Back in BsAs

February 20th

After two lovely days at a small beach town of Villa Gesell, Lena and I took the bus back to base camp Buenos Aires. We had fit a ton in in two weeks of traveling and it caught up with us on that bus ride back. I remember boarding the double decker bus and then waking up in Buenos Aires. Perhaps the staying out long enough to watch the sunrise over the ocean two days in a row helped the sleeping process too...I can't say that I have ever stayed up long enough and still had plenty of energy to keep my eyes open long enough to walk to the beach and watch the sunrise. Of course, on the Oregon coast it is the sunset, and I have seen plenty of those. But yes, the sunrise was lovely.

Road from Bariloche to Mar del Plata

We arrived in Mar del Plata at 9:30 am on February 18th after departing the beautiful Bariloche at 12:00pm the 17th. Dead tired, we got off the bus, tipped the man who heaved our backpacks from the luggage compartment onto our backs, walked into the station, groggily found a company that serviced to Villa Gesell, bought a ticket for a 10 o'clock bus, boarded and crashed. We got off that bus only to get on the local one (colectivo) which dropped us off five blocks from our hostel. The sand filled streets made walking with a backpack harder than usual but it meant that the beach was close, closer than it had been in a long while. We stumbled in to the hostel with our bags, the family that owns and runs it quickly welcomed us and told us to quedar tranquilas, aka relax just as three other guys were doing in the livingroom. It had been a few weeks since I had thought about that concept, but we sat down and how about that, with rain coming down outside, we did, we relaxed... for a bit until our stomaches yelled at us with hunger so we were forced to move and accommodate. I have had so many ham and cheese sandwhiches, but I continue to be enamored with the fact that I can walk into almost any store, order freshly made bread, point to the ham and cheese that I want, see them sliced in front of me before I load them on the bread and enjoy all for the price of 2 dollars. You really can't beat that at home. Oh and did I mention that we took our food and enjoyed it on the beach. I will resist all temptation to describe how dreary and rainy it was because you might get jealous. No but actually, we had to sit under the lifeguard tower because it was a bit damp out in the open. On the way back we stopped at a fruit stand. If the $2 sandwich wasn't enough, how about two bananas, two peaches, and a mango for $3? I think I could get used to this.

We decided to head back to the hostel. Lena went to take a siesta but rarely can I sleep, so I thought I might have better luck checking my email. False. I was well on my way to Gmail when I was offered Mate. I seriously can't believe that I have been writing this Argentina blog and have yet to mention Mate. Originally I would have compared the Argentine consumption of this liquid herbal mixture to that of coffee in the United States, but Mate is more than just a drink. It is not something that you wait in line for while you half stress out over whether or not you are going to be on time to your meeting since you absolutely had to have your morning fix. Nor is it a drink that comes in grande non-fat, and it is not something that you drink alone. It is a mix of herbs (yierba mate) that is poured into a little gourd looking thing and then hot water is poured over it, I mean lava hot, except not boiling. The water temperature apparently is very particular, boiling is too hot but it still needs to be hot enough to burn your mouth. 

Enjoying some Mate after Kayaking a beautiful lake near Bariloche

Also, you drink it with a metal straw called a bombilla which you do not touch with your hands nor use to stir the mixture but which acts as an excellent and sometimes painful conductor of heat.

The yierba (herb mixture) is very bitter plain, however, when I ignored Gmail to accept the smoldering little gourd of caffeine I soon discovered that it is quite delicious with a small addition of sugar. Also, last few Mate side notes, you are expected to finish the drink until the straw slurps and then hand it back to whoever has the thermos of hot water. If you would not like any more at all, you say gracias as you hand it back, however, if you fancy more, you hand it back without saying anything. Typically there is one Mate (in this case Mate refers to the gourd) for a group of people and it gets passed around the social circle. Passed from person to person, it is a social drink over which I have no doubt some of the world's biggest problems have been discussed and some of the strongest bonds made.  

Also, my friend Juan Manuel, who handed me the Gmail distraction, would like me to clarify that Mate is not a drug. Apparently some think it is, probably because it is everywhere and some even buy leather bags for their thermoses. Anyway, short of the long, I drank some Mate and got to know the guys. They are all from Buenos Aires and were enjoying a week at the beach and according to the owner of the hostel they were great fun to go out with at night. So that's exactly what we did, we danced until 6:30 in the morning both nights (Mom I can see your eyes rolling as you read this) and slept until 9:30 am both mornings thanks first to an obnoxious American who clearly never learned "inside voice" in pre-school, and second to our bus to Buenos Aires.

After the first night of dancing I headed to the beach with a group from the hostel. Being as white as I am I clearly stood out in the group, but to them it didn't matter. I sat and listened as they thoroughly discussed (over Mate) subjects such as the difficulties of Autism and later the complications at the hostel. What a bummer that they kick us out of the common room at 2:30 in the morning because people want to sleep, who sleeps at 2:30 in the morning? They should be out dancing! ¡Que porqueria!

Oh, and I think I may have finally figured out how the Argentinians manage to party so hard and still function. They are nocturnal. In Villa Gesell we drank Mate at 7pm, took a siesta until we ate dinner at 11pm, left the hostel at 2:30am, danced until 6:30am, watched the sunrise and fell asleep at 7:30 am. Two of the boys nearly slept until 2pm and then it starts all over again.  I have yet to figure out how they function during the week, when I figure that one out I will let you know because seriously, they are out long enough to walk from the boliche or club, straight to work in the morning. 

"Llao Llao stands for two gringas lost in the woods."

February 16th

   Those were the words of Hernan, one of the guys who works in our hostel here in Bariloche, a very Swiss town near the Chilean border. Today, we went "trekking" as they like to call it here. We woke up and jumped on the bus for half and hour until it dropped us off in front of one of the ritziest hotels in Argentina, Hotel Llao Llao. Presidents stay there when they visit the country. Anyone can go visit, but you need to call in advance and request a visiting time perhaps to give them enough time to complete a background check.

Anyway we stepped off the bus, our heads spinning from the curves and attempted to follow the map to a trail the Hernan recommended. Turns out my internal compass is indeed broken. I thought it was just adjusting to the new hemisphere, but I think there must be some sort of magnetic field that is messing with me because this homing pigeon has had one heck of a time following directions. Maybe it is because everywhere I have lived I have always been able to position the sun in the sky and had mountains on one side of me. In Buenos Aires I thought my lack of direction was because it was a big city and with tall buildings replacing the mountains, I could barely see the sky. However, here in the small town of Bariloche I am still all over the place, perhaps it is the fact that it is 7:30 in the evening now and it looks like Portland's 3:00pm equivalent. 

Dad, check out that Gold Course at Llao Llao

Thanks once again to Lena, we found the trail and headed up the mountain. In the hostel we met some Americans who said that the trail was tough, but for those of us who have hiked Fritz Roy and Cerro Torre it was cake, or as they say here una pápa, a potato. I think nearly everything will shrink in comparison to those mountains in Chalten. In fact, if you plan to travel to this beautiful country, I would suggest that you start in the north and make your way south as the landscape grows more majestic. 

Flowers that bloom once every 60 years

   The panoramic view from the top of the hike reminded me of home. I felt as if I were standing at the mouth of three different Columbia River Gorges. After a photo or two we headed down the road until it started to rain. No matter where I travel I encounter an unexpected rainstorm. I have hidden under pillars of the Vatican as rain poured, seen a 10 minute flash flood in Turkey, and witnesses a storm that almost drowned Venice. I thought I would have another one for today but I've got nothing more than the fact that it started to rain when we were still 3 plus miles from the bus so we found a ride back to the center of town with a nice couple we met who were vacationing from Buenos Aires. We changed and got ready for what turned out to be a spectacular dinner with friends of friends from home. Adrián and his son Axel had taken us for a drive around Bariloche a few days earlier and were our connections for a free ski lift ride up Cerro Campanario. 

His wife Maria Fernanda and daughter joined us along with two of his friends who were riding their motorcycles all the way down to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. Lena and I learned many useful words at that dinner, not all of which are necessarily PG but are definitely part of the culture. Saying bad words is not necessarily looked down upon here, it is the way that you create insults that can really tick someone off and it is all in the tone of how you say it. A greeting that is often used between two old friends can mean something quite horrific if you change the tone. We have been warned not to use it until we really understand the language. Speaking of language, this language is proving harder than I thought. To put the Spanish language into a general term is pure insanity which basically means that the title of my major: Spanish Language and Literature, is raving mad. Turns out most Argentinians can't even understand their Chilean neighbors to the West because they use completely different words for the same thing; this is true with nearly all 20+ Spanish speaking countries. You could compare this to how in the US we use different words than the Auzzies or Brits. Also, many say that Argentinian Spanish is very Italian and it's true, they sound as if they are singing. Some words draw on longer while others sounds like quick short steps of the Tango. Oh and they have an accent whenever they pronounce words with "ll" or "y." Instead of pronouncing these sounds with what sounds like the "y" in "yellow" they substiture a lovely "sh" sound, so "street" which is calle, sounds like cashe. What fun eh?

 Nicolas, our guapo gaucho guide

Agua pura

Enjoying a Submarino, Capuchino, and Lemon dessert at Mamushca

    Oh, and I forgot about Valentines Day. I must admit that it was nice being away from all the chocolate, teddy bears, hearts, and consumerism of the US on the lovely day of love. When one has a Valentine, it's great, but when one is single, eh I'll pass, thanks. Lena and I spent Valentine's Day on horseback and later went kayaking on the lake. Our very guapo gaucho led the way as our horses climbed up to a brilliant view to the water divide where the water to our right flowed to the Pacific while the water to our left was on its way to the Atlantic. About a mile out from the choral we picked up the pace which I was excited about until my foot fell out of my stirrup because they were too short and I came as close as I ever have to falling off the horse. After a delicious lunch, we kayaked for a bit, then headed back to the hostel for some late night dancing. Greg, you are right, the Argentineans really like to twirl around when they dance.

     Tomorrow we will jump on the bus at noon and arrive 24 hours later in Mar del Plata, a big beach town on the East Coast near Buenos Aires. I think we will escape to a smaller town called Villa Gesell for a few days of sun (hopefully) before starting school once again. And BOOM reality hits.   

How does one even begin to explain the unexplainable?

February 8-10           

For the first time this trip I actually slept outside of a bed. It was a glorious five minute nap on the three hour bus ride to El Chalten, the trekking capital of the world. No joke, of the world. I have never seen anything like it. Our bus rolled up to this little town dominated by the mountains that surrounds it. The first glimpse of Fritz Roy, standing boldly despite being surrounded by clouds, commenced its three day omnipresence in our lives. The hostel was hopping with a group of Germans playing a beverage game of dice called Mexley. It involves some strategy but mostly luck and beer. Our eyes and our brains told us to turn in early though so we crept into our room without having any clue what our roommates looked like since they had slipped in before us. Turns out they were a very nice Brazilian couple who left us with their extra tortellini after their departure from Chalten.

Here is a quick summary of our three days:

Day 1

Weather: Indescribably beautiful. (Intense climbers and hikers come from all over the world to trek here. We met some who have been waiting two months for a good day and here we come, two oblivious girls and get the best three days of the year).

Hike: Cerro Torre

Time: 5:45- up and down and up and down. Our legs were talking on our way back but the view was amazing.

Photo by Lena Page

Patagonia, you can make the check out to Emily Cornelius

Cerro Torre

Lena + cold water

Day 2

Weather: Brilliant. Not a cloud in the sky.

Hike: Chorillo del Salto waterfall, it's where all of the locals go to cool off.

Time: 4 hours- rest day

Waterfall Chorillo del Salto 

Chorillo del Salto

Heading back to El Chalten

Day 3

Weather: Clear.

Hike: The biggest, the baddest: Fritz Roy. (It actually wasn't too unbearable except for the middle bit with an immediate 17,000 thousand foot gain).

Time: We started hiking at 8:30am, and got back to the hostel at around 6pm. Our knees were throwing out some obscenities.

If you look closely you can see the path above Will's head. It looked small...until we were standing at the base of it. 

We made it.

On the way back to Chalten

I have only been on this earth 20 years, so clearly I cannot be old and wise, but here is my latest epiphany. If you are unhappy where you are at home, if you find your life to be monotonous and you are itching for a change, if you are irritable and frustrated, buy yourself a ticket to Argentina, specifically El Chalten, or, better yet, somewhere you have never been. Get completely dominated by the mountains, push yourself to the point where you just want to sit down forever, learn things about yourself that you never knew by talking with people who you have never met before. I have never been so spontaneous yet felt so centered in my life. Fritz Roy and Cerro Torre completely owned me, destroyed my legs, left my throat absolutely parched, not only for water but also for new adventures, but despite the strain I would go back and hike them in a heartbeat. They have become more than just mountains, they have become a symbol for a new way of life. 

Initiation

*Warning: this is a long post, you may consider taking it to the John with you

February 7th, 2011 El Calafate/ Perito Moreno Glacier

When the clock struck midnight on January 1st I introduced the year 2011 to my newest resolution: to live a more spontaneous life. Since being in college, every minute of my day somehow gets planned for me with classes, essays, meetings, essays, homework, film screenings, etc. and all of last semester I tried without success to break the unvaried life of an adventurous college student. That being said, the planned part of today's adventure fell apart like slabs of Patagonia's Perito Moreno Glacier.

El Calafate- Photo by Lena Page

The night before my visit to Perito Moreno, the banter of our two Irish roommates kept me entertained as I packed my backpack once again. I had no idea that Northern Ireland remains part of the UK while the rest of Ireland does not. They definitely made that clear despite their thick accents. I woke up the next morning to catch the bus at 7:30 but remembered that I had yet to transfer any money to my bank card so I locked up my bags and hustled tot eh computer to transfer funds only to find that I had forgotten to activate my ATM card which needed to be done from my home telephone. I emailed Mom and Dad in hopes that they could help me activate it because later that night we would be taking the 6:30 bus to El Chalten, a tiny little town with no banks, no ATM, and no currency exchanges. I had plenty of American on me but at that point it wouldn't do me much good. My heart started sped up a bit as I heard the rumbled of a bus coming up the hill. I hit "send" and waited for a few seconds as the computer attempted to swallow and digest all that I had written then got up and jumped on the bus.

Being from Alaska, my friend Lena was not as interested in paying to see a glacier so I found myself sitting next to another single traveler, Danielle from London. We started talking straight away until suddenly I remembered that my beautiful lunch was still sitting in the hostel refrigerator. Bummer, at least I still had an apple and a Cliff bar. Danielle was also without a lunch but that was because she was under the impression that lunch would be served as part of the trip. False. Soon enough we neared the entrance to the National Park of the Glaciers where we must each pay 100 pesos to get in. I was ready to pay for the whole thing the night before but the front desk said to hold onto that bit for the next day, they had no idea that they were talking to "Where's Waldo's" close relative whose most said phrase lately has been: "where's my (wallet, toothbrush, camera, fill in the blank)?" The rangers at the station boarded the bus and walked to each pair of seats to collect the fee. I opened my wallet and instead of the crisp bill that I had the night before, I found a bunch of tattered smaller bills, maybe a few tens, two twenties, and some twos. Hmm, let's see that comes out to about 64 pesos. I started to get that anxious feeling that grew with every step that the ranger took towards me. Danielle paid while I was still ruffling through all of my pockets. She graciously lent me all that she had left which I took embarrassed which then got me to 95 pesos. Still 5 measly pesos short. I handed the wad of cash to the official hoping that somehow that clump would learn how to reproduce. He looked uncomfortable when he reached 95. And then I remembered that I had tucked a $5 US bill in my wallet. Instantly I dug down to the bottom of my backpack, the second I felt the leather of my wallet my fingers clenched it and had the 5 out before the red of the wallet even surfaced. Never has President Lincoln looked so good. The ranger exchanged it right then and there and the whole bus relaxed now that the random American would not delay their journey further. Well, the journey wasn't even close to over.

With only 12 pesos left between us from the exchange of the US money, Danielle and I got off the bus to walk on the platforms across from the glacier. Our guide, Maria, told us the specific time that we needed to be back, we agreed and continued down the stairs. From the middle platform we will still well above the glacier and heard the ominous cracks of the ice that left us eagerly anticipating the plunge of a large chunk of ice into the frigid water below. It was like standing in the middle of the forest and hearing twigs crack as something creeps towards you but not knowing from which direction it is coming, nor how close it has gotten.

Me in front of the Perito Moreno Glacier

We admired the glacier for a while commenting on the fact that the tour company gave us a long time to admire this layered chunk of frozen history. It was nearing 11:15 and we figured that since the bus leaves at 11:30 it wouldn't hurt to be early. We neared the top to find a flustered Maria running towards us asking where the heck we have been and to follow her quickly because the bus had already left to take everyone to the boat, which crosses the river and takes us to where we can walk on the ice. When we reached the concrete, a woman who I had never seen before says to me in Spanish, "Emily, they are going to kill you," as we scurried by.  That's never a good sign, especially when the next bus would come an hour and a half from then and I had to be back in El Calafate to catch the bus to El Chalten, I had no choice but to figure out a way to get down to the dock. Maria ran from bus to bus asking if anyone was going down to the dock. My heart sank every time the driver laughed and shook his head. Then, this random car drove up and dropped off some a family. We ran over and watched as a stressed Maria talked to him. He nodded that yes he would drive us for a kiss and we threw ourselves into his car. The boat apparently had not yet left the dock.

He didn't end up getting his kiss but we did manage to hand him the 12 pesos, our gracias' and chau's waning as we sprinted down the dock to the boat. The second the gate closed behind us, the rubber left the wood of the dock and everyone on the boat cheered. I wanted to hide in a corner; once again the group had waited for this yanqui.

When we got off we had half an hour for lunch and everyone made sure to turn around and look at me to make sure that I understood what time to be back. Danielle and I were about to split my Cliff bar when the two young Argentines, Jazmín and her brother Francisco, waved us inside to have some of their ham and cheese (always a reliable lunch choice here in Argentina) sandwiches. After lunch we grabbed a pair of gloves, strapped on a set of crampons, and followed in a line behind our guide onto the glacier. "Wow it's really bright out here," I thought, "oh wait, maybe that's because I forgot my sunglasses back where we had lunch."

Jazmin and Francisco's group

oh hey look, some ice

Another guide by the name of Gabriel stood and watched to make sure everyone made it past, lending a hand on a big step when needed before putting us all to shame by running past us to the front to wait once again. His sunglasses reflected the details of the glacier so I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was watching, alert for anything that might happen. Eventually, however, someone in our group could have fallen into a hole and Gabriel wouldn't have seen because he was busy flirting with the blue-eyed American who forgot her sunglasses every time she walked by. 

After two and half hours on the ice, it was time to return to the boat but not without enjoying some whiskey on the (glacial) rocks of course.The whiskey kept us warm on our sluggish walk back to the lunch spot. We grabbed our bags from the hut and walked down to the water where the boat and our guides awaited us. I gripped the straps on my bag as I neared the steps of the boat. I took one last look at the glacier behind me, and with a kiss on the cheek from Gabriel and I was off, back to the wild flamingos in El Calafate.

Myself, Jazmin, and Danielle enjoying some refreshments post trecking

Epilogue:

Danielle and I made it back to Calafate and walked to the ATM. I stuck in my card having absolutely no idea if it would work and miraculously it did. Thank you Mom and Dad for working your magic. I paid Danielle back and we went our separate ways. I definitely will never forget our adventure that day. I made it back to my hostel at 5:30 and our bus left at 6:30, we made it just fine and had a lovely drive to El Chalten. I hope to see Jazmín in Buenos Aires when I am there, she too will be going to school in the big city. All in all, I would like to think that I have nearly completed my initiation into spontaneity. 

The Guys at America del Sur Hostel in El Calafate

Houston we have lift off...and a taste of home

We (as in Lena, a friend from Whitman, and I) said farewell to Portland. We left the comforting embraces of my parents as we said goobye and followed the PDX green carpet as it guided us to the check in counter and later to our gate. New record, neither bag was overweight, the only problem was that when I handed the woman at the desk my ticket to board the plane, she took one look at my carry-on and said, "could you please show me that your bag will fit in the compartment there." In my head I thought, "sure, no problem, do you happen to have a crowbar?" It didn't fit, but I lucked out because they had hoped to speed up the loading process so they were checking traveler's carry-ons for free and we were off to Texas.

the travelers

In light of the theme of this blog, the fact that our plane to Buenos Aires took off from Houston was rather convenient. I didn't put it all together until we passed a kiosk on the way to our departure gate that was selling shirts that said, "I need my space" with a big NASA logo on them. Two hours later we were nearly in space. If you were super man with night vision and had flown by our plane Wednesday evening, you would have seen a 20 year old girl with a sweatshirt over her head and her nose pressed flat against the window as she gaped out the window at the stars. Orion slowly moved by as we glided down the Milky Way. Every once in a while I could see a few lights on land, little towns in the mountains of Central America.

The plane landed around 10:20. Bleary eyed, as I fail to sleep while on planes, we called a taxi and got to the hostel, changed, went for a walk and then had one of those, "Holy [fill in the blank] what have I gotten myself into" moments as we walked down the bustling Calle Florida. Neither of us had been in the middle of such a high concentration of people in quite a while so we ducked into a bookstore and enjoyed a sobering sandwich.

Today Calle Florida was much more manageable. Floral prints are all the rage and gladiator sandals rule the majority even on the unpredictable cobblestone. It seems like Argentina likes shoes, I think we will get along very well in that department. I am not sure how easy clothes will be to find, the "one size fits all" fails to take into account athletic builds. Also, the helado de menta granalizada, mint chip ice cream was a delicious taste of home. 

Plaza Mayo-Signs Remembering the Catastrophe of the Falkan Islands 

Calle Florida

Late this evening we are venturing to el barrio de Palermo or the neighborhood of Palermo. A friend from high school lives there now and has graciously offered to show us around. Sunday we head off to Patagonia for a few weeks. Apparently the two-day bus ride that we will be taking in the middle of it is on Ruta 40, a gravel/dirt road. Looks like it might be wise to invest in something that can induce drowsiness. A friend suggested a box of wine, I was thinking more along the lines of Tylenol PM but I am flexible.

Chau.