I`m the Second Craziest Person I Know

I think I am not actually supposed to write this blog, because this is the third time I`ve tried. The first time, I wrote for an hour before power blacked out for a millisecond causing all the computers in the internet shop to reset. Yes, I know I should have saved my work. So I did the second time. I wrote it in Microsoft Word and saved every two minutes. When another storm rolled through, and torrents of water were gushing down the street, and the whole town went dark, I was wearing a triumphant smile. Until I explained to the cashier that I`d saved my work and so would like to use the same machine when the power came back. And she explained that all the computers have a program that wipes the hard drive clean each time the machine is turned off. GREEEEEAT.

So quickly then…

We wasted an entire day between Curitiba and Blumenau trying to do laundry wandering around trying to find non-existent laundromats. Every place we found was more like a dry-cleaners and charged per piece of clothing, not per kilo. On a brighter note, a woman asked me for directions in Portuguese while we were walking to the bus station and I was able to help her! She was surprised to find out we weren`t Brazilians, which was neat.

The bus ride to Blumenau was through some absolutely gorgeous country. Craggy majestic peaks shot up all around us as we wound our way through deep valleys covered in thick, jungle-esque deciduous forests with occasional stands of coniferous trees popping up on the fierce ridgelines. Palm trees frequently reached well above the other tree tops, and as the mountains gave way to farmland, banana plantations covered the terrain.

When we got to Blumenau, we had one of the funniest experiences yet (due to our Portuguese ignorance, of course). First, we were mega stressed out, because we had only vaguely planned our next move. But the road maps we have are inaccurate, and the information we have is incomplete, so we have to spend forever guessing different routes and then walking around to each of 16 bus companies asking them if they go to such-and-such a place or have a bus that goes by there. So, after trying desperately to plot our next move south, we gave up Florianopolis (a beach town with a forecast for rain) and a national parks with breathtaking canyons (because we couldn`t figure out how the heck to get there), and just decided to go to Iguaçu Falls.

Next was getting to town in the pouring rain without paying for a taxi. I asked in a shop, but all I could tell for sure was that we were supposed to take a bus that said Proeb on the front. Taking city buses with our backpacks in tow is hilarious, because each bus has an attendant that sits beside a tiny turnstyle and takes money. Well, the turnstyle is only as wide as my hips, and our backpacks and Pat`s hips are much wider than that. So there`s lots of struggling and trapped straps and laughing each time we get on a bus. Plus, the bus drivers are maniacs who accelerate into turns and take off well before you`ve found a seat (if there`s even a seat available), which means a ferocious battle with gravity and desperate attempts not to fall on anyone or crush them with our backpack appendages.

About five minutes down the road, I asked the woman in front of us if Proeb is in the centro. Well, apparently it`s not, because she started talking to another passenger about it, and before we knew it the whole bus was arguing back and forth about how we should get to the centro and which bus to take, etc. I finally understood that someone was going to take us by the hand and show us what to do when we got to Proeb. We got off the bus with a younger woman (40`s) and an older woman (60`s) who both started talking to me in rapid Portuguese. They kept saying the word “ponto,” which I desperately wished I knew the meaning of. I could swear bridge is ponte, but I decided to keep an eye out for bridges just in case. Meanwhile they are both still talking a million miles a minute, and I am just nodding and replying in the affirmative, trying to keep them talking so that eventually they`ll say something I understand. Suddenly, the younger woman leaves and the older woman motions for us to follow her onto a bus.

We sit, and Pat, who has been cluelessly watching our exchange, finally delights in the opportunity to find out just what, exactly, is going on. Of course, I have to reply, “Heck if I know. I think we`re supposed to go with this woman and she`ll tell us when to get off. ” And this is why I love Pat. Because he just says, “Oh, ok.” And starts laughing. You`d think being so completely out of control would be stressful and frightening, but it`s really not. It`s actually less stressful than what we usually are trying to do, which is to accomplish the task of an adult with the skills of a three-year-old. Honestly, everything we do is like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together with your toes.

A few minutes later, the older woman turns to me with a panic-stricken look and starts gesturing and pointing and giving me directions. I think I understand that we are supposed to get off the bus, cross the street, and go up two blocks and then left some distance. I catch “shopping” (the word for a mall) and “ponto” again (really wish I knew that one), before the bus is screeching to a halt and we are trying to push our way out the back doors before the bus driver jets off. She is still yelling directions as the doors are closing, and we can`t stop laughing at the hilarity of the situation. And of course it`s still pouring rain.

Turns out one of the three hotels we had our sights on was only a few blocks away, a cute littler German number (it`s a very German town, with very old-school German architecture)

Typical Blumenau Architechture

with rooms that made me feel like we were in the alps. We asked for a restaurant recommendation, and instead got the average price per plate we could expect to pay and also were told that eating at the shopping mall is more expensive. So, for forty minutes, we wandered around, tummies rumbling, trying to find something that was open and serving food. We were about to give up and eat potato chips from the gas station, when we happened upon a place called Rancho de Pastel. It took forever for us to understand the menu; we went from thinking the guy was explaining different drink size options with different meals to understanding from another waitress that the only food they served was calzones with a plethora of different fillings, and the actual diameters available were shown on the menu. Ooooooh! The food was excellent, and the local beer was quite yummy. The Eagles played on the T.V. the whole time we were there with the lyrics translated into Portuguese. I wish we could see more stuff like this. Such a great way to learn!

We got to go to bed early, and got up the next morning to the best breakfast buffet we`ve have so far. Of course we had the standard bread (not toast), butter, jam, and coffee, but this one included several fruit options, every kind of bread you could think of, lots of pastries and breakfast cakes, eggs, sausage, and a few different kinds of juice. YUM! Our plan was to attempt to visit an ecological reserve in the countryside, so we ate as much as we could before heading to a bus stop and hoping we`d get on the right bus. We couldn`t really ask anyone, because we don`t know how to clearly describe where we are wanting to go. And you certainly can`t ask the bus drivers. Those guys are in a huge hurry. They barely even stop to let passengers off, and certainly don`t have time for a conversation about two crazy tourists trying to get to some random, unfamiliar, isolated place in the countryside.

The guidebook says to take the Garcia bus to a terminal and then change to Progresso until the end of the paved road. That`s it! So, we get on the first bus that says Garcia (along with a lot of other things), and just hope we will recognize wherever it is that we need to get off. Thankfully, the first terminal we come to is fairly obvious, and the bus driver finally stops after driving ten blocks past it, then two blocks back in the other direction before ultimately dropping us off. Before getting on the second bus (which is parked with the ignition off waiting for departure time), I ask them, “Vocês vao para Parque Ecològico Spitzkopf?” The attendant looks at me like I`m crazy, and says… “I think so. I`ll ask the driver.” Well, good thing we asked, because we never would have recognized our stop. It`s obvious that the guide book writer has never actually been to this place, because the paved road does not end. It goes on forever until the next town and the next and the next. There is just a bus stop on the corner where you get off and start walking down a gravel-covered country road. After inquiring about the frequency of buses and the last bus available, we`re off down the beautiful country road, laughing the whole way about the insanity we`ve gotten ourselves into. I say I think I`m the craziest person I know, and Pat decides that I have to be the second craziest, since I at least can somewhat communicate. “Only a crazy person would follow another crazy person, which is exactly what I`m doing,” he says. What fun!

After about a mile of walking past lots of little village-like settlements where the imaginative children are peeking out from behind the curtains and blasting their noisemakers at each other and us (think New Year`s), we finally arrive. The sign for “reception” points up a very steep and narrow cement staircase that leads past small, 10×20` terraces (the second one had two horses grazing on it!) to two barn doors, both of which were locked. We gave up and continued down the road, reading signs until we got to a giant pond with cabins next to it and signs describing the three hiking trails in the “park.” Still no signs of any humans or place to pay the entrance fee. In fact the place looks quite deserted, so we just head down the trail and decide to ask the first person we run into. There are three waterfalls, one on each trailhead, and they get progressively more impressive. The forest/jungle is thick with trees that have bark that looks like cedar/hemlock, and ferns that look like they`re from the jurassic era. Seriously, these things were at least fifteen feet tall. All of the trails were covered in debris (maybe this place is condemned?), and we followed the first past a giant spider (at least three inches long), a tree with waxy red flowers that seemed to have a bright yellow miniature daffodil growing out the center of each complete with large blueberry-like fruits, and giant vines hanging down in the trail. Eventually the trail became not only debris-covered, but overgrown as well, and so we turned back.

About the vines… I never understood how it was that Tarzan could swing on these jungle vines without them breaking, and assumed it was just a hollywood fantasy. Not so! These things are insanely thick and flexible. Between 1-3″, and could definitely hold a person. Nuts! Anyway… by the time we got to the second waterfall, we still hadn`t run into anyone. It was great. We had this jungle paradise all to ourselves! On our way to the third waterfall we ran into these giants stand of bamboo, which I never associate with rainforests, but very cool nonetheless. Along the third waterfall trail an very old looking aquaduct carried water…back to the villages? the camp? and we had to cross a dam with a sketchy cement staircase/bridge combo (suspended in midair) that was cracking across the bottom. Greeeeeat. The last waterfall was 60 feet tall and really beautiful. It was so fun to be there is such a paradise and share the experience with someone I care so much about. Awesome!

One of the prettiest waterfalls also at Parque Ecolgico Spitzkopf.

Because we forgot to buy water before we left town, we decided we ought not climb the peak, and so instead headed back to Blumenau in time to get lunch, see all the touristy spots, and watch Brazil`s game against Japan before getting on the next bus. Japan didn`t stand a chance! Brazil creamed them!

We were lucky as far as the bus went. On a fourteen-hour, overnight ride, being comfortable is definitely high on the priority list. This bus was a double decker, and the front seats on the top level were open! For some reason these seats aren`t popular. I think they`re the best seats on the bus, because you`re surrounded by giant picture windows on three sides and get a great view. Maybe people don`t like them because of all the light that comes in the windows (but there are curtains!) or because you can`t see the T.V. all that well, or because you get to witness, first-hand, every insane decision that the bus driver makes. Like tailgating a motorcycle or tiny car that can stop on a dime. Or passing in a no passing zone (I know I do it, too, but not in a giant bus!), or passing a semi on a two-lane mountain road when another semi is coming head-on. I`m not kidding. Several times the bus was sandwiched between two semis going opposite directions on a two lane road. Really crazy.

While this is actually a photo of a double decker bus in London, same idea. These are my favorite! Probably not the safest way to travel, though!

Because it was dark pretty much the whole time, the only point of interest was the cemeteries. Instead of sprawling lawns, every cemetery I`ve seen is built into a hillside with bodies inside stone/marble caskets above ground terraced all the way up the hill. It makes you feel like you`re on stage as the auditorium graves rise up in front of you. Sorry if I`m being morbid.

Anyway… after watching the Cable Guy, straining to hear the English while getting to read the Portuguese at the bottom of the screen, we got to have a pretty restful nights sleep complete with cookies for breakfast! Yum!

Just a Small Town Girl

We *finally* got into the countryside today, which I have been dying to do.   Growing up I used to think the excitement and endless list of entertainment opportunities available in a city was more my style and pace, but I was wrong.   When you come from a small town, you know how to entertain yourself with very little, and I like it that way.

We took the Serra Verde Express on “the most beautiful train ride in Brazil.”   It was genuinely fantastic.   At eight a.m. we boarded a half-full rail car with plenty of leg room and lots of friendly (mostly Brazilian) tourists.   Because Curitiba is a pretty big city, it took awhile to escape the endless buildings, but once we finally broke away, I finally got to taste that sense of peace I`d been waiting for for so long.   We spent about 1/2 an hour in farm country before we started our ascent into the mountains where the jungle clung to the hillsides.   The train track is literally carved out of the slopes, often tunneling through thick vegetation and granite slabs.   Other times the mountain dropped away to reveal gorgeous views as we chugged along over viaducts and bridges spanning crevasses hundreds of feet deep.   The banana trees, with their human-sized leaves, were heavy with fruit, and carpets of bright pink and purple flowers covered all the open areas near the tracks.   Amazing!

This train ride was amazing and a definite engineering feat!

One of the mountain ranges around Morretes

Really on the brink!

We crested the highest point in our journey and slowly wound our way towards the coast, stopping just short in a gorgeous little colonial town called Morretes.   It`s one of those tiny towns with cobblestone streets, a river winding through it, really pretty flower gardens, tremendous views of the mountains, and maybe a total of 10 streets wide by ten streets long.   Very manageable, and terribly difficult to get lost.   We asked a woman at the train station where was the best value to try the local special, Barreado.   It`s basically a meat stew cooked for 24 hours in a clay pot… the secret to the incredible flavor, of course, is the slow cooking.   It used to be made only for celebratory times because the ingredients were pricey, and it`s use in Carnival (pre-Lent) celebrations was especially noted for allowing the food-preparers to get all their  work done the day before in order to  take part in the festivities.

The view from our restaurant!

The Barreado was so incredibly delicious.   I have  a secret weakness for pot-roast, which was a main ingredient.   Served over rice and manioc flour with sliced bananas… really, this stuff was to die for.   And the juice!   This is the super thing about Brasil!   There are fruit juice stands everywhere… fresh!   And it ´s maybe 25 cents more than soda.   I wish we has such a healthy variety in the U.S.!   The restaurant we ate at was recommended to us as being the “best value” (read = cheapest), so we weren`t expecting much, but I think we really lucked out.   As far as ambience and a view, I think we got the best place in town.   The main part of the restaurant was on stilts over the riverbank, so we got to watch these small,  three-inch, silver fish flash the afternoon away while we sipped our juices (pineapple and strawberry!).

Barreado in all its splendor.

After we indulged in the local specialty, we took a little self-tour of this gorgeous town.   Once we`d seen everything there was to see and inquired about hiking trails (only allowed in the National Park 8km from town, we found out), we bought tickets for the next bus back to Curitiba.   With 45 minutes to kill, we set off on a walk, passing literally dozens of banana trees!   It was so strange to be in a jungle thick with deciduous trees that, had they been growing farther apart, could have well been in the U.S., and then *whamo!*… banana tree!   The leaves on these things are HUGE.   We`re talking, I could make a modest dress out of a banana tree leaf and still have plently to spare.   They`re bigger than Pat!   And another thing… yes, I know this makes me a redneck hick or something of the like, but did you know bananas grow “up?”   Check out the picture!   I consider the top part of the banana to be the end where you crack the “stem” off and peel it open.   This, my friends, is not the end closest to the sky when the banana is growing!   Because of my mis-pre-conception, bananas now seem to me to defy gravity.   Crazy!

Banana tree complete with green bananas

We cat-napped in between enjoying the scenery on the way back to Curitiba, and arrived early enough that we thought we might give the Niemeyer museum another go.   We got the receptionist in an administration office to call for us, and set off on the two mile journey.   Lucky for us, the little misunderstanding we had ended up being harmless.   You see, when I asked how late they were open, the woman told me “oito.”   So, thinking we had four hours, we ambled up town.   When we turned up at the museum an hour later, the guy said they closed in an hour and a half.   I asked, “at eight?”.   No… eight-TEEN.   Since we`re not used to military time, we didn`t hear the DEZ-oito.   Nonetheless, we got to see all the exibits and had time to run up inside the giant eye (currently a dis-used exhibition space) for which the museum is so well-known.

The Serra Verde Express crossing one of the unbelievable bridges.

The view of our restaurant from the main street in the village.

I think by far the coolest exhibit was called FLUXUS.   It started in Germany in the 60`s as (from what I could gather from the Portugese placards) a sort of avant-garde form of art/examiniation of the art world.   It`s definitely the kind of art that some think is bizarre trash and others find fascinating and though-provoking.   I, of course, belong in the latter group.   One of my favorites were these old-school (late-70 ´s) televisions (the old knob style back before remote controls) laid out on the floor facing the ceiling on a cloth.   There were probably 12-15 television, forming a cross, and all connected to the same “broken record” style film.   I couldn`t really tell what was flashing across the screen… just a ton of random pictures (reminded me of 80`s MTV), but sort of Andy Warhol style as far as the colors went.   It think it draws a really interesting, subliminal parallel with religion and television.   These days, for some, catching the O.C. on Wednesday nights is just as important as going to church on Sunday.

My other favorite wasn`t even a piece, itself, it was a part of an art piece.   Because my portuguese is rather… lacking, I couldn`t quite understand the focal point behind these bulliten-board displays, but each of seven artists put together several bits.   One artist`s contained a letter written to a colleauge about how inappropriate it is to describe any one artist or project as the newest and most up and coming.   Because balance in the universe is necessary, because you cannot have new without old, she/he defines the “eternal network” of which we are all a part.   Read:

Eternal Network

there is always someone asleep and someone awake

someone dreaming asleep someone dreaming awake

someone eating someone hungry

someone fighting someone loving

somone making money someone broke

someone travelling someone staying put

someone helping somone hindering

someone enjoying someone suffering someone indifferent

someone starting someone stopping

THE NETWORK IS ENTERNAL (everlasting)

-R. Filliou

After we saw all the exhibits, we descended to the basement level where you have to go down a StarTrek-ish tunnel to get to the stairs/elevators that lead up into the eye building.   I felt  like  I  was in a sci-fi movie.

The tunnel that provides underground access to the “eye” building in the Niemeyer Museum.

After finding our way back from the museum, we wandered around the centro seeing all the pretty plazas with antique lighting until we happened upon an internet cafe where the mean proprietor was quite impatient with us, tried to overcharge us by several dollars (math is a universal language, buddy!), and then got angry when we persisted in explaining to him that 7:40 to 10:20 doesn`t equal 3 hours and 45 minutes!   For the most part people here are wonderful, but this guy was a jerk

On a brighter note, tomorrow will bring a journey to a new town (finally away from the big cities!)!

My World Got Flip-Turned Upside Down

Today, we arrived in Curitiba about 1/2 an hour earlier than we expected to, which is a bad thing.   Why?   Because we planned to use the bus as a hotel, so arriving 1/2 an hour early means less sleep.   Since it was 5:30 a.m., we killed some time researching the horários (schedules) for our next departures (a national park, and then Blumenau).   When it was finally light outside, we walked the mile to the cheapest hostel/hotel in the book.   I think we woke the caretaker up (it was 7:00 by this time).   I don ´t know if she really had no room, or if she rejected us because we got her out of bed.

Since we were starving, on our way to the next place, we stumbled into a little cafe and inquired about the fare.   There was a sopapia (sp?) looking thing under the counter, and she called it pizza, so we gave it a go.   OH-my-god.   It was SO good.   It was some kind of wonderful cheese, a slice of ham(?), and a tomato inside a pocket of deep-fried bread.   I think we ´re definitely going to make another meal of it before we leave this place.   While Pat was on round two (he ´s about twice my size.   Well.. almost) I wandered down the street to inquire, baggage-free, about the  next hotels on our list.   I found one for an excellent price.   A little run-down, but far from deplorable.   Since we got  really poor sleep on the bus  thanks to the city lights, crying babies, and zero leg room, we decided to take a nap.   And,  like usual, one hour turned into three.   And, I just have to add here, when I say zero leg room, I mean zero.   Pat has a problem by default, but even for ME there was no  leg room.   The really great/terrible thing about the majority of South American busses is that the seats recline about 3x ´s more than a U.S. bus or airplane seat.   Kind of like your personal vehicle.   But that means that the seat in front of you pretty much lays right in your lap.   And  if  you want to have  any room at all, you have to lay your seat onto the  lap of the person behind you.   And so on and so forth.   It wouldn ´t have been so bad, but the woman in front of us was  very ill-tempered.   When she laid her  seat back, it wouldn ´t go any farther once it ran into our knees.   So,  she turned around and  glared at us and started  slamming her body against the seat to gain a few more inches.   Then she glared at  us again before she huffily went to sleep.    And of  course, when we arrived, she wasn ´t courteous enough to return her seat to it ´s upright and locked position, so we were stuck until Ms. Hotty-Totty got off the bus.   And of course  she just sat there  until everyone else had gotten off.   Was she trying to spite  us?

After our accidental three-hour nap, we showered up and hit the streets.   We knew we wouldn ´t get much accomplished, so we planned just to see the Museo Novo, and art museum designed by the famous architecht Oscar Niemeyer (the same one who did Edificio Copan in São Paulo).

The outside of the Oscar Niemeyer Museum. So cool!

A view at night. You can see some little car things behind the eye for size reference. I dont know about all the writing… I got this off a webpage.

Now, in this team-operation of Pat + Jema, I am the directions 1/2 of the team.   I have a pretty good internal sense of direction, and if I see a map, I ´m set for sure.   Pat… not so much.   But for some reason, as we were walking towards the museum, everytime we came to an intersection, I felt confused and uncertain.   Usually I know exactly where I ´m going.   So after checking and re-checking the map every five minutes, just to be sure, I finally realized what was going on.   My internal sense of direction has a lot to do with landmarks.   When it ´s shining, my landmark is the sun.   Because it ´s winter here, the sun in much closer to the horizon, just like winter in the states.   However, the thing that knocked off my internal equilibirium is WHICH horizon it ´s closer to.   I was stunned when it finally dawned on me – the north horizion!   I felt like I was in some kind of parallel universe the whole day.   Trippy!

We happened upon a plaza  (going the wrong direction, thanks to my north/south reversal) and  found a popcorn stand.   We went for the salgado (salty), and realized within the first handfaul that the  dark colored chunks were BACON.   It  was weird (why is  EVERYTHING meat flavored here!?), but we ate it anyway.   A pigeon ambled over and started pecking at the meat chunks we ´d tossed out, so we tossed him a piece of popcorn.   Then a little bird came  along about 1/15th of his size and STOLE  his popcorn!   The sneak just  flashed in and out!   We  felt sorry for the poor guy, so we tossed him a few more kernels, and before we  knew it, every SINGLE pigeon within a mile flocked to us.   It was freaky!    It ´s like they have some  kind of system!   So we  quickly dumped out the last handful for the birds and high-tailed it out of there!

When we finally got the the museum, we were in total awe.   The main building is shaped like a giant eye on a pedestal coming right out of  a pond.   It ´s really futuristic; very cool.   The rest of the museum is  up on pillars, so we wandered around  underneath it taking pictures inside these giant  wooden cones and trying to figure out just where we were supposed to buy tickets.   Finally we found someone guarding a door who let us know we just walked two miles for excersise; the museum is closed on Mondays.   Grrrreaaaat.   Cést la vie!   At least we got to  see the outside!

Since we were hungry again, we  started  looking for a restuarant.   But it seems this city has a thing about  Mondays.   Every  enticing establishment we passed was closed!   ARGH!   I ´m so tired of frickin x-salada!   (That ´s a cheeseburger).   But  the only  food  places  open were the regular mom-and-pop  snack shops (which  are EVERYWHERE!) that sell only  fast-food.   YUCK.   After walking another mile or so, we were finally so hungry that we decided to  try out this middle-eastern fast  food chain.   Pat ordered the mini-pizzas (Esfihas), and I got something called a fogazza.   I generally order according to the price/quantity principle so I don ´t end up stuffed with 1/2 my plate still full.   I had my choice of cheese, meat, or romeo and juliet.   Neither cheese nor meat is especially appealing to me, so I went for the third option after the cashier told me it contained cheese and woeihasfalkdjfow.   My price/quantity theory failed me miserably, and I ended up with a giant entreé of deep fried bread stuffed with some kind of sweet cheese and jelly.   I can ´t say it ´s wasn ´t delicious, but I was so stuffed I couldn ´t walk comfortably.   UGH.

The rest of the day consisted of miles and miles of walking.   First to the bus station, then to a plaza with theoretically free internet, then around and around looking for any internet (this town seems a little behind the times as far as that  goes).   I don ´t know how we found this place!

A side note:   through-out our travels so far, I consistently note the differences in travelling-solo and travelling with a partner.   Each has its merits, and I certainly recommend both.   Alone, I had a lot more time to reflect, think, and fully participate in the experience.   When you can focus all of your attention on what ´s going on around you, you notice a heck-of-a-lot more!   However, the really great part about travelling with someone else is it ´s so EASY!   When we get to the bus station, one person can sit with the bags while the other person runs errands.   I don ´t have to carry my backpack to the bathroom and all the ticket counters.   And it ´s awesome to have someone to share all the really cool experiences with.   When you ´re excited and have no one to tell, it ´s definitely different.   Anyway…

Tomorrow is the famous Curitiba to Paranaguá train ride.   We ´re excited!

Brazil 2, Australia 0!!!

Today was our last day in São Paulo (sad!).   We were supposed to leave this morning, but last night…     Well, actually,  I should  begin at the beginning.

Yesterday, Saturday, was our last day of school, which was really sad, because the school is *so* great.   Seriously.   Part of me just wishes  we were just living in one city, studying during the week, and travelling on the weekends.   But, the Amazon is a long way from São Paulo!

Instead of the normal four hour break for eating lunch, doing homework, and running errands, we only had 30 minutes.   The school closes early on Saturdays.   Our last lesson was really fun.   We got to listen to some popular Brazilian music, translate the lyrics, and then we had a sing-a-long!   If you are ever in Brazil and want to learn Portuguese, Spanish, or English, go to this school!

Anyway, after we said our goodbyes, we hiked up to the main  avenue where a giant parade was taking place.   Basically these huge floats built on  a multi-level fire-engine-esque vehicle roll very slowly down the streets blaring loud crazy dance music.   People crowd around the floats and dance their hearts out for miles!   It was a sexual diversity parade, which meant, aside from all the average folk, there were also plenty of elaborately dressed drag queens.   Lots of vendors selling beer rolled along with the crowds as two million people danced up the avenue.   After watching the fun for half-an-hour, we joined the throng for a mile or so.   The street was ridiculously packed; wall to wall people.   It was NUTS!   But really fun.   We danced and laughed and took pictures of the most elaborate floats until we got to the main intersection.

Next we happened upon an internet place.   Blog time!   It was pricey, and, for the first time ever, the guy asked for our I.D.s   I thought he wanted to keep them, so we  were awfully hesitant to hand over our passports (US passports are a hot commodity on the black market).   After much muddled conversation, a patron approached and said, “I speak English.   Go ahead.   What is the problem?”   We explained that we ´d never been asked for I.D. in an internet shop before.   The man behind the counter kept saying it was the law, which was fine by us, but we just wondered why the law only applied in that shop.   Apparently, because of internet crime, internet shops are supposed to record the identification of all users.   If the police come into the shop and someone is using the computer without having their I.D. logged, it ´s a big fine, much like bars carding for underage drinking in the U.S.

After we ran out of time on the net, we tried to find this vegetarian buffett we saw advertised in the shop, but it was closed.   So instead, we went to a bar our teacher had recommended to us.   It was an Irish pub called O ´Malleys, frequented by foreigners.   We decided to treat ourselves to an evening of good food and good beer in celebration of finishing our crash course in Portuguese.   It was our first bar experience in Brasil, and quite interesting.   First of all, it was weird to go to a mostly-English-speaking establishment to celebrate learning Portuguese.   However, it was the only recommendation we had, so better that than some random, weird hang-out we might otherwise stumble into.   Second of all, the payment system for bars is very different than in the U.S.   Instead of handing over cash to your waiter/waitress everytime they bring you food, you are issued a card at the door.   It ´s like a hotel-room key card.   When you order, they put the beer/food/drink on your card.   When you ´re ready to leave, you cash out at the door.   So, it would be really easy to spend way more than you would if you brought $20 and stopped drinking when the money was gone.   If you lose your card, there is a huge fine.   Even if you only drank five or six beers, you have to pay $100-$200 if you can ´t present you card at the door.   Once you pay, they give you a new card… different colored.   The bouncer won ´t let you leave unless you give him one of these cards.   Now that I ´ve seen the system in action, I think it ´s a really great way to do things.   If you ´re a waiter/waitress, you don ´t have to worry about making change, and having to run a credit card, etc.   If you ´re the bar owner, you don ´t have to worry about your employees stealing from you.   The only cultural issue as far as doing this in the U.S. is the tipping factor.   I don ´t know exactly how you ´d work that out.

Anyway, as we were checking out, a young guy in a group of three others asked us in accented English, “Where are you from?”   This is a fun question for us, because we like to find out what judgements other people make based on our appearance.   We made him guess, and he offered up England  and Scotland.   While Pat was answering his questions, I dug in my back pocket for my bar card.   IT WAS GONE!   NO WAY!   Pat paid for almost everything, so I don ´t know how on earth I lost my card.   I walked back to where we had been sitting, and there was a card on the floor, but I wasn ´t so sure it was mine.   It was #1601, a number I am overly familiar with, so I think I ´d remember it.   I started questioning the three guys about what would happen if I lost my card.   They got really excited, saying things like, “Oh no!   This is very bad!   You can ´t lose it!”   I explained about the other card, and decided that even if it wasn ´t mine, I ´d rather pay for $40 worth of someone else ´s beer than pay the $100 fine.   Fortunately, the items on the card matched the things we had ordered and all was well.

We bumped into the three guys outside again, and started talking some more.   We talked about everything from how to swear in Portuguese to the upcoming soccer match the next day.   We found out they were all chemistry students at a university in São Paulo.   They invited us to come to a soccer barbecue the following afternoon, so we decided to push back our departure in order to attend.

The barbecue  was AWESOME.   I ´m so glad we went.   We had SO much fun.   It was such an awesome experience.   The guys came and picked us up at our hotel, so we didn ´t have to stress out about finding yet another new place in the HUGE city.   We packed into a Geo-Metro-sized car crammed full with our luggage, giant Pat, and all the party goods (a couple cases of beer, a few bags of charcoal, mixers galore, and a big bag of buns).   It was a riot!   1/2 an hour later, we showed up at a patio outside a big apartment building.   Things were just getting started.   The barbecue was a different style than the U.S. way.   We didn ´t cook all at once and then eat all at once.   Everytime a piece of meat or a skewer of pork, chicken, beef, and veggies was ready, it would get divided up among two or three people.   The food was DELICIOUS!   Really, to die for.   We had the option of dipping our meat in farofa, a substance that looks like corn meal, but tastes wonderful.   It ´s manioca flour mixed with vegetable oil, onion powder, garlic, and some other spices.   It was awesome.   I hope we can find some in the states!   We also got to try caipirinha (kah-ee-peer-een-yah), a really strong typical Brazilian drink.   I guess it ´s usually made with rum, but ours was with vodka, fresh lime juice, and sugar.   Also wonderful.   One of the girls at the party is going to culinary school, so she treated us to an amazing dessert of… chocolate mousse, I guess.   We got cups, took a few spoonfuls of warm, thick chocolate, and then a few scoops of heavy whipped cream and stirred it together.   This was definitely my favorite eat.

The game itself was pretty intense, and it was really fun to watch the game with people who are so passionate about the sport.   I couldn ´t help but get excited, and soccer is a really amazing sport.   The moves these guys pull in the games are out-of-control.   I ´ve watched at least four or five matches since I ´ve been here, and the injuries and goals are out-of-this world incredible.   I love the replays.   Who needs reality T.V.?

The people we met had to be the best part of the barbecue.   It was a really young crowd, and we spent hours talking about everything from school to food to music.   I wish I would have brought more photos.   I only brought two pictures, both of the coal mine, because it ´s so hard to explain when people ask me what I do.   But I really wish we would have brought photos of our houses and families and schools, etc.

Anyway, now we ´re in a (cheap! finally!) internet cafe burning some time before the midnight bus.   We ´re headed to Curitiba (a colonial city farther south).   We decided to take the latest bus possible for the six hour ride so we wouldn ´t have to pay for a hotel tonight.   We really need to make up for some lost wiggle-room in our budget.   The city is NOT cheap!   Twelve minutes and counting!

I Think My Legs Just Fell Off

I think we walked a jazillion miles today.   Probably more like six miles, but we were on our feet the entire day.   Don ´t get me wrong; I ´m having a great time, but I just want to pass out right now.

Anyway… for those of you who don ´t know, today is Corpus Christi, a major Catholic holiday, and therefore a major Brazilian holiday.   So, we had the day off from school, got to sleep in, spent the whole morning relaxing and writing in our journals (the pen and paper ones), and then went to Parque Ibierapuera – basically São Paulo ´s version of central park.   We had to walk about two miles to get there, because there are no subway stops anywhere near the  park, and we didn ´t want to deal with the stress of  figuring out  how to use the bus  system.  The park was crazy, crawling with people, no maps anywhere, and giant sidewalks twisting their way across acres and acres of giant trees and sprawling lawns.   We wandered aimlessly, found a buffett style restaurant, wandered aimlessly again, found a modern art museum, debated about whether to spring for the expense, decided to go for it, found out it was free for the day when we asked where to pay, and then walked all the way back to the subway (two more miles).   That pretty much brings us to now.

Points of interest were:

(1) All the skyscrapers!   We ´ve never been this far south in the city before and STILL the skyscrapers go on forever and ever.   This city has no skyline like New York or Chicago because it just keeps on going.   Imagine standing on a hill looking twenty miles into the distance and all you see is skyscrapers, clear up to the horizon.   Then you pick out the biggest one on the horizon, walk to it, and STILL all you can see is more skyscrapers all the way to the next horizon.   This is such a different life.   It ´s crazy!

(2) The rollerbladers.   Although rollerblading seems to have been an early 90 ´s fad in the U.S., it ´s still going strong here.   They were everywhere in the park.   And in supermarkets!   They have staff rollerblading all over the store!   As we were leaving the park, this bus came roaring down the street, and I just happened to glance over as it passed us.   Four men on rollerblades were clinging to the back of this bus that was going at least 30mph in heavy city traffic!   Nuts!

(3) The coconut novelty.   We always see vendors selling “coco water” on the streets, but we ´ve never braved the stress of trying it.   Well, today we did!   The catch is, the aren ´t brown, hairy coconuts.   They ´re giant greenish-yellow fruits the size of your head.   They hack off the tip until just a tiny opening is created and then stick straws in.   We were dissapointed because it didn ´t taste like anything, but it was still neat!

4) The wild Amazonian trees.   Not just in the park, but all over the city, there are these strange trees with smooth bark and giant leaves the texture of an aloe vera plant.   The craziest thing about them is the root system.   All the branches sort of sprout roots that just start growing in midair until the reach the ground.   Once it reaches the ground, it goes into the soil, so you end up with an exoitc tree looking like it surrounded by stalacties (cave formations).

5) Vending machines of literature: In almost every subway station there is a minimum of one book vending machine.   What a novel idea! (no pun intended.)   You put in your money, select A4, and then start in on the DaVinci Code.

6) The women here.   Women here are astoudingly small.   Not just skinny, because they don ´t really have that starved-Kate-Moss look.   They ´re just teeny.   I would say 30-40% of them can ´t weigh more than 100 pounds, and another 30% can ´t be more than 115/20.

Anyway… onto yesterday.   Or back to yesterday.   Or whatever.   I just want to catch up.

Monday night after class we went to this huge bookstore to buy a pocket Portuguese/English dictionary.   When we picking one out, this guy standing next to us looking at English grammar books tried to ask us if his book was a good one to buy to learn English.   But since we don ´t really speak Portuguese, and he wasn ´t fluent in English, we had to struggle to understand each other.   Well, I thought, if he wants to learn Eng. and we want to learn Port., why not invite him to dinner and practice!   So we had a very intresting, some what difficult, but really fun evening of trying to make ourselves understood while eating at a wonderful pizza buffett.   One of the best meals we ´ve had since we ´ve been here!

On Tuesday we were supposed to meet up with him again, but we still hadn ´t gotten an email back from him by 5:00 when class was over, so we just decided to walk home before it got dark.   Like I said, Tuesday was Brazil ´s soccer game against Croatia, which was going on during our walk home.   The whole walk was like one of those dreams you have when you wake up and you ´re the only person left in the world.   Even the HUGE avenues… like 5th Av. in New York, or the Golden Gate Bridge, or downtown Chicago… were completely deserted.   Except every once in awhile you ´d pass an entrance to a bar or something and there would be lots of people packed around a television set screaming.   And there were lots of random barbecue grills on corners not being tended to, but still cookin ´up a storm!   When we got back to the centro, we realized why everyone thinks its such a scary place.   All the people who care about soccer were somewhere else watching the game, which left just the homeless folk who have bigger problems to worry about.

Oh… we just got told the internet place is closing.   Well, closed five minutes ago.   Guess I ´ll write more tomorrow!

A Hundred Year Old House

We never have time for internet!   Seriously.   We go to school from 9-11, eat lunch from 11-12, and we have only an hour to check email, travel site, etc.   Then from 1-3 we have to study, 3-5 is class, and at five we have to walk home because the shortest route to the centro goes right through the prositution district.   Our teacher said they “start” at eight, but just to be safe we want to be out of there before it gets dark.   Since it ´s winter here, that means about 6/6:30.   I think after this week of school our blogs will be extremely long for awhile just to catch up.

Our classes (aulas) are going great!   Really, our teacher is great and he brings really useful handouts     The atmosphere here is incredible.   The school is in a really old house (early 1800s) with amazing vaulted ceilings, beautiful, huge, arches of stained glass in the windows, ancient but well-cared-for wood floors, and really great staff.   Internet is free here, and they ´re letting us use their kitchen so we don ´t always have to eat fruit and crackers for breakfast.

The study room where we study every day from 1-3, and sometimes 5-?
One of my favorite classrooms. There are at least seven.

The school from the outside at night

Today, the  director of the school and our teacher  are taking us out to a popular form of restaurant.   It ´s like a buffett, but instead of “all you can eat” it ´s by weight (per kilo).   So, there is set price for a kilo of food, you fill your plate, they weigh it, and then…??? ´We ´ll find out the rest today.   I ´m excited!   This is the kind of thing that we ´re not brave enough to try on our own.   Well… brave is the wrong word.   We would try, but there is no way we ´d understand such a completely different cultural/food practice, so we don ´t even try.   I mean, we have problems even when we go to regular restaurants figuring out wether to wait to be seated, seat yourself, order at the counter and then sit, order at the counter and take your ticket to another place and then sit…   It ´s crazy!   We should record our conversations.   It would be really funny.

“What are we supposed to do?”

“I don ´t know.   Do you think we go up to the counter?”

“I don ´t know.   What are the other people doing?”

“I don ´t know.   There isn ´t anyone else trying to get food.”

“Well, should we try to order at the counter?”

“Maybe we should sit down.”

“I don ´t know.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I don ´t know.”

“Oh look!   There!   That guy!”

“Yeah, it looked like he just sat down.”

“Okay, let ´s try that.”

HILARIOUS.

Oh… p.s.   GROSS story.   So, you remember the guy who semi-conned us into buying all the fruit at the farmers market the other day?   Well, we ate the mangos, but when I was first peeling mine, I noticed it had an extra stem.   I thought it was some kind of weird genetic mutation, so I thought nothing of it and forgot about it.   When I got to the extra stem area, I bit through it and this really bitter taste filled my mouth.   I pulled back and spit it out and examined the stem.   It was hard and dark on the outside and soft and white on the inside.   It was a frickin ´bug!   Like a centipede with lots of little legs going from the outside of the mango all the way to the seed!     UGGGGGHHHH!   I was pretty grossed out, but I had to keep eating it because it was the only food we had.   So, as nausea consumed me, I choked the rest of it down, but I really had to talk myself into the next mango I ate the following day.

Anyway… have I talked about the coffee here?   I don ´t think so.   It ´s so strong.   Not just black like coffee in the U.S., but STRONG.   So strong that there are only two sizes of cups.   One is about the size of a disposable bathroom cup, and the second (my size) is about the same size as one of those little paper cups that you put ketchup in at fast food restaurants.   It ´s really sweet, so you drink it straight.   I drank three my-size cups (so about a shot glass and 1/2 of coffee) yesterday, and I almost died.   I mean, I don ´t drink coffee as it is in the U.S., so one cup is plenty for me there.   And the little paper ketchup cup here is apparently equal to one coffee-cup full in the U.S.   After one, I ´m really hyper.   After three tiny shots I was shaking and nauseous and sweaty and jittery.     And everyday after morning class, when I ´m jumping around and poking Pat, he always tells me, “Jema!   No more coffee!”

Anyway… time for the per kilo lunch buffet!

Até mais!

Onde é fica a toalete?

So finally we are learning Portuguese!   It ´s so nice to be able to somewhat communicate with people instead of just defaulting to Spanish and/or “Ummm…”

I think our teacher, Fabían, might be somewhat frustrated with me because I am an impatient learner.   (Well, really just impatient in general.)   I want to know everything all at once and I ask a *ton* of questions.   I ´m that annoying kid in class who raises their hand all the time to ask seemingly impertinent questions (What!?   I ´m curious!).   My friend Cara always told me, “Jema, questions are for office hours.”   I think because Portuguese is so similar to Spanish, I tend to get ahead of the material.   If we were talking about life cycles of butterflies instead of Portuguese, Fabían would be telling us about caterpillars and I would be asking how long a butterfly lives after it hatches out of it ´s cocoon… that sort of thing.   So, I am trying to choose my questions wisely.

Today Brazil ´s international soccer team is playing in the world cup.   Just like the rest of the world, this country is soccer-crazy.   (They call it futebol/football.)   It ´s kind of weird how almost every other country you go to is NUTS about soccer.   The British are soccer maniacs.   Argentinians are even crazier.   People routinely get KILLED at soccer games – like fans from opposing teams going bananas on eachother.   Referees and players often get seriously injured by fans jumping out of the stands and attacking them for a bad call or a bad play.   One soccer player got killed in a bar in some South American country a few years ago because he accidently scored  the winning  goal for the other team.   And this happened in a city like New York or Chicago or Minneapolis – so don ´t be thinking this is just some backwards third-world country.   Anyway, so our teacher told us that after 3 p.m. today (which will be 11am (pac.), noon (mtn.) for you guys), the whole country basically shuts down and no one does anything but watch the soccer game.   Should be interesting!

Although we ´ve been studying like crazy for the past two days (Monday and Tuesday – or segunda-feira é tercer-feira), Sunday was relaxing.   Well… kind of.   We practiced our 45 min. walk to school, but it took us about an hour and a half because we got lost.   We thought we were *really* lost, but turns out we just kept walking in circles around the same neighborhood.   Two reasons this happened.   #1 – the streets on the map aren ´t always for people.   Sometimes it ´s cars only.   Also, the elevation of the streets aren ´t shown.   So we come to an intersection heading south.   But if you want to keep going south, you have to jump off a bridge onto the road forty feet below.   So, you must improvise – find a way around.   But, you must do this without asking for help or getting directions, because you don ´t know how to ask or to understand what is said.   #2 reason is that in other countries (maybe this is only true for latin and south america, but it is *very* true here) they aren ´t near as uptight about organizing things.   Sometimes a restaurant or hotel ´s address is simply the street it ´s on, or the nearest cross street.   Like Washtington and 3rd.   Or just Washington.   Except the names are wildly unfamiliar, like Avenida Joaquim Eugenia de Lima (yes, that ´s just one street)  and Avenida Luis R. Brigadero.   And there is no 1st, 2nd, 3rd street.   The only time the streets have numbers is when they ´re named after an important day.   Like 4th of July Street or December 25th Avenue.   And another part of the second reason we got lost is because the streets don ´t have the same name all the way through.   Same in México, Argentina, Perú, etc.   So for example, if you have a street in the U.S. that ´s five miles long, the whole street, start to finish, is the same name.   Let ´s say Palm Drive.   Not here.   Instead, it would be Palm Drive for the first 10-20 blocks, then it would be called Kendrick Ave., then it would be called Pearl Street, and then it would be called, Constitution Drive, and then it would be called Lancaster Blvd.   So, when we were walking back and forth, up and down, and in circles for twenty mintues looking for Rua dos Ingleses, we actually crossed it several times.   Only at that point it was called Avenida Luis B Parreto.   AHHHHCK!     Nonetheless, we found the school and moved on to the Liberdade (Japanese part of the city) to get some delicious and long-anticipated Yakisoba.   We also spent awhile walking around this great outdoor market – lots of unique and beautiful crafts… kind of like the Eugene/Portland Saturday markets, and nothing like a flea market.

Edificio Copan again – view from the ground up!

A couple more things I have noticed about São Paulo…

First of all, sex is everywhere.   Seriously.   I mean, I know it ´s everywhere in any big city, but here they don ´t have laws about keeping the naughty stuff under wraps and out of the view of children and easily offended folk.   So everytime we walk past a sex theater or a sex shop, I always do a double-take at the big, naked butts being thrust in your face and the nipple-pasties everywhere.   Also, in the neighborhood we ´re staying in, there are TONS of street vendors.   It ´s like a constant flea market everyday.   It reminds me of the heiniously busy streets/alleyways of Bejing that I ´ve seen on T.V.   They just lay a blanket down on the sidewalk and spread out their fare… earrings, toys, CDs, belts, knives, shoes, and often DVDs with loud, lewd pictures of naked folk on the cover.   It ´s quite shocking.   Also, about the neighborhood we ´re staying in… it ´s kind of funny.   We go to school in the yuppie neighborhood, but we ´re staying in the Centro, which is more of a mixture of classes.   Everyone in the yuppie neighborhood gets this wide-eyed look when we tell them where we ´re staying, and they tell us to be *very* careful and that it ´s *very* dangerous.   (Mom, Grandmas, etc. DON ´T WORRY!)   It ´s funny because it ´s not really dangerous at all.   I mean, it ´s just as dangerous as any city.   But it ´s not like a ghetto or something.   There are always lots of people walking around, and there are plenty of men in suits, and nicely dressed women carrying their purses lax… at their sides, etc.   The reason the people in the yuppie neighborhood think it ´s dangerous is the same reason peope from Manhattan (in New York) think the Bronx is dangerous.

Also about São Paulo – I ´ve never been in a city that ´s such a melting pot of cultures.   Sure New York has a big mixture of people, but it ´s still a dominant-white, upper/middle class  culture, if not a dominant white city.   But here, everywhere we go, be it yuppie neighborhood, centro, Japanese neighborhood, or anywhere in between, everywhere I look it ´s like one of those quintessential American commercials full of purposeful ethnic and gender diversity.   It ´s impressive and really nice.   Usually in  a foreign city  I can tell people are staring at me or noticing me, but here I feel like I fit in because there is no mold.

Okay… final city observation: gasoline is *so* expensive here!   We think we ´ve got it bad in the U.S. at $2.50-$3/gal (by the way, how are gas prices now that summer has arrived?).   Here it ´s $R2.40 a liter, which is $R9.60 a gallon, so  after the exchange it ´s USD $4.80 a gallon.   Holy crap.

Something I am excited about is the architechture we are going to get to see on this trip.   Brazil has a really famous architecht named Oscar Neimeyer (something like that… I ´ll have to look up the spelling of the last name).   So far we have seen only one of his buildings, but it definitely lives up to the hub-bub.   It was called Edificio Copan and it was a giant skyscraper about 2x ´s as wide as it was tall, and 10x ´s as wide as it was… deep (?), and looked like a huge flag billowing in the wind.   Or, if you ´re a nerd like me, it looked like a cross section of a sin/cos wave.

Edificio Copan – doesn’t show the curvature as well, but still awesome!

I know I ´ve already yammered plenty, but I still have more I want to write about.   Time for lunch and study, though   – will write more later!

Viajando, viajando, viajando.

Just as I expected, getting out of bed for the bus today was pure torture. I am the most apathetic, illogical person when it comes to putting my feet on the floor in the morning. Despite the fact that I would be totally screwed, I still am not at all inspired to move. Not to mention that my intestines where whining about yesterday’s poor choice (churro? avocado?) that made my stomach churn like the sea.

I did make the bus, however. “On the Road” by Jack Kerouac has been keeping me entertained in my down-time since Cuzco. He is teaching me a great lesson in passive voice which my writing has always been riddled with. Perhaps a direct reflection of my speech pattern? His musings about life among the poor in the 50`s also serve to remind me that poverty exists everywhere. Even in the states, there are families living eight bodies deep in a one room shack. When I wasn`t reading, I admired the landscape which was finally gaining a bit of personality. At first, 7:30 a.m. outside Antofagasta, desolate coastal mountains engulfed the landscape with their depressing grey-brown. By 10:30, Calama made the change of pace. Tumbleweeds, and only tumbleweeds, begin their careers here. By 11:30 the desert finally became a glorious thing again with grooves and peaks and valleys and rainbows of earthtones – brown, tan, red, orange, pink, purple, yellow, scattered across everything in bleak contrast with the blue sky and the occasional chalk green desert plant. The white sand that provided the canvas for everything else was anxious to reflect every color the sun had to offer. I hear it’s gorgeous here at sunset! My ears endured the agony of yet another Andean descent and the moon hung eerily in the sky as we descended on San Pedro de Atacama where the fences are made of mud bricks formed into steeples at the top. Weeds and cacti grew atop the fences, nature`s barbed wire! By 3:00, the tough yellow grasses of the eastern Atacama appeared, and white/grey clouds took the sky by storm.

We stopped at the Argentinian entry point, and I did a triple-take as I found myself singing to the song playing in the back ground. One of my favorite country songs (I LOVE country music!) about enjoying all the wonderful little things life has to offer was pouring out of the speakers somewhere. “Raise a little hell, laugh til it hurts, put an extra five in the plate at church, call up my folks just to chat, It’s time that I make time for that, Stay up late, then oversleep, show her what she means to me, catch up on all the things I’ve always missed, I won’t break my back for a million bucks I can’t take to my grave, Go for a walk, say a little prayer, take a deep breath of mountain air, put on my glove and play some catch, It’s time that I make time for that, wade the shore and cast a line, pick up a long lost friend of mine, sit on the porch and give my girls a kiss.” I was so happy I almost cried. Weird, I know. I think it was just suddenly having one of my very favorite pieces of home that reminded me of all the wonderful things I have to look forward to in life.

I figured out that the music was coming from the television… welcome to satellite t.v.! One of the customs guards, gun, bullet-proof vest and all, noticed me lingering and invited me to sit down and listen to the music. “Today, you work for Argentina!” he said with a wink and smile. I translated the song for him and explained to him how funny it was that I loved that song and really dislike the singer (Toby Keith). Those five minutes seriously made my day.

We arrived in Salta only to be greeted by  hordes  of hostel hawking folks, and I trudged through the crowds in search of the morning departure for the other side of Argentina. I only have five days and still lots to do!

World`s Highest Geysers

I would say 3:40 dawned bright and early, but dawn comes LONG after 3:40. I did manage to roll out of bed, despite my track record, at the first sound of my alarm. I got my 85 layers of clothing on, as recommended by the guide book, the tour vendor, and other travellers, and headed downstairs. The lights were off in the reception area, which meant no one to return my key to. The receptionist had assured me that the tour departed from our hostel, but there wasn`t another soul in sight. I chose to go stand outside in the street (just a dirt path, really). 4:08 and still no one. Finally, a young woman walked out the front gate. I threw out the standard “Hablas inglès?” To which she replied “Yes, please!” Her name was Mamika, from Japan and attending school in Australia. Sure enough, five minutes into our conversation, the van driver showed up.
After 15 minutes of driving from hostel to hostel, we headed off for El Tatio, the world`s highest geyser field.

The reason the tour starts in the middle of the night is to allow us to reach the geysers by dawn when the temperature difference at 14,000 feet is the most extreme. It took over 70 miles of nothing but dirt roads, some of the roughest I`ve ever been on, to get there. You`d never find your way without a guide service. The van was full of individual straight backed seats, which had every passenger contorting her/himself into all kinds of odd positions in the name of comfort. Despite the seats, it was the best vehicle I`ve been in so far combined with the best driver I`ve had. Except for the parking brake, which seems not to work in ANY of the vehicles down here, the van was in great shape. The driver was a native from one of the villages near the geyser field and was the first person I`ve seen even consider caution while behind the wheel. And he still managed to do an excellent job of getting us safely around the slower tour vans.

El Tatio at dawn

El Tatio at dawn

When we arrived at the geysers, the guide gave us an introduction which included the fact that El Tatio means “the old man that cries” in one of the native languages, and the giant hunk of machinery plunked down in the middle of the whole thing was to supply the world`s largest copper mine (100 miles away) with electricity. Wow. El Tatio was definitely NOT what I was expecting. First of all, there are almost zero conservation measures in affect. We drove right over the top of several fumaroles and small geysers! We also drove through the rivers created by the run-off. The fifty or so crossings per day have to be wreaking havoc as far as erosion is concerned. No official bathroom means the field of rocks above the field are actually a toxic waste hazard waiting to happen. Inadequate signage leaves tourists highly uninformed and therefore in danger if they don`t know about the behavior of geysers. No boardwalk through and among the geysers means visitor can walk where ever their feet will carry them, a problem for several reasons.
1) The ground among and around geysers is always hollow. In many places, the crust separating you from the boiling water below is inches thick (i.e. not thick enough to hold the weight of your average tourist). Most people that visit have no idea that the “neat hollow sound” you hear when you walk is actually a threat to your life. Several people have died here. One geyser is even named “El Frances” for the three French tourists that fell through the crust and boiled to death a few years ago.
2) Ecosystems around geysers and hotpools are really fragile. The bacteria that grows needs a very specific environment in which to thrive. That`s why you see the different colors in pools; each color is a different type of bacteria that thrives at a different temperature. Having hundreds of feet tramping through it daily pretty much wipes it out. People also toss in their lucky pennies and cigarette butts, which changes the chemistry of the water and kills the bacteria. Guide services use the hot pools to warm the milk for our morning coffee!
3) People don`t know how hot the water of a geyser is nor how unpredictable eruptions are, both in frequency, duration, and intensity. As a result, people climb up the cones of a freshly erupted geyser to have a look inside, and stand as close as possible during eruptions so as to procure a little heat in light of the freezing morning temps. (Genius! What are you going to do when the geyser stops putting out heat and you`re now 50% wetter than before?) Countless tourists have been scalded.

Mamika and I descended carefully across the field walking from geyser to geyser. She was environmental management major in school, and so was interested in everything I could tell her about geysers. I naturally walk pretty quickly due to growing up with a long-legged father, so Mamika took the responsibility of keeping our pace in check. At that altitude, you have to arrest your steps to an alarmingly slow stroll or else! Anything faster makes you want to vomit and/or gives you a violent headache (I found out later). With everyone walking so slow, I felt like an extra on the set of some zombie horror film. Weird.

After we visited the first of two fields, we went to the second where vistors could soak in some hot springs. I opted out because I would have to haul my wet clothing and towel around with me for the rest of the day as I travelled on to Iquique. Instead I opted to go for a walk off towards the mountains hoping to bump into some of the animals that inhabit the desolate high plain. I found more used toilet paper than anything else, and saw one lizard. Also, I saw a cactus with spines so dense that I mistook it for grass. The neatest part of my solo venture, however, was the grass mounds. There were little tufts of grass every few feet in all directions (see photo) that looked like some green thumb planted a grass bomb underneath the soil and it had exploded. Apparently animals had been grazing in the area, because almost every tuft had a sort of buzz cut gone wrong. Stepping on the tufts felt like standing on a wire brush. It was awesome!

exploding tufts of grass in the desert

exploding tufts of grass in the desert

On the way back to San Pedro from the geysers, I got my wish concerning animals. We saw a ton of wildlife and some awesome flora. First across our path was a small herd of vicuñas, a relative of the llama. See photo. It looks like a cross between an antelope and llama. A few minutes later, the road came within a stone’s throw of a desert marsh where these giant sage chickens were hanging out. They had bodies the size of basketballs, red heads, white necks and heads, and black everything else. I couldn’t believe their size! Finally we passed a bunch of domesticated llamas in a canyon. Instead of branding, the llama rachers tie all different colors of ribbons through the ears and around the necks of their animals. It’s really neat; they look so festive!

keepers of the desert - the vicuña

keepers of the desert Рthe vicu̱a

We stopped in a the only small village near the road on the way back to town to look at the 400 year old church and buy sopapillas or empenadas, if we so chose. I had a delicious sopapilla. Actually, make that two. I couldn’t help it! The buildings in the village were really neat to see. The walls were constructed of stones cemented together with mud, and the roofs were thatched grass from the limitless exploding tufts.

The last stretch back to town was full of rockish canyons of reddish brown stone. It reminded me of the rocks alongside interstate just outside Douglas, but reddish brown instead and tons more. Whole fields of them! It was like being on the moon or something.

I realized in the van on the way back that I’m really lucky to have English as my first language, but it’s also a disadvantage. The debatably postive side is that English is the second language of the world. Almost all the travellers I meet speak their native language, English, and limited Spanish. As a result, if you’re from any non-English speaking country, you’ve got to learn the language of the place you’re travelling to, at the very least. And anywhere you go, if you can’t understand the language, they default into English. So I have both the privilege of only having to know two languages, and the disadvantage of being less well rounded than the rest of the industrialized populace.

Also in the van I noticed something interesting as I listened to conversations in English, German, and Hebrew. As far as I know, all South American countries are referred to by their names, no matter the language. Bolivia is Bolivia in English, Spanish, German, Hebrew, etc. But it’s not the same for European countries. Germany is the English word. Deutschland (sp?) is what the Germans call it. Alemania is the Spanish word. Why is this?

When we got within range of San Pedro, the CB-like radio in the van crackled back to life. It’s something I’ve been noticing down here. Radios must be cheaper than phones or something, because lots of service vendors have them. Almost unfailingly, hostel hawkers that meet the buses have a radio they’ll use to alert the hostel of your arrival if you agree to stay. Interesting way of doing things.

Back in San Pedro (de Atacama), I had a few hours to kill before the bus departure, so I hung out in the main plaza and read my guide book. As I was planning my next moves, a radio blared to life somewhere and started blasting, of all things, Guns ‘N’ Rose’s “Paradise City.” Weird. Very surreal. Finally the bus arrived and I loaded up for what were to be three of the more trying days of my life.

Cafayate – a desert like no other

After staying in the roach motel in Tucumán and finally shedding the sentiment that accompanies living like a recovering heroin addict, I killed my bus-wait time by catching up with all this online business and making a belated “Happy Mother’s Day” phone call to my mother. I’ve decided that no matter where you go, food-wise, travelling sucks. In the states, it’s gross sandwiches fabricated who-knows-how-many weeks ago with potato chips to compliment the meal. Here, pretty much your only option in bus stations is pre-packaged food. I’m talking Saltines, Oreo’s, cookies… you name it. As long as it can be  artificially  flavored and  persevered, they’ve got it for sale in a South American bus station.

Something that  strikes  me nearly  every time  I get on a bus is the big hurry that all the  buses  seem to be in. I’m not  complaining   but it’s just kind of nerve-wracking to feel the driver shift into gear before the baggage doors are closed. If you’re last on the bus, you better be good at surfing. It’s rough waters all the way back to your seat as the bus lumbers and sways out of the station faster than should be legal. Also, one of my biggest annoyances on the bus is that without fail, whenever I sit next to a male local, he always feels that it`s well within his right to worm his way into my space. Most of them are no bigger than I am, and so can`t pull the “I have long legs” card. It`s just somewhat humiliating to be outright disrespected like that. I know it`s something small, but when I have to hammer my leg against someone else`s just to help them realize that I`m a person and deserve space just as much as they do, it gets frustrating.

Moving on, I really appreciate the perspective I’m gaining while interacting with other travellers. I don’t realize that I’m sheltered in ways I never think to question. My most poignant example comes from casual conversation with Dan and some other Israeli folks I’ve chatted with in my travels. After talking about the skewed perspective that many people have about life in Israel (i.e. many think it’s terrorist central with the kamakazi crazies blowing themselves up at bus stops every 20 minutes), I thought (almost triumphantly, I am embarrassed to admit) that I’d kind of gotten the skinny that most non-Israelis haven`t. I put myself in my place, however, the next day. Dan, Liraz, Onit, and I were at the lake shore talking to the guy who rents out boats when the mid-day siren went off. The other three asked what the noise was all about. Their concerned stemmed from the fact sirens like that are used during war time in Israel to warn everyone to flee to safe houses when an air attack is about to happen.  Whoa. I can’t imagine riding my bike around my neighborhood as an eight-year-old only to hear a siren like that of the Emergency Broadcast System and know it means I have to start  pedaling  furiously for my life. Reality check.

The country-side between Tucumán and Cafayate, at first, was very much like western Oregon. The rivers here are really dry, though. I don’t know if that’s because it’s winter, or if Argentina is having the same poor luck that much of the rest of the world is enduring in terms of precipitation. Once we started gaining elevation outside of Tucumán, the forest gave way to some crazy jungle paradise. It was unbelievable! The trees were so thick, and we followed this fantastic little mountain stream all the way and back down. I couldn’t locate it on a map to figure out what the area was called, but I think it might have been a cloud forest. What do I know, though? I’ll definitely not forget it. The road was really tight and windy… a two lane that shrunk to one in many places and didn’t have a center line for the whole ten hours on the bus. Craziness!
Next, the scenery gave way to something that reminded me very much of north eastern Oregon, or at least the way it looked when Nate and I drove through there in April, and finally we made our way into the prairie/desert that is the soul of Cafayate. I felt like I was on a bus headed for home! Except for the fields of sagebrush sparsely populated by 10-30 ft. tall cacti looking like petrified soldiers with too many arms, I was sure I was in Wyoming.

When we pulled into Cafayate, it was night time. Since I didn`t have a map of the city, I didn`t bother trying to cull a hostel out of my nearly useless Lonely Planet guidebook. The first hostel hawker who approached me was really sweet and cut me an awesome deal on a room. I`ve never stayed so cheaply! Also, I don`t know what happened, but by some miracle, I could understand every single word out of her mouth! In our conversations, she alerted me to two items I tend to forget in all my wandering. First, people often don`t know what to make of me because I travel with such a small pack. I`ve worked my way down to a medium sized purse (donated by Eleanor, along with several other items I now own second hand… thanks dear!) and a school-sized back pack. Since I don`t have the lumbering pack of a trekker, people don`t peg me for a typical tourist. However, I`m also a gringa (white) and my clothes are different enough to keep people from mistaking me for a local. It`s a fun little game for me. Item number two is I forget that I look very young. Ema, the hostel woman three years my senior, was shocked to learn my age and told me she wouldn`t have pegged me for a day over 18. Reminded me that I should be aware of what kinds of consequences this might carry (besides getting carded in the states all the time).

I had met two other solo travellers, Winnie (a Canadian) and Delfin (from Spain), on the bus and got chummy with them. We found some sub-par dinner at a street cafè: pizza with olives and bell peppers. The cheese was un-identifiable, the olives were rotten, and I can`t vouch for the bell peppers because I don`t like them in the first place. We chowed down anyway, and by morning I was no longer harboring the worry that my stomach was going to be torn to shreds. Breakfast, as per the usual, was an egg and some yogurt that I picked up at the mercado across the street. It`s a weird life. You`d think you could just eat in restaurants all the time, but it doesn`t work out like that for two reasons. One, it`s terribly unhealthy. It`s awfully hard to come by anything that isn`t fried and the rolled through the salt bucket. Two, the portions are not what the majority of you (the Americans reading this, at least) are used to. In a restaurant or hostel, “breakfast” is always white bread with jam (butter if you`re lucky), and coffee with milk. You couldn`t find a place serving anything bigger to save your own life. I`ll just cook my own, then, thank you. If I`m going to eat like a bird, I`m going to make it count nutritionally. Okay… food is a pretty boring subject, so never mind about lunch and dinner.

Winnie, Delfin, and I went on a winery tour in the morning to kill time before the Quebranda (desert gorge) tour in the afternoon. If I had thought to get up an hour earlier, I could have done the five hour hike to a waterfall outside town instead. C`est la vie! After this wine tour, I`ve had my fill of bodegas. Although, I must say the wine here is incredible. And disgustingly cheap! A bottle of GOOD wine runs anywhere between $2 and $7. Amazing. If it weren`t for the small pack I mentioned earlier, you could bet your bottom dollar I`d be packing home lots to share. I highly recommend Argentina, even if it`s just for the wine! At the second (of three) bodegas (wineries) that we visited, they were selling cheese, too. They had some for sample with the wine, and it was delicious. And if you`ve spent much time in the kitchen with me, you know what an incredible statement THAT is, because I`m about as close as you can get to hating cheese and still eating it. This stuff was so good that I had the guts to buy a whole package.

After the wine tour, we spent an hour eating white rice, fried chicken, salsa, and white bread at a street cafè. At least it`s cheap, eh? Then, we loaded up into one of the death-trap vehicles that I am becoming surprisingly accustomed to riding around in. Meant for 12 and hauling 15, we headed out for the desert with Pedro, one of the most animated guides I`ve ever seen. The Quebrada de Cafayate was beyond words. It`s miles of giant landforms eroded away by wind and water with colors so variant and plentiful that you can`t keep your eyes still. Everything looms above you, looking deceptively smaller than it is. When you catch sight of a person or a vehicle against the enormous engulfing background, it nearly takes your breath away. Pedro drove us from place to place where we got out and hiked around as he pointed out different plants and landforms. The colors, he says, come from the abundance of metals in the soil there which oxidize as they are exposed. He was also a wealth of knowledge on desert plants, pointing out one especially plentiful bush whose trunk and branches never came in any other color but neon green. Turns out the plant does most of its photosynthesizing in the trunk and branches: cool!

See the road? These landforms just LOOM over you!

See the road? These landforms just LOOM over you!

As far as the company for the day, I have to admit there were some issues with a clingy guy from New Zealand. His name is Sam and he looks, acts, and talks just exactly like Napolean Dynamite. He turns what is normally a charming accent into fingernails on a chalkboard. The worst of it was, he decided that I was to be his pal for the day and so followed me practically everywhere. I kept dropping lines about my boyfriend and doing my best to be barely civil in the hopes that he would leave me alone. But, to no avail, I thought I had just escaped him and he`d be right there again. Nonetheless, I was still able to more-than-appreciate the glory of the Quebrada. The last place we went was called “The Ampitheater,” a small canyon, a maximum of 50 ft wide with walls looming well over 270 feet above our heads. Pedro, in his bantering way, sang us an amazing Spanish love song to demonstrate the acoustics from which the place gets his name. He had an incredible voice!

A view from the top - the valley leaving the quebrada

A view from the top – the valley leaving the quebrada

The sun had been sinking in the sky as we made our way to the turn around point on Route 68. Winnie, Delfin, and I all needed to go to Salta, which is farther along the same road, so we had decided earlier in the day to bring all our gear and flag down whatever bus or farmer we might to get us to Salta. Pedro knew the bus schedule and said it was best if we just waited for the bus coming from Cafayate. He stayed with us until it showed up and sent us packing with a smile. What an awesome day!