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.

Potpourri

THE SIXTH SENSE

Shit. Quite literally, shit. It's everywhere. I'm fortunate to live in a neighborhood that is well off enough where many of the residents own dogs, many of which are far too large to be cooped up in an apartment. But I digress, back to the topic at hand, shit. It's funny, I spent my first month here dodging it on every block and, at times, felt like Indiana Jones during his final venture in the Last Crusade. Now? Forget about it. In fact, I often do. It's not until I have a guest in town I realize how prevalent it is on the sidewalks. I feel, almost as if, I have grown a sixth sense that recognizes dog poo and instinctively avoids it. I can count the number of times I have found myself cursing canines this year on one hand, 3*. And two of those were in the first month here!

Unfortunately I don't believe this talent is something that will serve me in the future (Resume, strength: Great foresight in avoiding dog shit). Also, this talent does not extend out into other areas. It does not keep me from stepping into pot holes, avoiding bums, tracking mud or gum through the house, or hiding from Jehovah's witnesses.

*This number excludes the times I'm running for two reasons: purpose and place. The purpose being that I am so focused on many elements, my step, my stride, my cadence, etc., that if I were to concentrate on not painting my shoes with a fresh coat my running form would go to shit. The place is Park Las Heras, the closest park by far to my house, that I have deemed "dog shit park." Many dog walkers take there dogs here for hours on end so that they don't actually have to walk the dogs, brilliant right? Oh, and the idea of cleaning up about your dog's shit here is non-existent...it's fertilizer right?

I BET SHE GIVES GOOD HELMET

There are quite a few people in the city who ride motorcycles, about 80% of whom I'd guestimate don't wear helmets. The odd thing is, they have their helmets with them. Sometimes helmets are placed in their lap, in between them and the steering device (as we all know this increases it's effectiveness 100 fold). Other times it is worn around the arm, with the hand going through the visor area. Last, and my most favorite, are those that have the helmet on but its only half way on so the visor is facing the sky and the bottom part is on the forehead. This position is just ripe for the helmet to fly off into the air and morph into a invisible force field surrounding the rider.

I can only assume there is some silly law on the book saying motorcycle drivers must have a helmet on them, but falls short of saying they need to wear one. The transitive property could also lead us to believe that cars only need to have the word "airbag" printed on the dash instead of actual airbags. Additionally, seat belts are defined as anyone wearing a belt while sitting.

SHORTS

Smile, You're On Candid Camera

Remember those signs in 7-11 in the 1990's? The ones saying "Smile, Your Being Filmed" or something of the like. I'm pretty sure those made their way out with the cassette tape in the US, but never you worry, they are still thriving in this environment (see previous Argentina is the 80's post). Oddly enough, I was walking by a military post and saw those signs posted inside. Is anybody really going to walk past the dual guards with sub-machine guns and think "hey, I'm gonna rob something, oh no, wait! we're being filmed."

RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK

I've always wanted to flirt with a hot woman on an airplane.

It doesn't really have to go anywhere, though I think it would be even cooler of a story if it did. This dream has become slightly more than just some far away fantasy, as sometimes when choosing my plane tickets, I try to pick a seat that has a higher probability of having a hot woman in it (it's usually when there's only one other seat in the aisle, as two seats could imply a couple. That or I click on the "hot chick seat" button that airlines are offering nowadays, but that usually costs extra). To this day my dream has yet to come to fruition, though I think I'm handicapping myself. If I chose the aisle seat I would be doubling my odds of a possible encounter, but what kind of weird chooses the aisle seat?

Mom! I'm OK!

No excuses, I missed a blog entry two weeks ago, letting near a full month past without an update. Part of me wants to make excuses: I was waiting for pictures, I had guests, I got sick, I've been busy. Part of me wants to promise that I will be better in the future, a promise you've heard before. All of me realizes that the previous two sentences are the same words uttered by people with addiction problems. Should I be worried?

MARCO!
POLO! If only I could hearken back to the days of carefree pool play during the summers of Richmond. Unfortunately this Polo is much different, and dare I say more ridiculous than the game where we used to pretend to be blind in the water while playing tag. How so you ask? Take generic sport with the objective of scoring more goals than the other team, add one horse and one mallet.

Actually other than the absurd dress code of double golf shirt with two popped collars and a pastel sweater tied around your neck, Polo was actually a pretty fun sport to watch. It was hot as the hubs of hell, but the game can be pretty exciting during a break away (think fast break in basketball).



Fun Fact: The rules of Polo only allow for it to be played right-handed (safety issues) and there have only been three professional southpaws (who played with the right) in the modern era.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!

Sometimes I feel like they have a special announcer just to say the above and I can almost hear him jump the gun when the ball hits the crossbar or something.

As my buddy Will was in town, we decided to go cheer on my favorite team down here, River Plate.
Quick aside: a recurring theme in Argentina is that everything is just about opposite of what you would think it to be. River Plate, for example, one the championship (of about twenty teams) in June, after a three week break the second season began and they finished dead last. How does that happen?
But I digress, back to the journey (everything in Argentina is a journey). Our helpful cabby dropped us off in the best of neighborhoods where we had to navigate between fights, water tanks, and police officers to find a gate to purchase tickets.

Above: Argentine Water Tank, a general sign of safety right?

Of course there’s only one side of the stadium where you can buy the good tickets and we were on the opposite side. Since we were late we decided to opt for the Generales, cheap seats, known for their rowdy and sometimes rioting fans, this was going to be interesting. I was also a bit worried as my friend Katie was coming to meet us. We managed to stay on the far side of the raucous gangs and keep a relatively low profile. I only had to correct Will once when the crowd was whistling (equivalent to booing in the US) and he started clapping, thinking it was to cheer people on the time. The rest of the time was spent clapping, pretending to sing along to the chants (which are non-stop) and me keeping a watchful eye. I planned our exit about five minutes early as River was losing and I didn’t want to get caught up in a crowd of angry fans, but some rather stoic policemen were blocking our way. I guess they thought it was going to rain or something and didn’t want us to get wet, that would explain why they were dressed like they were and why we had to wait twenty minutes (you know, like thunder at a pool).


Above: Police in their "rain gear"

TURKEY DAY

Since Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I knew I would be missing it abroad, I decided to organize a festivity down here. It was a pain in the ass but a ton of fun, and I now have a lot more empathy for the matriarchs of families (or whoever generally organizes this event). We rented some cabanas at the river just outside of the city, complete with dining facilities and a swimming pool. After twelve hours of cooking on Wednesday, made easier by the copious amount of libations, I was ready for some celebrating on Thursday.


Above: Most of Thanksgiving Day was spent here

The day did not disappoint. Although it was a bit weird being 85 degrees and sunny on the big day, fun in the sun with fifteen friends in not a bad way to spend a holiday. We didn’t actually end up dining til late, about 8pm (which is early argentine time, but late for thanksgiving dinner, I think) and actually arranged a true feast. Through craftiness and a few people bringing in imports we had it all: turkies, taters, mac and cheese, cranberries stuffing, pumpkin pie, corn, gravy, bread, etc.

THE FEAST. The biggest pain in the ass was lugging the 150+ lbs of food up there as it was a one hour train ride, standing up. We also lacked some preparation and couldn't package everything neatly so some stuff hand to be throw into big plastic bowls for ease of carry. This was all worth it though as two american girls saw my roommate carrying said bowl and said to her friend "I wonder why that guy is carrying a cheese grater." The response: "he must be a traveling chef or something."


A FEW SHORTS:
(readers note: this is a section I’m thinking about sporadically adding, generally of things I have witnessed that are downright silly, but not worthy of commentary)

-when will was hear we saw the President. She was behind a fence, but about thirty feet away from us and had less security than Pacman Jones.

-I watched a guy skid out and fall on his bicycle the other day. I laughed. Then I felt bad as it was an extremely busy intersection and very dangerous. As I got closer I realized why he fell: he was riding his bike with roller blades on. He then sat on the curb and tightened his roller blades, as if their looseness was the reason he couldn’t ride his bike.

-I was reading an article in the local paper yesterday that was talking about the Argentine psyche and it was none too kind, the basic idea being that Portenos were full of themselves and carried about nobody else. The article carried a bit less merit as the editor missed a very important “l” and one line read “the pubic sectors are public.”

RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK:
Argentina is the 1980’s.

I realize this argument flies in the face of the space-time continuum, the fundamental elements of science and physics, and is probably causing ole Albert to turn over in his grave, but here me out:

1) The most popular concerts held over the past year have included: boy george, Madonna, and Cyndi Lauper
2) The mullet is in full effect, and I mean FULL. Side mullets, mini-mullets, rat tails, layered mullets, and my personal favorite: the buzz cut with three well-spaced bleach blond rat tails hanging off
3) Leg Warmers are fashionable. No joke, I’ve seen multiple pairs being worn during the day. Despite the fact that there is no logical argument for functionality, these days were also far too hot to even make such an argument
4) Spandex is here to stay. Sure it appears more in gyms and this happens in the states, but on men? Also seen it on the street on women, including my favorite type that is really baggy until it reaches mid-thigh, then super tight.
5) My favorite outfit I’ve seen: pink shoes and purple tights. I literally had to stop in the street and marvel until she passed from my sight…nobody else batted an eye.
6) Slap bracelets are still in effect


PS Still looking for New Years resolutions...anyone? anyone? Bueller?

A short look back

No major news stories this past week, though I have heard some rumblings about some kind of election or something that happened past Tuesday. As a result, I'm going to try a different approach and write a collection of shorts.

GOBAMA!
Apparrently this is some clever individuals combination of "Go" + "Obama," I get it. What I don't get is how Alabama football (currently ranked #1 in the nation) fans never found some sort of way to manipulate said signs to cheer for their team. The actual reason I bring this up is the question asked on a post from my last blog:

What's the atmosphere/sentiment down there post-US election?

Argentina's economy is tied rather close to the US, as well as their culture and their politik (or so they think). Although the day to day life is really no different, there is an out-pouring of support for Obama. A recent poll showed 70% of Argentines supported our President-elect and I can see why. Objectively speaking, a younger black man is pretty far on the opposite end of the spectrum of our past presidents, those being old white dudes. If nothing else, and I say this by mere observation, Obama represents a symbol from America to the World of "we want to change."

AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL
Never one to use my blog for political purposes, I did want to take a non-partisan look back at the election, for those of you who haven't had enough country. It gives me great pride to see the world taking such a close interest in our election. In a time when the dollar was town, China and India are on the rise, and rumors have already started about the collapse of the great western empire, this election has shown both the beauty of democracy and the staying power of the american will. I doubt, in my life time, that there has ever been an election more closely watched than this. Countries spanning the globe tuned in, and front pages world-wide reported the results. Short of living in the remotest of remote areas, a extremely large majority of the world's population knows who the next president of the united states of america.
Think about that...how many world leaders can you name? I'd be suprised if it's five or greater, and I think all of my audience are college (and even post-graduate educated folk). Meanwhile, people who can't even read in Kenya, Argentina, and various other remote third world countries know at least one, and that's the US president. Some may take the fact that most Americans probably couldn't name five world leaders as an show of how ego-centric we are, but that's a discussion for a later time, and i believe Otter said it best with "I put it to you, Greg - isn't this an indictment of our entire American society? Well, you can do whatever you want to us, but we're not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth the United States of America. Gentlemen!"

THESE SCHNOZEBERRIES TASTE LIKE SNOZEBERRIES
I started a new diet last wednesday. It's a bit radical and has almost no sugar or carbohydrates, very similar to the South Beach but a bit more extreme. For those of you wondering why, I think the best answer was the one I gave to my roommate: Cause all I've been doing is eating and drinking for the last eight months.

If you ever tried a similar diet, you know what I'm going through. For those of you who haven't, however, let me fill you in. Sugar is actually a bit of a drug, especially processed sugar. True, your body needs sugar to produce insulin and survive, but most of America has essentially over-loaded their system with processed sugar. Your body the converts the sugars inefficiently and starts to treat natural sugars (ie fruit) the same as processed sugars (candy, granola bars, etc). Long story short, a large minority of americans are obese, diabetes could drain our health care system, and for the first time in the history of the US, the life expectancy in younger generations is lower than that of their parents.

Two weeks is the initial and most extreme phase, almost no sugars. I've had some trouble sleeping, been moody, and even had bizzarre day dreams. This is a bit freaky that sugar withdrawal can do that to a person, but my day dreams have been nothing but funny. The other day on the bus I envisioned (it was near hallucination) having myself crawl inside one of those ice cream freezers at a local shop, ten minutes is all i'd need before going into insulin induced shock. The next was after a swim workout. I had forgotten to eat beforehand, and even drink water. I finished the workout absolutely ravished and was craving everything. On my way to find water I passed a guy carrying a two liter bottle of pepsi that was so cold it was literally dripping with perspiration. Although I havent had a soda in almost four years and rarely miss it, I envisioned showering myself in it and there may have even been music playing in the background. 8 more days...

RESOLUTION
Those of you who know me well, know I love New Years resolutions. It all started junior year of college when I decided I was eating too much crap. Instead of doing the obvious thing like stop going to fast food or eat in moderation, I gave up french fries. From there, the legend was born. I now give up something every year, and take that time to decide whether I really want it in my life. Despite Jimmy's best efforts of trying to show some fried taters between my knashed teeth, its been nearly five years since I've had a fry. Some of the others:

2005: Soda, never went back.
2006: Alcohol (in north america, i spent a week in London), went back. What's better in life than a beer with pizza or wings, or just on a hot day. Also a nice glass of red wine with a good italian meal, I couldn't deprive myself of that.
2007: Desserts. Also went back, a great dessert is pure bliss.
2008: Potato chips, not sure but am thinking about staying off them.
2009: ?

I'd actually beg your help for 2009. I'll be in Argentina for part of the time, traveling through south america another part, probably richmond for a bit, and hopefully San Francisco. Due to unknown variables I can't give up my initial resolution: fast food. What happens if I'm on an 18 hour bus ride and the only stop they make is McDonalds? I'd ask for suggestions, serious or funny, emailed or posted, and I'll put my three favorite to a vote on the blog. thanks

AWWWWWKWARD
I was down in a main tourism area this past weekend, shopping for a map, when I experienced one of the more awkward times of my life. When one of my friends was going to try on a hat, the cross-eyed cashier (a guy in his young 20's) asked me what BJ meant. In argentina, it means boca juniors, one of the most popular teams in the country (and most recognizable in the world). I tried to give him the literal translation twice, but it just wasn't registering, so I gave him a couple translations into Spanish. He immediately blushed and apologized for bringing up a taboo subject, then continued to talk about it for the next three minutes in front of my friend and various other women.

RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK
I wonder if Toucan Sam, the lovable and more than slightly annoying bird in the Froot Loops commercial, just had a nose for Fruit Loops or if he had hyper-sensitive olfactory sense. I'd guess the later because the former is far too fictional. Who smells fruit loops anyways? I never did. Could you imagine sitting down in front of your bowl, milk freshly poured, and leaning your head down to get a big ole whiff of artificial flavoring and coloring?
The latter really isn't a much better option though. If he's able to smell Fruit Loops so well, the he can smell other, stronger smells even better, like shit. Walking around and smelling shit 90% of the time would not be worth the other 10% of Fruit Loops smells, at least not in my book.