilles
This my favorite picture of my trip, and perhaps from the entire year. The rolled up cigarette, bloody hand, and knarled vagabond look just empitomizes the gaucho.


Sand and Water
Comment: it always seemed like the clouds hung really low in the sky


House and Water pump (i realize im not getting any creativity points for the names here)


A year´s worth of work


Horseplay


dinner drying

THE VACATION PART


The glaciar builds a bride once or twice a year and actually damns up part of the lake


A 100 ft tall and miles long this glaciar is the most popular since its the most stable. The biggest one is about 50 miles away and is over 1000 ft tall.

Not my videos as my camera was too busted to film them, but you get the idea:


I actually befriended a tour guide so got to go with her for free. It was amazing to see her and her guide friends, who must have seen this hundreds of times (she´d been doing it for five years) still jump up and rush to the edge to see what was happening whenever you hear a big crack



Me in Chalten, working my way up Fitz Roy hill (hill my ass, 2500 ft)


Me at the summit, there was one crazy bastard who was actually swimming in that lake.

A Trip Down South

As many of you may know I had a very unique opportunity to spend some time on an authentic Patagonia sheep farm. I just got back from this other-worldly experience and the next two posts will be an attempt at me trying to convey just how unreal it was. The first post, this one, is simply a modified version of a daily journal I kept while down on the farm. It's probably going to be long. Next week I will try to post something much more concise, as well as a few words on my side trips to Chalten and El Calafate.

To give you an idea of just how remote this place actually was, I'm posting the directions, taken directly from Mapquest:
-Arrive at Buenos Aires airport, get on flight without ever having had your passport checked.
-Fly to Rio Gallegos, the capital of the San Juan province, though rather small in size.
-Refuse to get a hotel for the night (240 reasons why)
-Immediately regret decision as you arrive at the bus terminal to spend the night
-7AM, take overcrowded shuttle to Gobernador Gregores (pop: 5,000), 8 hours away
-Call Marcelo, the farmer cousin of your friend, and hope he picks up as there is poor cell phone reception
-Spend the night with Marcelo and fam as your trip has exceeded 17 hours thus far
-Next afternoon, leave for the farm in a farm truck (5 ton Mercedes like a dump truck but without dumping capabilities)
-2/3 of the way stop to dig our way out of the mud
-3/4 of the way stop to dump some load as the truck won't make it up a hill
-72 miles, 2500 ft in elevation, and 8 hours later...arrive

DAY 1
I awoke with stiff/sore shoulders and back. The terrain we went through was type they use to sell hundreds of thousands of jeeps and trucks. We made it all the way in the behemoth, of course we did it without the XTerra first aid kit. The problems that we encountered with the truck the day before seemed to continue on today, something electrical. It wasn't the battery, but for some reason giving it a jump seemed to get it started. The problem with this method is that there were no jumper cables on the farm; thus, makeshift ones were needed. An old wire, exposed on both ends, was used and did the trick. The wire, however, was short and we had to removes the batteries (2) from the other truck in order to make the jump work. This process was repeated three times throughout the day. I also learned my first two lessons through our morning ordeal:
1) You're not always...check that, better said: you're rarely going to have what you need when something goes wrong so you better be prepared to make due.
2) Things go wrong frequently

Once the truck was finally in position we began to shovel gravel out that was to be used for a bridge. Upon first glance it hardly looked like 13,000 lbs but my back soon corrected my eyes err in judgment. 3 men, one boy, 3 shovels and 2 hours of grueling work while the wind whipped dust and rocks in our eyes was an appropriate welcome to life on the farm.

As we finished up, some men came by the farm, which is surprising given it's distance from EVERYTHING. They were part of a group that looks for new ways that that Argentina can invest and these in particular had a proposal to build export facilities in Gobernador Gregores (the closest town). We toured the facilities and I listened as they discussed various aspects of farming i knew nothing about, then we ate lunch. I mistakenly took a siesta after lunch, figuring that was the norm, but awoke to find that I had missed loading the wool in the truck. I would soon get my comeuppance.

In the late afternoon we went down to the lower farm to visit the grandmother and Marcelo's other son. We took two trucks and Marcelo and I went to unload the wool along the way. We currently had about 1/7 of their 77,000 lbs loaded up in 26 stacks of 450 lbs apiece. We made it to the unloading zone (a plateau near the lake) around sunset and fought forty mph wind as we tried our best to hurl these stacks out of the truck. It literally looked like something you'd see on a World's Strongest Man competition, except there were two of us and it was freezing cold. As luck would have it, the truck broke down again and we had to wait longer enough until our presence was missed (no forms of communication exist here). About an hour and a half later we were picked up and taken back to the lower farm. I'm not sure why but Marcelo's brother, Noni, decided to bring the two children, Fran (10) and Gero (5), as well as their cousin with him. That meant our half hour ride back to the lower farm was six people in a single truck cab, all the while covering mountain terrain in unpaved road at night exceeding the maximum safe speed by at least 10 mph. Quite the adventure.

As we neared the house they spotted a fox off in the distance. The truck stopped and Nonie stepped out, aimed, and fired a shot. he missed, but he and fran went out night hunting to try and get him as they kill the chickens. I stayed in and afforded myself a bath in what was probably the smallest tub I have ever used. Rinsing myself involved putting my body in yoga positions that I'll save you from in their description, just know they were none too comfortable.

DAY 2
Even more sore, this time lower in the back and in some muscles I didn't even know I had. Keeping in mind that I'd been swimming and lifting consistently I found it quite humbling. The morning started off slow and I could tell that it was going to be a "dia tranquilo," so I decided to venture out a bit to get to know the place and take some pictures. Marcelo offered me his truck but I preferred to walk. The house was about a mile away from Lake Cardiel so I walked down there, admiring the scenery along the way. I must have meandered for about three hours, as when I returned it was lunch time. Noni had gone into town (3 hour trip, minimum) to get the necessary parts to repair the truck, leaving us stuck at the lower farm until he returns. I caught up on some reading, writing, and necessary terminology I'm not quite accustomed to while Marcelo played with his children. I also managed to fit in a small hike with the two boys and catch up with Ursula (the grandmother) about a variety of topics, ranging from European travel to Obama's childhood.

As early afternoon passed into late afternoon I started to realize we wouldn't be heading back to the other farm this evening. Apparently Noni had to go to Piedra Buena, another 3.5 hours further, to get the necessary parts and we wouldn't be expecting him until tomorrow. We knew this because he sent us a message over AM radio once he arrived into town and found he needed to venture on further. He also mentioned Marcelo's girlfriend would be coming with another truck but I knew we wouldn't be leaving at least until tomorrow.

As I felt I hadn't earned my keep for the day, I went looking for something to do. The task at hand was cleaning and organizing the big truck...not a necessary task, but since we had down time. Marcelo's gf arrives around 9pm in time for dinner. After dinner Ursula shared some of her homemade cherry liquor. Not only was it delicious, but you also pick out the cherries on the bottom of the glass with a toothpick. Alcoholic and interactive? My kind of drink. I then headed to bed early as I was under the impression we would be rising rather early the following morning.

DAY 3
Let me explain something about Rooster's, they're not exact. In fact, they may be down right stupid. Sun up was probably around 6:30, though this one started crowing at 5AM. Not once, not twice, but probably closer to 30 times until I finally got up at 6:45. I dressed, I packed, and made my way to the main room to find it desolate. I then laid back down until 8:15, when I heard the first sounds of others awake. After a light breakfast Marcelo and I loaded up the small truck with supplies (110 lb bag of flour, onions, potatoes, and 5 large wooden posts at about 50 lbs each). We made our way back to La Angelina (the upper farm) with the three adults in the front and the two kids in the back. Thanks to fighting and elevation -it got much colder as we went along- the kiddos made their way up front so I volunteered to sit in the bed. Bumpy as hell and ever colder as we climbed, but I stilled imagined it more comfortable than five in a single cab. After we arrived and unloaded the aforementioned items (plus 10 110lb bags of cement) it was time for lunch. After that, the real show began. The chileans (aka gauchos, horsemen, cowboys) had rounded up all the wild horses -close to 100- from the countryside and the day's task was castrating and branding all those that needed it.

I'll spare the details for those with a week stomach for now, but will include a detailed section at the bottom for the curious. More than anything else, watching the cowboys work was spectacular. Corralling horses is an art form more than anything. In the corral there were probably 30-40 horses, but in order to accomplish your objective you need to isolate individual horses. The four gauchos work together, one working to keep the group together, the other to draw out an individual horse, and two more with lassos ready to bring him (or her) down. Believe it or not, cowboys don't lasso horses around the head or neck, these animals are way too big for that. The lassos are actually thrown in hopes of hooking the two front legs, using the animals momentum (he's running at the time) to help bring him down. Again, here things rarely go to plan and improvisations are often used.

This lasted for about four hours today. Oddly enough, watching castrations can get a little old. Fortunately, there were a few things that kept me entertained. The first was one of the gaucho's, who has apparently had an aneurysm or stroke. He could still get the job done, though a little slower than others, but the part I enjoyed was his haunting and inappropriate laugh. It was the kind of laugh that haunts dreams and he often belted it when the fight against a horse was lost. It didn't really seem like he was laughing at the gaucho's though, more at the respect to the power of the horse, a power of nature kind of thing. The second was that during the last hour Marcelo brought out three bottles of champagne and they just started bucking them during the work. There's very little booze on the farm, which is surprising because there's little else to do, but I guess four hours of castration was taking it's tole on the gaucho's too.

DAY 4
It's amazing how much you sleep here. This is due in part by the weather conditions, in conjunction with the fact that there's nothing else to do. We ate last night around 9:30 and I doubled up on my pasta plate, not because I was hungry but because I was cold and it was hot. I'd imagine I was in bed around 10:30 and got up around 9. I awoke at 8, but everyone seems to get off to a late start around here so I stayed warm in bed. As cool as it was yesterday I guess I hadn't realized how exposed I was to the elements as I was surprised to find myself both sun and wind burned. Upon venturing out I found the gauchos at it again, finishing up work left undone yesterday. I resumed my post as "keeper of the brand," even though I started to tire of my rather simple job. It certainly didn't involve much skill or activity, and watching the horses loses its luster after awhile. It may not have been glamorous or noteworthy, but it's what needed to be done and I guess that's what I signed up for.

The job was finished just before noon and we headed back down to the lower farm, Dos Hermanos. The principle reason I would guess is to arrange transportation (as Noni was back by now). It makes perfect sense though, that if you travel hours to a place, you may as well have multiple reasons to go, so an asado (barbecue) was also arranged. Much like our night adventures, on our trip down Marcelo stop to try to shoot a Gaunaco (cousin of a llama), but couldn't bring him down. I really enjoyed my fist day at Dos Hermanos, but the second trip is starting to wear on me. As this is the winter farm for all the animals and it's currently summer, there's not much to be done. As I've already seen all that needs to be seen down here and got pretty roughed up by the elements yesterday, I'll be staying in unless I'm needed. After the truck ride down (I was in the bed again), it probably took me three hours alone to warm up. This leaves me inside reading, writing, and talking with Ursula, all of which I enjoy but feel I could be making better use of my time.

DAY 5
Every time I wake up a wave of guilt passes over me. I feel I've slept too late, that I'm delaying work that needs to be done. My guilt is starting to seem pointless though, for without fail the fay is at least an hour from being started.My general plan is that if I don't hear anyone stirring I go back to sleep. Upon the first voices, however, I get up. A little something to drink, some light conversation and a bit of reading is usually how I pass the first hour of or so.

There was actually a little bit of worked to do after that as we loaded up the big truck. It appears as if the lower farm not only serves its winter function, but is also used as a dropping off point for supplies since it's much easier to access. Marcelo and the kids put a few tons of sand/rock mixture in the truck yesterday and today we added 15 more posts (5-75lbs, 10-50lbs), a carnillera (what they strong up dead animals on to drain the blood), a barrel of gas, and a dead guanaco (Noni had succeeded in bringing one down to feed the dogs).

The day got more or less interesting as it went along. I mean this in the most literal of manners. Less interesting because it rained and there's not a whole hell of a lot to do on a farm in the rain. More interesting in that a 3 hour journey in a 5 ton truck along unpaved roads in the rain can be quite interesting. We made most of the trip unmolested but knew we were in trouble as we neared our destination. The road became slightly less rocky (meaning more muddy). Up ahead there was the slightest of hills, similar to ones we pass by on a daily basis and probably don't even press harder on the accelerator. This hill was only about 50 ft long with an incline of around 10%, and it took use a half hour to reach the summit. It was a new experience for me, moving so slow that you have to look out the side windows because looking out the front window gave the appearance of being at a dead stop. Even then our pace was so slow I had to mark an object outside to make sure it was changing positions in my line of site.

DAY 6
This morning we worked with the mares, more trimming, branding and castrations (for the stallions left over). I guess I've neglected to mention the trimming thus far as it's been over-shadowed by the larger more permanent trim. No matter the horse, each one get's a hair cut on the mane and the tail, and I now know (or can at least infer) what "two bit" means in that old song "shave and a hair cut, two bit." Have a seat, we'll take care of all that extra facial hair, and while I've got the razor out...
I found morning an odd choice for this activity as I usually like to do my castrating after lunch, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. The corral was still rather muddy from the rain the other day, which proved to be an added obstacle in the work ahead. The lassos became heavier, making them harder to throw and giving them less bounce. There was also a bit more slippage, among both horses and gauchos. I'd guess that these factors added extra risk, though you never would have known it by the way these men handled themselves: business as usual. One of the major setbacks was the loss of Achilles' (what a cool name huh?) pen knife, which was used to do the dirty work (pun intended). It probably disappeared somewhere in the mud, leaving him to resort to a blade that measured approximately 10" to perform this surgery.
After lunch we were readying to leave. I had packed up, cleaned up, and was now wearing my travel clothes in place of my farming clothes. Sandals instead of boots, linens instead of jeans, and only a t-shirt and sweatshirt. Where I ran into problems was my final task on the farm: helping Marcelo take out the trash. As I mentioned before, they burn everything, but that which cannot be burned must be thrown away. When I first saw the basural (cracked earth where Marcelo dumps his trash) I initially thought it repulsive, but revisiting the idea I now realize that it's no worse than a dump. But I digress, back to my problem. After we loaded all three 70-80 lb barrels into the truck I discovered Marcelo's method for emptying them: hurling them from the truck and letting the trash fling out as it tumbles down the crevice. Not too bad of an idea, except for the retrieval part. If you're wondering what doesn't burn, a good sampling would be: glass bottles, metal wires, sheep hooves, and compost. If you're wondering what this combination feels like beneath (and on top of) your practically bare feet, the answer is not pleasant.
The deed was done, however, and I was re-washed and ready to go. I said my good-byes and Marcelo and I made our way out. My next destination: Chalten and El Calafate, which, due to my current location of BFE, was rather hard to get to. Imagine for a second a map that's like a clock face and I'm currently at the 12. I'm trying to get to 9 but the only known route is by going clock-wise. Marcelo and I weren't having it though, and he took me to what would have been the center of the clock. From there he was willing to go half way to the nine and leave me to hitch the rest of the way (an idea I was pumping myself up for). As luck would have it, this plan was unnecessary. At the center we came across a tour bus heading to Chalten and they agreed to let me tag along. It wasn't exactly hitchhiking in that I wasn't on the road with a thumb, but it was a free and unknown ride for multiple hours. I'd say all in all it was a fitting end to an experience unlike any other.


NOT FOR THE WEEK OF STOMACH

Horse castration is surprisingly simple. The hardest part is getting the animal down (which I previously described). From there, the gauchos use a long leather strap that they wrap around the horse to pin it's hind leg up. The two front legs are already tied up from the lasso, and there are usually two gauchos pinning the horse down: one at the neck, the other on the body. The entire operation only takes about thirty seconds if the horse is behaving, which surprisingly occurs more often than not. Four quick snips with a pen knife, pour some salt in the wound, and let him up. The salt I guess is meant to disinfect but to me it seems more like adding insult to injury. Another surprising element is that the horse just gets up and walks off. I only saw one walk kind of gingerly and none of them made any whimpers or anything of the like.

As my hidden random thought of the week, I think I now know the worst thing that can happen to a man. Generally, when the gauchos would discard the horse testes, they would just throw them to the nearest open location. I'm not sure if this particular event was just a matter of chance in that the nearest location was close to the horses head, or if it was done on purpose since the horse was acting up a bit. I guess it's really not important as I would imagine getting hit in the face with your own testicle has the same effect, regardless of intent.

Gone

For the next two weeks I'll be working on a sheep farm down in Patagonia, the main purpose of my trip being to become the but of of so many sheep jokes.

i'll be "off the grid" until February 9th but plan on regaling you with stories a plenty after that.

Getting Close to the end

After three weeks of guests, various friends leaving the country for good, and moving places, I’m ready to get my hands dirty again. I’ve also been waiting on pictures from about half the guests down here, so I apologize for a lack of photos. It’s unfair to blame the guests really, as it’s my fault for not using my camera, but who accepts responsibility these days anyways? More pics will be up in about a week or so. Oh yeah, and now my computer is dead so it looks like all pictures are going to have to wait until may.

First and foremost: the New Years resolution. This year I will not be ingesting caffeine in any form. There were many good suggestions, but given that I will be traveling for over two months, in some cases to secluded areas, and that I will more than likely be moving at least twice, this seemed like the most logical and feasible.

The Logic: My body doesn’t handle caffeine well, but I love the taste of coffee. Since I’ve been down here and had lower stress levels, I end up having it about four times a week, and my body subsequently gets the shakes. What worries me is that this habit will continue or even grow when I re-enter (enter?) the working world.

Feasibility: Although I thought it might be relatively easy at first, I’m beginning to rethink my position. Coffee isn’t really the problem. Tea, on the other hand, is going to be tough. I love tea, especially sweet tea, and now that I can’t have caffeine (and since I already don’t drink soda, New Years res 2005) I’m very limited in my drink choices. On top of that, Chocolate. This will make snacking tough, no cookies, no granola bars, and worst of all, no trail mix (price club brand with the M&M’s). The thing I’ll miss the most, however, will be the weekend café while reading the newspaper.

Christmas at the Beach

Being young and foolish, I often don’t truly appreciate things until they have passed. There are moments, however, that are great enough that I can appreciate them in the present. Christmas was one of them. My best friend, Melinda, decided to flee the cold and spend some time in Argentina. It was hard enough for me to spend the holidays away from family that I could never ask someone to do the same. However, this was her idea and I was very appreciative for it.
Melinda had come in town after law school exams, so she was on a bit of a health kick since diets tend to go to shit during exam time. Those of you who have been down here could probably have guessed it, her health kick lasted all of 24 hours. In addition to doing the usual tour of the city, we decided to head down to the beach for the holiday.

I procured an apartment from the family of one of my students that was fifty meters from the beach, add some good music and gin and tonics and you got what many would define as perfection. A couple other William and Mary alums stayin down here, Bree and Callie, also joined us. We spent the days on the beach and the nights with wine bottles. My favorite part might have been the Beach clubs. In Pinamar you can rent a little cabana type tent, including lounge chairs, towels for four, and various other services (pool, hot tub, internet, wii, etc) for roughly $25. This little deal made our beach experience all the more pleasurable, especially since it was extremely windy near the ocean. It certainly wasn’t a substitute for a family-filled holiday, but it was definitively the next best thing.


Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

I had another friend in town for new years. Actually, to be more accurate, another friend and his family. Craig Carter and the fam damily descended upon Buenos Aires in late December and stayed through to the beginning of 2009. As I was currently juggling between guests and moving out of my apartment I was not able to spend an extremely large amount of time with them. The time we did spend, however, I relished. I love meeting families as I think they generally explain a lot about a person, and this rang true for Craig. Generous and fun are a few of the adjectives that first come to mind, but more than anything I’d say they are just good people. Please keep in mind I’m saying this in the old southern way, and not the plural of a “good person.” You know, like even if you were just talking about man and you said “he’s good people.” The kind of folk that would give you the shirt off their back, those that you instantaneously feel welcome with, and they made my new years great.

I generally dislike new year’s eve. I see no reason for another excuse to get drunk and often think the risks outweigh any sort of silly tradition that is celebrated at the turning of the year. It seems as though Buenos Aires agrees with me. It’s really more of a family holiday here and everyone seems to have a new years dinner here with their relatives. And since dinners start around 11, the actual new year is sort of a non-event. True, many restaurants have a fixed menu, and some bars or clubs charge extra to do a little something special, but it’s more or less like any other night. In fact, if not for the extremely large amount of illegal and unsafe fireworks…I really wouldn’t have known when the clock struck twelve. As for me, Bree, Callie, and I made gourmet pizzas for dinner that evening, then met up with various friends (Craig and some of the Carter clan included) at a bar for a drink or two, then on to a club to dance the night away until 5am. Pretty much a standard night in Buenos Aires really, and I enjoyed it. Oh yeah, and what was I doing exactly as the clock struck? Topping a pizza with barbequed chicken and caramelized onions…exciting stuff huh?






What May Have Been The Craziest Weekend of My Life

I’d say about once a month here I have a big night. As a typical night out here usually last at least until three or four, by “big night” I mean 7am. I’m too old, not the clubbing type, and generally like my sleep. After my guest exodus, however, I wearily realized that it was my friend Katie’s last weekend in Buenos Aires. As we have been good friends since high school and enjoyed our time together down here, I wanted to make sure to spend as much time with her as possible. It should also be mentioned that Katie had three friends in town for this final weekend. The events are as follows:

FRIDAY:
Started out like any other, a few drinks at a chill outside bar. It was actually a bit odd as apparently the entire population of Buenos Aires flees the city in the beginning of January so much was closed down. As it was Craig’s final night in town, I wanted to make sure it was a good one. We head to a salsa club and as we are on our way, I text Katie to let her know. Two random dudes at a salsa club who don’t know how to dance salsa could be a bit of an awkward situation, but Craig and I made the most of it. At around 2/230 or so the have dance leaders come up on stage and lead everyone in something that I might describe as over-sexualized line dancing with a salsa twist. I think Craig may have put it best with his title of “epic latin salsa sex hiphop linedancing.”

The girls arrive shortly thereafter, which is perfect timing since Craig and I are now drenched in sweat. I shouldn’t have been surprised since Katie is quite attractive, but these girls are stunning, and of course immediately attacked by every Argentine guy in the club. Seriously, half the night felt like a ho down because I would have to swoop in and save them from various swarth machines. The other half of the night was pure magic as I was “in the zone.” I mean, I hesitate to use the word “dance machine” as I’m not actually part robot (not yet at least). I may have been, however, the maniac of the ball, dancing like he’s never danced before. This of course, could not have been done without suitable dance parters* so a thank you to all of the lovely ladies who put up with me.

*the two notable exceptions being Kevin Bacon’s punch dancing scene in Footloose and the unforgettable Johnny T in Saturday Night Fever


SATURDAY
I am a morning person, and sometimes I hate it. I seemed to have been on a streak of waking up at 1030 in the morning, almost exactly, for about four days straight. The fact that I was out until 6am did nothing to change that. After collecting myself I make my way out to meet the ladies for lunch, where I proceeded to make fun of myself and swear that I was done with clubs. I spent the later afternoon seeing the Carters off, and then pretending to nap.

You know when your body is giving you overwhelming signs to change something? Well, later that night I completely ignored those as I headed to yet another club to meet the girls. I love watching Katie interact with Argentines as he mix of Spanish, English, and frustration is ever apparent and tonight was no different. After making my way in the club I had a very hard time paying for drink as all her friends were very generous. Added bonus: some of the guys the had met previously were there and got a table with VIP and bottle service. Now I’m not the clubbing type, so this sort of thing really through me out of my element, but I made the best of the situation with a repeat performance of the night before (though the dancing was not as good as the music wasn’t as good)
My two favorite parts from the night were as follows”
1) The DJ stopping all of the club music to play 80’s rock around 3am. Literally the entire dance floor stood still and watched us Americans rock. This would have been awesome had it only been one song, but since it went on for about a half an hour it was AMAZING
2) As we’re leaving the club around 6am, Katie decides to run away. After texting to make sure she’s ok, I then direct the cabbie to take the girls and I for some late night pizza (as they are screaming it in my ear). Various poor choices were made at the restaurant, the key one being ordering more beer. As exhaustion took us all over I’d imagine just about everything we said was non-sensical and would love to hear a tape of our conversations. Bed time: 7am.

Sunday Night

Can’t be big right? It’s Sunday after all. It was Katie and the girls official last night out though so we had to try. We head to a cool little area, Las Canitas, for dinner. The girls just happen to run into the international French playboy type fellow that they had met previous. Our dinner ends up combining about four different groups of people, and then, amazingly, we head out to another club. The fact that a club is open on a Sunday night in January is absurd, even more so than the bottle service these folks were ordering.
One of the girls and I, however, had had enough of the crowded and loud club scene and made our way to a bar to just chill for a bit. Thinking we made the right decision of a “lower key” night, I walk the girl back to Katie’s place around 530am. The other girls, however, had not made it back yet and there was no spare key. I convince the security guard that our friends are coming and he allows us to wait in the lobby, where we proceed to pass out. Finally the girls make it back, I’d guess a little before 8 or so.

Overall during this three day period

Average bed time: 7am
Average hours of sleep per night: 4
Average alcohol consumed: too much

A ton of fun, though not something where I’d like to have a repeat performance.


SHORTS
-Leading up to New Years Argentina had a add campaign against fireworks. It showed a damaged child and said something to the like of "You don't have to use fireworks to celebrate, but if you do use them make sure you do legally and in a responsible manner." I think it was the battered child that really hit home for me, but talk about a mixed message. If you were to carry the same approach to let's say drugs, it might read "don't do heroin, but if you do make sure you use a clean needle and buy the good stuff." Pick a message, either say don't, or say be responsible, when both are said all messages are lost.

-I was on a travel bus for the trip to the beach. Towards the end of the trip I went downstairs to use the bathroom. I tried twice but couldn't get the door open, and for some reason looked around after my failed attempts. About half way down the bus some old man was giving me the "don't go in there" sign. Upon receiving this sign, immediately walk away. Don't question as to why, no pondering involved, just walk away...when you get that sign, there's never going to be a positive outcome.

RANDOM THOUGHT

Life gives you lemons, start hucking lemons at people. Making lemonade takes too long.