Archive for category Argentina
El Puerto de Patagonia
I’m busy finishing up my fourth day in Bariloche, still recovering from the sickness that I think I got on the bus and made much worse by having a lot of fun here and not resting at all.
This will be a quick rundown:
I came into Bariloche with a little bit of a mystery sickness, so didn’t do much the first night. The next morning I went to Club Andino to ask about backpacking where the grumpy, hirsute man behind the desk looked me up and down and recommended a 4-hour trek to Refugio Frey, which I decided to try out the next day. That afternoon, I took the turistas’ special, the Cerro Companario, which is a chairlift to a nearby peak that allows some pretty great views of the Lake District. I ran into some nice Israelis from the hostel at the chairlift and they decided to accompany me onward to Hotel LLao LLao where we walked around a bit and asked a confused ferry operator how to rent bikes. After a solid half hour of bad Spanish and pestering with questions everyone we saw on a bike, we decided to leave it for the next day, and I bumped out my refugio trek until the day after. That evening we went to (another) teenage dance club (this time with costumes, as it was the day before halloween) and when I ordered a Fernet & Coca, the teenager behind the bar asked me from where I came, evidently so a man standing on a table wearing a big 80’s wig and holding a microphone could point a laser at me and say “Bienvenidos, Estados Unidos!” or something.
At the Top of Cerro Companario:
We rented bikes the following day and did the Cirquito Chico around a big chunk of Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi. There were a lot of hills and I am not in fantastic shape, but it was a blast, even if Miri couldn’t quite remember how to ride a bike at first. Bariloche has got to have some of the most amazing views of Alpine-type (Andino-type?) mountain scenery in the world; I’m sure my pictures will not do it justice. And I must have worked an amazing amount of charm, because the nice Israelis decided to join me on the Refugio Frey trek.
Biking the Cirquito Chico:
Which we departed for the next day. We spent the evening before asking Nacho (behind the hostel counter) a whole lot of questions to about how we might get to the trailhead, but still managed to miss our bus and had to split a (albeit very barato) taxi, which seemed a little weird.
Nacho had talked us into taking the 8-hour, more scenic hike out to the refugio, so there was a bit of a rush to get there before dark (as our transportation fiasco made us start a bit late), and it was a pretty tough hike with a lot of elevation gain (even though the Club Andino guide said that it’s “easy-to-moderate”), and we felt a major shift in temperature from the bottom of the mountain to the top. So it was very satisfying to arrive at the refugio after hiking through a couple snowfields, a fair amount of cold, damp wind, and a whole lot of rocks, as the refugio was pretty much the coziest place on earth. Alan, the 19-year-old Barilochean single-handedly staffing the place, greeted us through the kitchen’s half-door and told us what to expect before asking us into the glowing little dining room-cum-parlor that served as the main common area of the building. It was, well, magical. We had brought food but it was almost as expensive to pay to use the kitchen as to have Alan prepare something, so we asked him to make us a couple sundried tomato pizzas, which he had to do by headlamp (one of the coolest, quaintest things I’ve seen in a long time). The pizzas, the wine we brought, the candlelight, the tiny wood stove heating up the equally tiny cabin to about 95 degrees, the full moon, the frozen lake behind us, the wind howling (howling!) outside, the fuzzy stunted cat hungry for affection, our fatigue, our feelings of accomplishment for having climbed a mountain (which we did), and the excitement we all had to be there made it an admittedly fantastic night.
Check out Miri’s tour of the refugio.
Alan making us pizza by headlamp:
Full moon night outside the refugio:
Before Starting the Trek Down; L to R: Yours, Alon, Noa, Miri
I think I’m leaving for El Bolson tomorrow. Unless this really is bronchitis, which means that I may stay here and watch movies instead.
Yours,
Chau-Chau Patagonia
Update: Not bronchitis, I´m fine. I just needed some sleep.
Observations from the Bus
1] I bought a copy of the second Harry Potter book in Spanish, (as they were out of the first one) at a shop in Salta. It was ostensibly to replace Under the Volcano, which is the AR$80 book that I left at the Hostel, but I’m finding it just as difficult to read, probably because I don’t know any Spanish.
2] We stayed at a “Five Star” hotel in Iguazu for a couple days for reasons that you’ll have to buy me a beer to learn, and I found out that in Argentina, you can pretty much put as many stars onto your hotel sign as you want. What’s Michelin going to do, sue you? However, the pool was nice and the young men working behind the reception desk were exceptionally kind and resourceful. And the orange juice was oh-so-fresh-squeezed.
3] I bought a low-end camera in Salta, too. If you know me, you know I can be unreasonably picky about material purchases, even those that I will probably lose (or break, or drop in a lake) in a month or two, so it was a bit heartbreaking to settle for some crappy camera. But it’s nice to have something to take pictures with other than the phone. Even if the battery dies after like 20 pictures.
4] As of press time, I’m about 3/4 through my massive bus ride down to Bariloche, and it feels like no time whatsoever has passed. This, my friends, is truly the way to travel. Everything is so comfy and they come around every few hours with cookies and coffee or little bits of candy or fancy hot meals. I got my own bottle of wine for dinner (just like last night), and I’m expecting to be served champagne in an hour or two to help monsieur get to sleep.
And that’s a nice segue into:
5] I’m pretty sure I’m gaining weight exponentially. I’ve heard some stories of people gaining massive amounts of poundage on trips down here, but running was helping to curb my lateral growth for a while. And now, not so much with the running. I’m not super worried about it or anything; this is pretty much just a warning that I may be a bit rounder when I come home. Try not to gape too much.
6] We met an amazing woman named Mierna (spelling terribly inaccurate) in Salta. You may recognize her name from the photo in which Eduardo shows Mierna what it feels like to dance with a man full of amor. But Mierna herself is pretty unforgettable. She’s working on her PhD, studying translations of the work of “a very important Brazilian novelist,” whose name I’ll never be able to remember, and traveling around the world in her spare time. My first impression of Mierna was that she’s an incredibly intelligent, very well-spoken woman, which all proved true. However, she’s Brazilian, and passionate, and really truly loves to enjoy her private life as well as teaching and studying and reading and translating and discoursing. And I felt so incredibly out of my league while attempting to discuss literary translations with her, but she never made me feel stupid, which is an amazing feat on her part.
7] Argentines love the 80’s. Not just the music, but the haircuts. And I’m not sure they’re being referential.
8] Also met a fellow in Salta named Biker Guy*. He’s an Irish fellow with a very strong Gaelic accent who decided to ride through South America on his bike. An admirable goal, no doubt an impressive undertaking. And a very odd guy. He came out with us my second night in Salta, and I spoke with him quite a bit but was really only able to understand five or six words all night. Also a bit of a drooler. But! He was riding all over South America! On his bike!
And finally,
9A] Federico. Combining the Argentine love of mullets, inappropriate romantic advances, and 80’s music, we have Federico. He was the bartender at the hostel in Salta, and he loved the ladies. And Jheri Curl. He was a charmer, though, and when Folkloric Dancing Night at the hostel came around, he was always one of the first to start clapping in unison. He also put my NorteAmericano dance moves to shame at the Salta toothpaste club.
9B] Fernando. Our safari-shorts-wearing, wisecracking, rugby-playing tour guide on the Cachi and Las Nubes trips was, I thought, a pretty cool guy. He even took those crazy pictures in the salt flats (while laying down in the dirt for the sake of his art). And when our minibus blew a flat on the way back from the mountain, he kept the group entertained by throwing around a rugby ball in the middle of a busy street, which was cool. But then I heard that he was laying it on a bit thick to one of the Kiwi girls that we met, and when she disappeared after accepting a moto ride from him that evening, I think he may actually have been a bit sleazy. Good hair, though. Definitely at least 90’s hair.
*not his real name.
Amor, South American Style
I’ve learned quite a bit of Dutch over the last few days, a lot about traveling with a companion, what the inside of a “Five Star” hotel and multiple South American hospitals look like (not pretty, but well-staffed), and that the Netherlands is an amazing country, full of natural beauty, world business, bicycles, and rabbits. And that’s all I’m saying, family, sorry.
I left my traveling companion at the bus station this afternoon, as she’s headed for Rio and I’m migrating South for the summer. I’ve got an 18-hour trip back home to Buenos Aires, a four-hour layover there, and then a 24-hour ride down to Bariloche. I am, as always, excited and nervous about things to come, and I expect that the next leg of my trip will be a bit different from the two previous chapters. Bariloche is an alpine city dropped in the middle of a Parque Nacional, and is of course the “Gateway to Patagonia.” I’ll be staying at another HI place, the Marco Polo Bariloche, so that should be a similar experience to the digs in Salta, but I’m only planning on being there for a couple nights before breaking out the water filter and rain gear to head into the woods.
Point One:
You hear from fellow travelers and esteemed guidebooks that Buenos Aires is quite a bit different from the rest of Argentina and South America, but it’s not apparent until you actually leave the city. I feel not as if I’ve changed cities or regions or even countries, but like I’m on a different continent, even though I’m still hanging out in Argentina’s touristy bits. Buenos Aires is a small, depressed (financially and spiritually) Western European country transplanted into the midst of Latin America, and the rest of Latin America doesn’t take much notice.
Point Two:
Again, I’m carrying way too much crap around. Any suggestions on what to give/throw away? I’ve already ditched every book I’ve read (and one I haven’t, that cost 80 pesos but was a bit [figuratively and literally] heavy), but I’m otherwise at a loss for how to lighten my load. It’s fine for now, traveling by Micro and walking a kilometer or to with the monster strapped to my shoulders, but I’m a little wary of tackling any major distances on trail with what seems like a 14-year old on my back. I may just have to constantly leave a bag in my last hostel’s luggage room and retrieve it after every hike. I’ll think about it and ask fellow travelers for suggestions, but feel free to tell me those things that I absolutely don’t need.
Point Three:
I’m not sure if I’ve yet described the emotional roller coaster that has been my life for the last few months, but if not, imagine an amusement park attraction in which you ride in a small wheeled cart on tracks built with scaffolding into hills and valleys. And that cart is my sense of well-being over the last 10 weeks or so. There are many more peaks than valleys, but when they do come, the valleys are pretty dark and terrifying. And the peaks are, well, exhilirating, and I feel like I’m waking up from a nap that I didn’t realize I’d been taking. Things are good, and fun, and scary, and I am very confident that I’ve made a good decision for this point in my life. The future is a bit hazy for yours truly, but I also feel like I’m somehow doing right by myself.
Can I put that on my resume?
Your man in Amsterdam,
Delaney
After the Falls
The Hostel Inn in Puerto Iguazu:
I took a Cama Ejecutivo (I’m 30 years old, I deserve to travel in a little style) to Iguazu with Astrid where we found ourselves at the poshest hostel in the world. The Hostel Inn was recommended to me by a few people over the last couple months, and I’m positive that I’ll recommend it to people for the rest of my stay in South America. I’ve never been to a proper resort (the closest I’ve come is that Borscht-Belt place for Kristyn’s wedding), but I’m pretty sure that this place counts as one. Great food, cool pool, fantastic atmosphere and responsible, organized staff. Even our roommates, Blerg and Bjorn the Finnish and Mr. Cool the South African were great guys. And they had ridiculously high-pressure hot water showers.
And then, the falls. Right now I’m not exactly sure what to say about Iguazu Falls. I’ve run into a few people that have already made the trek up here and of course, everyone has said amazing things about it. And it’s all true. One thing that I can say is that while standing over one of the falls and watching a hundred thousand million billion square miles of water rushing down a light-year-tall cliff below me at twelve hundred thousand miles per hour, I said, “this truly is one of the seven wonders of the world.” And I absolutely believed it. You should go there.
And! We took an out-of-control, most definitely life-endangering dinghy ride into the bottom of the falls while a tropical depression raged around us, blowing trees over all around the park and cutting power to most of the surrounding area. I whooped and hollered and yelled my face off while trying to take horrible photos and I couldn’t stop smiling for, well, even now. I learned after we got done with the Gran Aventura that we were on the one and only boat of the day, and that the pilots reported back that it was stupid and foolhardy to take Germans and Americans and the Dutch out in weather like that, that surely someone would die. Yet, happily, I survived.
Salta the Earth (Appended)
Posted by Delaney in Buenos Aires on October 17th, 2009
I’ve been in Salta for a day now and have:
1] Taken a run for the first time after the big one. It went well.
2] Gone to see some naturally preserved mummies in space-age cryogenic capsules.
3] Taken a tram up to the top of a nearby (stubby) mountain and walked around the mini-garden at the top.
4] Signed up for a trip to Las Nubes (not the tren as it’s a bit pricey) on Wednesday (they only run Wednesday and Saturday) and one to Cachi tomorrow.
5] Met a nice Dutch young woman named Astrid with whom I’m going to travel to Iguazu on Thursday; I seem to have missed it somehow. I’ll be foregoing Mendoza for this, as I’ve heard Mendoza is more of a “couples” destination, and frankly, I’m not that into wine. I’m more into waterfalls, giant ones. I’ll then be heading directly to Bariloche. This is a change of plans, and if you look at a map of Argentina, you’ll see it’s a goofy one, involving a lot of bus travel.
5] Bought a camera. I’ll soon be losing/breaking it. Whatevs.
Luego!
Appendage:
I wasn’t able to go on the much-celebrated Salta rafting trip on Tuesday, as the company that was coordinating the outing called the night before and told me that there was a “weather advisory,” so I went back the next day and got my money back. I’m not sure what the weather advisory was, though, seeing as the next day was sunny and about 80 degrees. I was, however, able to do both the Cachi tour and the Tren de Las Nubes (in a microbus instead of the train), and they were both fun and made me excited to hang out with some nature pretty soon.
Goofy Salt Flat pictures from Las Nubes:
My trip to super Salta was happily concluded with a trip to the (one) nightclub where we drank “toothpastes,” which seem to be the national drink of Young Argentina, Fernet Blanco and Coca-Cola. Fernet Blanco used to be sold as a medicinal herb concoction and was co-opted by the youth to be used for recreational purposes. So, fun, but disgusting. Eduardo the quiet Brazilian* showed us all a thing or two about dancing, and it helped me to better understand the South American dance club experience.
Left: After a Couple Toothpastes; Right: Eduardo & Mierna
Chau for Ahora.
*Eduardo was the sweetest man, a nurse who also worked at his family’s funeral home back in Salvatore. He was a big guy, very quiet and self-conscious about his English (as he obviously spoke Portuguese, no one was able to understand his native language), but once he had a glass or two of wine or toothpaste in him, he could speak volumes about literature or politics or Carnivale in Rio, or show the ladies we were with how it felt to dance with a man full of amor.
El Micro, Simple Carbs
On my way to Salta, in the 12th hour of an 18 hour bus (micro) ride. It’s amazing how quickly time can pass when you’ve got a super-comfy seat, free alfajores, and a caffe dispenser nearby. This is only the third time I’ve been in a bus in Argentina, but I think I like it. I am, however,in the most expensive class right now (cama ejecutivo), which I may not be able to afford in the future. The terrain outside is amazingly, disconcertingly monotonous, just dry scablands interspersed by equally dry squares of farmland here and there, as flat as the Midwest. And very few buildings, only one-room shacks every mile or so.
A guy giving me the stink eye:
I’m ambivalent about leaving the city. I was, to be honest, getting a little aburrido in Buenos Aires. Don’t get me wrong, of course, I was enjoying my time spent with friends, and I had some fun going to tourist attractions, but I’d definitely settled into a routine. And I can have a routine back home, you know? People say that Buenos Aires is the easiest place in South America to live, and I have a feeling that my neighborhood was probably one of the easiest places to live in the city, so I’ll miss that, but I really feel ready for a change of pace. And to see something other than the same gray buildings around me. Last night, for instance, I saw stars outside my bus window and I realized that I hadn’t seen any stars in the city, not once. And I was happy to see them; hopefully I see more in the coming months.
In the middle of nothing:
A few other things:
I got my full cleaning/security deposit back from Marcela my landlady, minus 20 pesos for a bowl and an espresso cup that I’d broken. Unfortunately, I dismissed it when Marcela muttered something (half under her breath) about the $260 American that she gave me being the same cash that I’d given her at the start of my stay. I knew it wasn’t the same bills because I was never able to find American cash in the city, but figured that it was a language barrier thing and that Marcela meant she was just giving me what she owed me. In fact, I realized last night on the bus that the two hundred-dollar bills are counterfeit, and she was attempting to cover herself in case I noticed right away. Bummer. It’s just money, though, right?
My backpack is so gigantic. It’s like another me. I tried and tried yesterday to find things that I didn’t need and could send back home, but met very little success. I think I sent home one running outfit, some souvenirs, and my mouse. I might have saved myself 12 ounces. I’ll survive, and I really don’t think I’m lugging around anything I don’t need, but, dios mio, it’s a lot of stuff.
2 hours, one almuerzo later:
In the fancy Disco grocery down the street from my place in Recoleta, one can purchase a number of whole grain carbohydrate food choices for slightly less (but not a lot less) than the price in Estados Unidos. Other than that, we eat mostly refined white carbohydrates, potatoes, meat, some vegetables (usually in the form of sauces), and white, creamy cheese. It’s a nation with the appetite a of an 8-year old.
We’re getting closer to Salta now, I think. The bus has actually tilted upward a bit, and I see we’re moving toward some low mountains (I think we call them Sierras). The scenery has changed a bit, too, it now looks like the scrublands just West of Spokane, minus any trace of a pine tree, but with the addition of some low, twisted (now bare, as it’s still early Primavera) deciduous trees. The scenery is definitely changing. But man alive, there are no people, no buildings, no donkeys, not even any trash around. Hey, and there’s even a mountain peak in the distance!
There’s something going on with the toilet paper at public banos outside the major cities. At the first place we stopped, breakfast this morning, there was a man at a table seated beside small bundles of hygienic convenience napkins and none in the stalls. And at the place we stopped for almuerzo (simple carbs, meat, Fanta in a glass bottle, as usual), there was a woman outside the banos with a lockbox, with I’m not sure what inside. Elisabeth alluded to some difficulty with plumbing in the campo (and here I won’t get too graphic); I wonder if that has anything to do with it. Shades of Urinetown?
Chau.
How it Went
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, Buenos Aires on October 11th, 2009
Let’s just say that I taught South America a lesson about running a race. Except for that 80-year-old guy who I was trying to catch the whole way but never managed to do it. And those 12-year old girls who skipped across the finish line ahead of me. And a whole lot of fit futbolers. And like 5000 other people.
But still! I made it! And stuck to my tried-and-true method of running way too fast in the beginning of the race and having absolutely no juice left for the last 8 miles but forcing myself to drag my bones across the finish line somehow anyway. I would not recommend it as a tactic, it makes a guy pretty miserable. But still! I think I made it in 3:30! I beat the 3:30 pacer, at least (just barely), and my chip time might be as low as 3:28! So, way to go USA, right?
Click to see it bigger:
Julie was so kind and met me after the race to give me some clothes and my phone so I could take a picture, but honestly, I look Ephron* miserable. It’s not a pretty sight. The official race pictures will be online on Tuesday or Wednesday, so depending on how close to death I look in those, I might post some on here.
Oh, and at one (low) point of the race, near the end when I was forcing my legs against their will to move ahead of one another in cadence, I was thinking mean thoughts about my fellow runners as they passed me and I actually thought to myself, “come on, people, it’s not a race.”
When, in fact, it was.
Masculino:
*The use of the expletive “Ephron” is © 2009 Delaney Nye, all rights reserved.
Locutorio
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, Buenos Aires on October 7th, 2009
My internet at home is down right now. I´m reliant on locutorios and the ubiquitous Havanna alfajores shops.
It´s honestly a bit of a drag, as I´m trying to arrange travel to Salta and points beyond right now.
I´ll fill you in on all the Oktoberfest debauchery and whatnot as soon as I get a reliable connection. Until then, look at the pictures, right? You´ll see highlights from Bierburg and Cordoba, as well as my fascinating trip to the BA Jardin Japones.
The Polar Bear Came This Close to Eating a Duck!
Posted by Delaney in Argentina, Buenos Aires on October 4th, 2009
I went to the zoo recently with Julie and Rebekah. It was, well, zoo-y. But the animals seemed pretty happy; even the polar bear, that sad clown of mammalia, seemed to be having a good time. Although the cats seemed a little tense.
I’m going to let the pictures do the heavy lifting:
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