Roach Motel

I stayed in the grossest and lonliest hotel that I`ve seen thus far last night. I arrived in Tucumàn at 11:00 at night. Dan had said his goodbyes and left me with the advice of being sure to take a taxi and not to risk walking to my hotel when I arrived in this unfamiliar city. 11:00 is early in Argentina, though. The restaurants are packed, people are still hanging out in plazas, and the bars are just opening. Given this, I was awfully tempted to avoid the taxi expenditure considering that I spent double what I was supposed to last week. However, after the security guard at the bus station looked at me like I had twelve eyes when I asked him if it was safe to walk alone at that hour, I went ahead and caught a cab. When I walked back here this morning, I was glad I had gone with the more expensive transport option. The three blocks closest to the bus station are a really bad neighborhood. It was bad enough in the day time. I would have been totally sketched out walking through there at night. Lesson learned.

My Lonely Planet guide book had  recommended  this specific hotel, so I headed straight for it after finding out as much as I could about getting to Cafayate the next day. Relieved that the cab driver hadn`t tried to take me to the hotel the long way, I walked in the front door and asked for a room. The cheapest is a shared bathroom, so I went for it. The guy showed me two rooms with the bathroom in the hallway in between. They were the dingiest, most lonely looking little rooms I had ever seen. The paint was peeling, the single lightbulb dangled from the socket, and the framed poster hung a few inches away from the wall at the top. I scraped my ankle on the metal trimming that was pulled back off the bottom of the door and thanked my lucky stars I have an up-to-date t  tetanus  shot. The toilet in the bathroom was missing the tank cover (I later found out that flushing it requires a Rube-Goldberg set up), the mirror was rusted over in places, the sink had come off it`s mounting, and 1/2 the tiles on the shower floor were missing. The only bug I saw, though, was an ant in the sink. The towels smelled clean, and the sheets weren`t stained, so I took it. I really wasn`t in any position to go looking for anything else. I set my alarm for seven so I could get up and walk back to the bus station to catch the earliest to Cafayate (which I found out was at 6). So three hours too late, I have no choice but to wait here until the two o`clock bus. So, I fed myself breakfast, did some reading, and now am catching up on my journal entries. Departure time is now t-minus 40 minutes, so I think I`ll have some lunch before I embark upon another eight hour bus ride and another night-time arrival in an unfamiliar place.

Cafayate is supposed to be wonderful, though! The desert up there is really well known for it`s gigantic sandstone landforms. Can`t wait to see it!

All you can eat! – $6

As soon as we arrived in Santiago (Chile), Dan, Liraz, Onit, and I bought tickets for the next bus to Mendoza (Argentina). We only had to wait about forty minutes, and we were on our way. The border crossing going from Chile to Argentina is MUCH simpler than the crossing from Argentina to Chile. It was nice no to have to spend an hour and a half at the border while everyone`s bags were searched.

The mountain passes, besides being nauseating, were also quite  majestic.   The mountains are so desolate, and yet so colorful. It`s amazing. For those of you from Wyoming, the whole road up the Chile side switchbacks just like the road coming out of the Bighorns on the Worland side. Only it`s 35 switchbacks instead of three. On the Argentina side, the leaves in the vineyards were all changing colors. It was beautiful, and also funny to see all these grapes growing right along side the cacti.

When we pulled into the Mendoza station and unloaded, I had one of those, “I`m so glad I`m travelling alone” experiences. I really like to do things my way, and I have pretty specific standards as far as how things should be done. One of which is reading your guide book BEFORE you get to a city and deciding where you`re going to stay and what you`re going to do so that you don`t have to spend an hour being hassled by the people awaiting the un-informed tourists at the station. The last time I was in Mendoza, I had stayed at a hostel that was wonderfully close to the bus station. Liraz and Onit, however wanted to stay somewhere that was a few blocks closer to the centro. So, while they tried to decide where they wanted to go and figure out how to get there, we were hassled non-stop by people wanting us to go to their hostel or hotel. Since I was the only one in the group who spoke Spanish, I had to listen to and present all the proposals to the the two women while I longed desperately for the shower that had evaded me for three days. Finally, I got them to agree to at least start MOVING towards the town. We stopped and checked out the place I stayed before, but the only space available was unacceptably crowded according to Dan, Liraz, and Onit. So, we went back to the bus station to find a woman who was offering space in her home. It ended up being a few blocks farther from the centro, but she was great and the house was really nice. She was so helpful and kind, and sent us to dinner at the cheapest, highest quality buffet I`ve ever seen.

For six bucks, you get all you can eat steak, pasta, salads, pizza,  lasagna   desserts, ice cream, fish, really anything you can imagine. They had chinese food, american food, more options than I could stomach (literally). It was SO good. Unfortunately, I ate too fast, and I have a pretty unique reaction to doing so. (If you get grossed out easily, skip to the next paragraph.) Most of you have seen it before. It started in high school… I think I have an extremely small esophagus or something. If I swallow a bite of dense food (meat and starchy foods will do it every time), it gets stuck. It happens really fast… almost instantaneous. It won`t go down, I can`t breathe, I can`t swallow, and it hurts like hell. I had thought about telling Dan about it in Pucòn before we sat down to eat our steak and pasta dinner, but decided to opt for the slow-eating method instead. The second my bite of delicious steak from the buffet got itself stuck, I regretted not warning them previously. It`s always so embarrassing whenever this happens. Because I can`t breathe very well, I can`t really talk, except to raspily assure all the horrified spectators that I`m fine before I go running to the bathroom to wait out the pain. Of course no one believes that I`m okay, so I am always trailed to the bathroom by at least one person who stands by, worried that I`m about to die or something, while I try by best to convince them that this is actually a completely normal experience for me, and they should just go back to enjoying their meal. Best case scenario, I puke and happily go back to eating. Worst case scenario, I wait for more than an hour for the food to painfully work itself down while spitting the saliva I can`t swallow into the toilet. This time was a cross between the two. It took me forever to assure Liraz that I was going to be fine (she barely speaks English), and Dan stood guard outside the bathroom door for over twenty minutes. ACK! Note to self: chew food thoroughly and eat slowly, no matter how hungry you are.

Have a bus ticket in my pocket for Tucumàn in NW Argentina for tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. I`m actually headed to Cafayate to do some mountain biking in the desert, but am going to get into Tucumàn way too late to catch any bus. Wish me luck!

South America by bus

By Monday night, I will have spent over 46 hours on buses in a period of four days. Really, it`s not all that bad if you consider the distance I`m covering. Basically from the southern tip of Texas to somewhere in the middle of Canada via Chicago. I`m just glad I`m doing this at an age where my body can handle being almost completely immobile for 8-16 hour periods.

The ride from Pucòn to Santiago was relatively uneventful. It`s nice to share a seat with someone you know, who isn`t going to care if you rest 30% of your body weight against them when you curl up to go to sleep. Dan and I had the heater directly underneath our seat, though, which made for a slightly uncomfortable night of sleep. Better than being cold though, I guess. Also, to my surprise, the first time I woke up, I found that the curtains had been closed. Kind of scary for me, because if someone can lean across me to close the curtains while I sleep without waking me, I`m really in for it in Peru and Bolivia where people notoriously get their bags stolen while they sleep. Later that morning, as were pulling into Santiago, I realized the curtains had been opened again, also right under my nose. I`m gonna have to figure out a good security system for my pack.

Scariest day of my life.

Holy crap. Today was the most continuously dangerous day of my entire life. Amazing. And I have to show for it, among other things, my first glance at molten lava and the worst facial suburn I`ve ever had.

I just got back from climbing the Volcano Villarica, one of the most active in South America. I`ve never been more afraid. Jumping out of a plane is scary for a few seconds. Taking your first fall when you`ve climbed 100 feet up on a rock wall is scary for a minute. Getting struck by lightning is scary for half an hour. But standing on the edge of volcanic crater 200 feet away from the vent from which “an eruption is now long overdue” with smoke and magma shooting out and the volcano guides trying to get everyone immediately down the mountain is beyond heart stopping.

Our day started at 6 a.m. Dan and I managed to roll out of our beds with a little more time to spare than we had the day before. Breakfast wasn`t near as hurried, but still eggs, yogurt, and grapes. We headed for Limay tours and arrived among the chaos of twenty-some other people trying on boots, heavy duty pants, jackets, etc. After what seemed like hours (but couldn`t have been more than 40 minutes) we were packed into a decrepit van just as the sun cracked the horizon. We headed up the mountain, bumping along a gravel road and passing every vehicle we came upon. We swung toward a hitchhiker on the side of the road, and to my surprise, picked him up. Turns out he was actually one of our guides, Rodrigo.

We got stopped at a checkpoint on the way up the mountain: Chile`s Forest Service making sure everyone had the proper equipment. Funny, though, they only check two people from each group, and the guides always offer up two of the few who have all the proper equipment. I was one of the lucky volunteers, a paying customer complete with the sunglasses and helmet that half the people in our group didn`t have. The plan was to drive the old van up to the foot of the ski lift where you could choose to pay $6 to be carried to a closer ascent starting point. However, turns out a van meant for 8 and loaded with 15 doesn`t do so well on snow packed roads. After sliding backwards for 100 ft., the driver told us we`d have to walk the last 1/2 mile. Fine by me!

When we got to the foot of the ski lift, it was go time as far as a decision on the $6 ride or the extra two hours of ascent. Dan and I had decided, steadfastly, two days previous, that of course we would just walk. What kind of weenie takes the easy way out? It`s a whole different story, though, when you`ve got 9,000 feet of volcano looming in front of you waiting to be climbed. Not to mention that at 3:30, whether you`ve summitted or not, you have to turn back for the base. I reluctantly pulled out my $6 worth of pesos and handed it over as I skeptically eyed the welds on the lift that I knew had to be well over forty years old.

I should mention that guide service is owned by an Israeli guy, which means he gets most of his business from young Israeli`s who have just finished their mandatory stint in the army and have gone travelling. Long story short, the entire day I was  surrounded by a  cacophony  of Hebrew, enough English to have brief conversations, and almost no Spanish. This turned out to be somewhat of an issue later in the day when our “bilingual” guides, who weren`t so bilingual, couldn`t communicate the importance of several safety issues.

Anyway, Hadar (a young woman from our hostel) and I took our turn on the lift platform and were soon creaking our way up the mountain. We conversed in broken English as I nervously eyed the deep crevasses conveniently located between the lift poles. At least 100 yards down at some points! Now, I don`t know how many of you have ever gotten off a ski lift without ski`s on, but it`s not near as simple as you think it would be. Especially when the lift is so old that it doesn`t slow down at the loading and unloading platforms like the newer ones do, and you have to deal with a healthy-sized pack complete with a climbing axe sticking out the side. Not to mention, upon your arrival at the unloading platform, there are four men shouting frantically in Spanish to try and keep you in the tiny  safety  zones and get you off the platform before the next chair arrives. We made it off in one piece and had a few minutes to admire the breathtaking views of the valley before beginning our ascent to the lunch spot.

The first hour or so was REALLY slow going. Initially, they failed to divide the groups into those who want to go quickly and slowly, so we ended up shuffling at the slowest pace I`ve ever experienced towards our lunch spot. Although I had applied sunscreen in the van, I could feel my face burning by the time I pulled out my sandwich and banana. Maybe my sunscreen is expired? I started borrowing from others, and one of the guides gave me his baseball cap, but it was pretty much too late. The damage had already been done. At this point all I could do was try and keep it from getting worse.

As we ate, the guides ran around putting on crampons for everyone. To my horror, I had been given crampons that were too small for my boots. GREAT! Now what? Am I supposed to cross an ice field without crampons? The guides assured me that I would be able to trade with someone else, but I my anxiety mounted as I kept hearing “tan pequeño” from all the guides. Turns out there were lots of folks in my boat. Thank goodness I was one of the first on the list. I got crampons that fit and was ready to ascend the last 6,000 ft. with the second group. Finally I was travelling in small pack of five climbers, all of whom wanted to move quickly. Our guide, Alvaro, who had given me the hat, spoke no English. Our group (four guys and Jema, as per the usual) spoke no Spanish, me being the exception. I knew we were in for an interesting day.

Consistent with the way things had been going, Alvaro neglected to be sure we had all learned how to use our ice/climbing axes. (It`s what you use to stop yourself if you slip and go sliding down the snow and ice covered slope). Thanks to Daniel, I knew how to use one and set straight everyone in our group. I only had to use mine twice, and only slid about 15 feet each time, which is more than I can say for the others in the group. By this time I wasn`t at all surprised that we also never talked about avalanche safety or crevasses, which made for a tense moment later in the day.

With Alvaro and I headed up the pack, with a Swedish guy hot on my heels. He spoke enough English to complain to me about the slow pace and the quality of the guide service nearly the whole way up the mountain. As we ascended, the volcano started to make noises it hadn`t made all day, and the ground started to shake. I assumed this was normal, but would later find out it wasn’t normal at all. You see, the week previous, I had met up with a couple in Mendoza who warned me not to expect to climb the volcano in Pucòn, because it was closed. “Closed?” I asked. “Yes, it`s been too active lately. Since you can`t get within 300 yards of the top, none of the guide services are ascending.” When Dan and I had arrived in Pucòn to find that the volcano had settled down enough to remove the safety restriction, I was pleasantly (and skeptically) surprised.

A few hours later, we were about ten minutes from the top. Alvaro pointed to a rock laying on the ground and said something I couldn`t understand. Then he pointed to several more and said the same thing again. Then I understood. All the little chunks we were seeing, consistent with the noises and rumbling the volcano had been making, were fresh chunks of cooled lava. We met two other groups coming down, one from our guide service and one from another. The guides started yelling back and forth to one another. The two guides who were coming down yelled to Alvaro that volcano was too dangerous today, and that the Forest Service shouldn`t be letting people up here. Both of them advised Alvaro to let us take our photos and get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Both the guides coming down sounded pretty frantic, so I begin to suspect that maybe I shouldn`t be standing on top of this “ready-to-blow” volcano.

We crested the top of the crater minutes later, and Alvaro shook our hands and told us that if we wanted to get any closer to the vent then the outside edge of the crater, it was our responsibility. He then settled himself as far away from the vent as possible where he could still keep an eye on us. I noticed that the two descending groups had been wearing  helmets  and wondered to myself why Alvaro hadn`t said anything about putting them on. I asked him if we were supposed to wear them. He said, “technically, yes, but it`s up to you.” Just then the vent started making this unbelievable noise, like a jet engine at take-off. You could see the heat waves being blasted from the center of the crater as the vent spewed smoke and lava rocks came raining down in the crater. Despite our healthy fear of the volcano`s unexpected activity (I think my fear was more healthy than the rest of the group`s), we tiptoed our way toward the edge of the crater as close as we could get to the vent. Then, we took turns daring to turn our back to the vent to be  photographed  in front of the spewing smoke. Every time that jet-engine noise started up, we ran like hell towards the outside edge of the crater. We`d only been there about five minutes before Alvaro told us we should walk to the other side of the crater, see the view of another volcano (Lanin) on the border of Argentina/Chile, and head down. I told the rest of the group, and they told me to tell him they weren`t ready. They wanted to eat, and the complainer from Sweden wanted to have himself a cigarette.

Fifteen  minutes  later, Alvaro and I had managed to convince everyone that for our own safety, we really should go. The boys were just strapping on their packs as the volcano began to make the loudest noise since we`d been there. It rumbled and rumbled and suddenly smoke, then rocks, and finally tons of magma came spurting out! It was INSANE. I could feel the heat from the blast on my face, and I stared open-mouthed as I watched the liquid rock spray everywhere. The color is something you can`t even imagine. You definitely have to see it to know. Somewhere between blood red and bright orange. That was the final straw for me, and for Alvaro. I wanted to get the hell away from the vent, pronto. The boys seemed to be almost completely unaware of the danger of being on the crater (probably due to the lack of Spanish speaking ability), and were pissed that they didn’t get pictures. They tried, in broken English, to finagle a few more minutes on top, but Alvaro wasn`t having it. I breathed a sigh of relief as we started our volcanic descent.

Alvaro was pretty fed up with the rest of the group, and apparently had decided he didn`t care if they got down or not, so he and I trekked at a quick clip down, down, down, leaving the others several hundred yards behind most the time. We passed a hip-high stick with a bunch of ice frozen onto and I asked him what it was as I approached to check it out. After three tries, I still couldn`t understand what he was saying, but his voice was getting louder the closer I got to the stick. Suddenly I recognized the vocabulary. “Crevasse,” he was saying. I stopped short, still a good ten feet from the marker, in disbelief at the significant lack of safety. I stayed there for a minute until the Japanese guy caught up so I could tell him not to go near it. I could only imagine the fate of the Swede and the two Israelis when they came upon it.

When we got to a place where crampons were no longer necessary, we waited for the rest of the group to catch up, apparently they had passed the crevasse marker without incident. I started to realize just how slip-shod this whole production was. Once we had packed away our crampons, I realized that there was no specific trail as my foot repeatedly came down on the wrong side of rocks buried beneath the snow. As we tumbled haphazardly toward the bottom, the Swede asked why we couldn`t ride the chairlift back down. It turns out my suspicions were entirely justified. The chair lift had been condemned, scheduled to fall apart any day now, and therefore used only for ascending. I was glad I hadn`t known that six hours earlier as I swung 100 yards or more above canyons of rock.

We reached the bottom of the volcano without incident where the vans were waiting to collect enough passengers to justify a trip back to town. I got in with the first load and did my best to hide from the now scalding sun streaming through the window. I was fried. Reminded me of the time Brandon Opfer had his driver`s license picture taken after a weekend of skiing only to receive the hard copy in the mail with an apology letter stating that he could have his picture re-done for free since there had obviously been a terrible mistake with the computer imaging.

After getting all the gear returned and changed into dry clothing, I went to check on bus-ticket availability. The plan was to head north to Santiago that night, but Dan and I had decided to wait to buy tickets in the event that we returned too late from the volcano to miss the bus. We didn`t figure seats would be hard to come by, given the small size of Pucòn, but boy were we wrong. By 5:30, Dan`s group still hadn`t returned, and there were only four tickets left to Santiago. I decided to give it fifteen minutes before I would settle on it being every woman for herself and buy one. The last group finally returned to the tour office, complete with Dan and two young women he`d been travelling with the week previous. They decided they wanted to go to Santiago with him, so they gave me their money and I ran to only bus company that still had tickets just in time to swipe the last four tickets. The guy in line right after me would have bought them all up!

We had dinner at an awesome restaurant, complete with the most delicious dipping sauces I`ve ever had, and jumped on the 7:30 bus to Santiago just minutes before it took off. What a day!

Volcano or no?

After going to bed at midnight last night, then getting up with only 30 minutes to spare and still needing to pack, make breakfast, and prepare for lunch on the trail, we arrived ten minutes late to Limay Tours only to find out the weather still was too cloudy and rainy to depart for the volcano. So, we are waiting until noon to find out if it will clear up. If not, we try again tomorrow. If tomorrow doesn’t work, I say goodbye to Pucón and head to Santiago where I will cross back over into Argentina.

We found a new hospedaje to stay at tonight. It’s two dollars cheaper, and the señora is really sweet.

Yesterday, we rented bikes to pedal ourselves a total of 52km or approx. 35 miles, in hopes of seeing two waterfalls and a lake. It was a loop trail 1/2 on the highway and 1/2 on dirt road. We thought it was going to be pretty easy, but boy were we wrong. 1) we started on the dirt road, which seemed like it hadn’t been bladed in years. It was about as wash-boardy and pothole-ish as I’ve ever seen a dirt road. 2) Dan looks pretty athletic, but he’s a smoker. So, he had a hell of a time. 3) The entire way there was uphill, usually on about a 6% grade, but often closer to 13% for long stretches. UGH! I, thankfully, attached all my gear/food to my bike with plastic bags and duct tape. I taught Dan how to use “MacGyver” as a verb. 🙂

We pedaled for several miles before we reached the first waterfall. There was a house at the trail head, and we had to pay some guy a thirty-cent entrance fee to watch our bikes. The waterfalls were absolutely amazing The color of the water was this amazing color of blue. (see photo – one that I was actually there for instead of one I got off the internet!). We ate lunch and Dan spent about an hour taking photos of all the different waterfalls. (He’s a photographer.)

Look at the water's color! Amazing!

Look at the water’s color! Amazing!

We had burned up almost half the day, but we decided to try for the lake anyway. I stopped at the top of the first long hill to wait for Dan to ask him if he was sure he didn’t want to go back to Pucón. He said, “It is hard for me, but we’ve come this far. We should keep going.” So up, up, up, up, up we went to the lake. It ended up being nothing to see, really. In fact, probably the least spectacular I’ve seen. So we turned our bikes around and stopped at the kiosk (like a small convenience store) to buy some chocolate to reward ourselves. While we were munching, a torential douwn-pour started. The woman at the store told us that if we waited 15 mins, a bus would come and we could pay $4 to get ourselves and our bikes back to town. Since Dan had about $4000 worth of camera equipment with him that should, under NO circumstances ever get wet, we decided to wait for the bus. We were afraid it wouldn’t show, though, so we decided to hail anything that drove by that was big enough to hold bikes. The first vehicle to come by stopped for us…a blue van made into a bus. The driver said he’d charge us $6, and we were in no position to bargain, so we loaded up. It seemed like we’d be the only ones on the bus, but school must have just let out. Because suddenly, a road that had been almost entirely empty on our way up was swarming with school children. Turns out all of them wanted to get on the bus/van, too. So before we knew it, we were piled into this van with 20 kids. It was nuts!

When we got back to Pucón, we went to the lake and fed the ducks, which was really fun. They just come right up to you! Then we went and bought some chocolate’s called “volcanoes.” They’re about three inches tall and filled with dulce de leche – a creamy caramel substance that’s really popular here. I’m saving mine to eat at the top of Villarica (the volcano) assuming we get to go.

Dinner last night was the same as the night before, but still just as delicious. Got to spend the evening reading and relaxing and chatting with the other guests.

Keeping my fingers crossed for a volcano ascent!

Pucón

It’s raining worse than cats and dogs here in Pucón (in Chile), but the weather did us the favor of waiting until we were on our way home before it got really nasty. Today has been quite the adventure!

Last night I cooked myself dinner at the hostel in San Martín de los Andes. It ended up being terrible, because I didn’t have any spices and I misread the label at the grocery store. So what I thought was going to be delicious pasta with marinara sauce ended up being canned tomatoes and rubbery noodles. Mmm mmm good!! It was actually a really interesting experience, because the kitchen was really busy, but no one else was alone. And no one else spoke English. Attempting a social spanish conversation with another solo traveller is one thing, but thrusting myself head-long into a group of rapidly-speaking Argentinians is entirely another! As a result, I’m getting a lot of alone time by default. It’s good though, because that’s something I was expecting out of this trip. It’s nice to feel comfortable being alone and friend-less in a big group of strangers.

Speaking of my Spanish, though, it’s getting SO much better. I’m not picking up vocab near as quickly as I did in Mexico, but that’s because I’m not trying as hard as I did in Mexico. I’m sure if I looked up every word I didn’t know in the dictionary (I haven’t even cracked mine since I’ve been here!  ) and if I asked more questions about words and phrases, I’d be pro already. Probably I will have an even easier time once I leave Argentina/Chile. The accents here are among the most notable in the Spanish world. Imagine teaching American English to someone that speaks Chinese as their first language and then sending them to England or Scotland. The accent is different, the vocab is different, thank god the nouns are mostly the same even though they’re often used differently. My biggest problem so far has been remembering which type of “excuse me” to use. There are three different versions. “Disculpa” means “can I bother you for a moment.” “Permiso” or “conpermiso” means “can you please get out of my way?” “Perdón” means “sorry I was in your way.” Well, the first one that comes to mind when I think, “excuse me” in my head is “permiso.” So, the rapid-fire translation that comes out when I wasn’t paying attention and am about to slam into someone is “can you get out of my way, please?” instead of “sorry I was in your way.” Oops!

Anyway, so this morning at 5:00, I rolled about of bed and got ready to trek through town to the bus station to catch the 6:00 bus from San Martín in Argentina to Pucón in Chile. Sure enough, the gang of the brits, canadians, and the american were there, too. We ended up being on different bus lines, though, so I actually haven’t seen them since the station. Part of the reason is because the guy that sat next to me on the bus, Dan from Israel, is travelling by himself, too. He’s looking to do the same things I am, and I would rather hook up with another lone traveller than bust in on a group of six guys that have already been travelling together for a week. Especially when one of the six is such a huge drag. So, I’ve been hanging out with Dan ever since the bus. He’s super nice, really respectful, and I’m totally comfortable around him. Mature, I guess. An ideal travel partner! Alleluia!

Our bus driver came around right after the bus took off and collected all our passports, so of course we were all nervous about whether or not we were ever going to see them again. We didn’t get too far out of town before the road was no longer paved. I am realizing that the U.S. actually has an incredible highway system. Here, it is not at all uncommon for roads between places like Gillette and Wright/Moorcroft (or Lowell and Oakridge for you Oregon types) to be unpaved. And they’re just as frequently travelled, if not more travelled than the U.S. routes I mentioned. So, we bumped along this gravel/dirt road for about three hours before we arrived at the customs office, which was really just a little cabin in the mountains along the dirt road (The Andes are on the border between Argentina and Chile.) I felt like I was on a bus headed for summer camp the whole time. Well, turns out they collected our passports to compile a list to expedite the process when we arrived at customs. We got there at about 9 am. They proceeded to herd us all off the bus and into the cabin where we stood in front of two officers as the called us up to the front of the room, one by one, stamped our passports. By 10:00 we were back on the bus and headed down the road. Or so we thought.

Not two minutes later, the bus stops at another cabin. Then it dawns on us that the previous cabin wasn’t customs for Chile. It was the Argentinian departure office. Chile is known for being thorough with customs, so they took all the bags off the bus, made everyone bring all their stuff in the building, searched every single bag, and then reloaded the bus. We were counting our blessings by the time 11:30 rolled around and we were finally headed off down the Chilean side of the gravel road.

The mountains were, of course, spectacular. It’s fall here, so the hill are just blazing with red and orange and yellow. (Mom, you would LOVE it!) And there are more monkey puzzle trees than you can shake a stick at. The valleys are all very small and very dramatic. And it takes forever to cross the Andes because of the topography. You switchback all the way up a mountain and down the other side. Then you do three or five or ten more like it until you finally get through. Here, there’s no such thing as “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”

We finally arrived in Pucón around 1:30. Dan and I had both had a specific hostel recommended to us by other travellers. However, the thing is, it’s new. So not a single Pucón native could tell us where to go, and everyone we did ask wanted to tell us where we should stay instead. Finally we found a guy at a bike shop who had a  vague  idea of the hostel’s location. So, we went trekking off through town, walked one end to another without finding it. The nice thing is, Pucón is exactly the kind of place I had in mind when I said I wanted a town small enough to learn the layout in 5 min. So one end of town to the other doesn’t take all that long. We never found the recommended place, and so settled on the first place we came to. It’s a hospedaje instead of a hostel, which means it’s owned by a family that also lives in the house. It’s nice to be in a house instead of a hotel-ish environment. Dan and I have our own room, which is great because we can leave our stuff laying everywhere. Usually, at hostels, you live out of a locker and have to keep it all inside.

After we got unpacked, we went to get Chilean money so we’d be able to pay. The first ATM I tried to use made a noise like it was giving me money, and then said “Thank you for using Redbanc,” but it never gave me any money. So I’m still watching my wells fargo account like a hawk to make sure some absurd amount of money hasn’t disappeared out of there. We also walked down to the lake, which was gorgeous… very storybook-like. Then we searched tourism agencies to find the cheapest and best trip up the volcano (you have to have a guide).

A view of Villarica (the volcano) from Pucón

A view of Villarica (the volcano) from Pucón

We bought groceries for dinner, breakfast, lunch, and dinner and breakfast again all for $20! We’re doing a really good job as far as food budget goes. Dinner was delicious. Dan made steaks and some awesome pasta, and this purple cabbage salad that I thought was going to be terrible, but ended up being absolutely amazing. I can’t wait to make it for myself when I get home! I guess dinner is what I get in exchange for doing all the Spanish communicating that we need to do.

After dinner we decided that since we couldn’t climb the volcano for another day at least, if at all, we were going to biking. So we found me some nylon pants, since all I have is a pair of jeans and skin tight long underwear. We went back down to the lake as a storm was brewing, which was SUPER cool. The clouds were almost black. It was amazing.

That’s all for today!

San Martìn de los Andes

Been hiking and driving all day today. Since my last entry, I’ve gone to dinner with a bunch of trekkers (they don’t call it backpacking down here) from Canada, England, and the U.S., watched “Team America, World Police” for the third time, seen a VW Golf bust through unexplicable terrain, seen an amazing series of mountain lakes and one really gorgeous waterfall, and hiked about four miles.

Dinner last night was at this great buffet place. Chinese foods, amazing deserts, sushi, mashed potatoes, any cut of steak you want, fruit, meats and cheeses, you-name-it, this place had everything. I went with the trekkers that had just arrived at the hostel. Dan and Ryan from Canada are down here on the same time frame as I am. They’re going to climb Pucòn (a volcano) in Chile on Wednesday, and I think I might do it with them. After all, this may be my one and only chance to climb a volcano. You never know! Alex, from Iowa, is definitely going, too, which is disappointing for me because he’s the exact opposite of Dan and Ryan. He’s probably the most pompous, womanizing person I’ve met. John, Chris, and Dave (from England) are going too, as long as they don’t have to miss watching their soccer match. 🙂

Today at the early hour of 7:30 a.m., Effie and Martin and I rolled out of bed to take the VW Golf we rented on “La Ruta de los siete lagos” (drive of the seven lakes). Peter was supposed to come with us (the scottish guy), but he stayed out drinking until 7 a.m., and so bowed out. Well, when we were at the car rental agencies looking for the best deal, I could tell this was going to be no less than an adventure. For the first 60 miles or so, the road is paved. For the last 60 or so, it’s “una ruta natural” (a “natural road”). The guy behind the counter at one of the agencies was showing us the map, and when I asked him what the road was like, I could tell by his carefully chosen words that we were really in for an adventure. The first 20 miles or so were fine. Just lots of potholes, etc. But then we entered the construction zone. They hadn’t made a new road for cars to drive on. You just drove right through the ripped up stuff. So here we are in our teeny little VW Golf rallying through 6-8 inches of mud for 20 miles straight. We were damn sure we were going to get stuck. It was absolutely insane. The good news is, we made it to San Martìn de los Andes safely. And we got to see some of the most gorgeous scenery. The drive really is worth it. All the lakes are just absolutely amazing. And we got to see this fantastic waterfall, probably 80-90 feet tall just off the road.

Martin and Effie headed back to Bariloche this afternoon, and I’ve been here ever since. They’re fun to travel with. It’s really interesting to hear the different words they have for things. For example,
windscreen = windsheild
half of eight = 8:30
four by four = four wheel drive
boot = trunk (of the car)

I bought a ticket for Pucòn (in Chile) right away when I got here. And I have a feeling that if I don’t run into the boys somewhere in town tonight, I’m sure to see them tomorrow morning on the 6 a.m. bus. San Martìn de los Andes is “nestled” (says the guide book) between two mountains on the shore of large lake. One of the mountains is supposed to have a great viewpoint a few miles up, so I decided to take advantage of the daylight that was left and hike my buns up there. About half way up, the natives that have lived on the lake since the dawn of time charge you a peso to pass through their village on the way to the top. A girl, probably only 9 or 10 was at the booth with her baby sister. They were really cute, and the little one kept asking me what my name was. Adorable. The view was incredible.

a view from the top - the town and the lake

a view from the top – the town and the lake

I spent probably an hour at the top writing in my journal about what it’s like to travel alone as a woman. I am repeatedly and consistently relieved to discover that I am still safe and danger isn’t lurking in every corner. I think women, from a very young age, are warned and warned and warned about how scary the world is and how careful they need to be (i.e. not go remote places alone, not to be out alone at night). And “careful” really means dependent, because if you can’t go out alone, then by default you have to go with someone else. So I’m finding out every single day, over and over, that, despite what I’ve been told, it’s not dangerous to be independent. What a relief! Which is not to say that I don’t believe in being aware of your surroundings and concerned for your safety. It’s just really nice not to be scared to have rewarding, independent experiences.

fall in San Martìn de los Andes

fall in San Martìn de los Andes

That’s all for now! Think I’ll cook myself dinner at the hostel tonight, so I’d better get to the mercado.

¡Estoy en Bariloche!

Having a blast! This entry includes 1) me raving about the scenery (probably no one else will find this at all interesting), 2) bus stories, 3) people I’ve met and the things we’ve done. End of short version! 🙂

So since I last wrote… On the way home from the internet cafe, I happend upon an artisan’s market in the Plaza de España (much like Saturday Market for those of you in Oregon). I still hadn’t found a “wedding ring.” I finally found a little booth with a guy selling jewelry; he had this perfect little silver band for three pesos! For an Argentinian, that three dollars, but with the exchange rate, it only cost me a buck! It’s a good thing, too, because I’ve already lost it twice. That’s part of the reason I hate wearing jewelry; I always lose it. It’ll never do for me to have some fancy wedding ring… it’d be the biggest waste of money imaginable, because I’m sure to lose it.

Before I got on the bus Friday night, I kicked off my shoes at the hostel and realized that I’m destined to have a permanent layer of dirt on my feet while I’m down here. It’s kind of funny because my feet look like they have Chaco tan lines, but it’s dirt instead of sun-struck skin.

The bus ride wasn’t terrible like some travellers make it out to be. I slept well, it was warm, the food was tolerable, and I had a seat all to myself for the whole night. The bus kept pulling over, though, completely at random. When we got to Nequen (5 hours from Bariloche) at seven in the morning, they made everyone get off the bus for “10 minutes”. I assumed it was to fuel, but when the bus still hadn’t returned an hour later, we found out the bus was actually broken. So they got a new bus,  transferred  all our stuff onto it, and then picked us back up. Very interesting! I’m glad I don’t have that much stuff to worry about as far as it being lost in the shuffle of something like that.

During the unexpected layover, I met Effie, Martin, and Peter who were all travelling to Bariloche as well. Martin (from England) and Peter (from Scotland) knew each other from a bar where they met in Santiago, Chile, and Effie (from Australia) was travelling by herself. They’re all older than me and all seem to be  permanent  travllers. Peter is funny. He’s the Scot who’s spent the last ten years of his life working on cruise ships as a photographer. He boasts that he’s been to 120-some  countries   and he’s very sarcastic and  judgmental   but in a hilarious way. Martin is the Brit, who looks very much like Hugh Grant and behaves very much like the characters Grant plays in movies. Effie, the  Australian   has the best Spanish of us all. She’s been living in Argentina for a few months taking classes. Her  intonation  makes her sound  Italian, though.

Anyway… the the countryside from the bus window was absolutely amazing. Until we got very near Bariloche, it was mostly desert, but nothing like I’ve ever seen. Tons of purple-ish, reddish, brown-ish cliffs and valleys and scrubby sagebrush-like plants. The colors and scenery around Dubois, Wyoming is the closest I can come to describing it. When we finally got close enough to the foot of the mountains, it was incredible. The Andes are absolutely breathtaking – the colors are similar to those around Maupin, OR, but the majesty of the mountains is much like the Wind Rivers in Wyoming. The river we followed in was full of crystal clear, blue, glacier colored water like the Upper McKenzie. I can’t believe this place. The photo I found doesn’t do it justice. Bariloche itself is on the short of this HUGE lake, miles and miles long. It’s so beautiful. Kind of like Jackson Lake in the Tetons, but the flora is more like that of Oregon. And there are lots of monkey puzzle trees, which are really funky.

Bariloche is on the shore of a huge lake (not me in the photo)

Bariloche is on the shore of a huge lake (not me in the photo)

The hostel I’m staying at is really neat. It’s built to look like a cabin. Lots of nooks and crannies. Reminds me of the Teton Science School buildings. I hated it at first when I got here. It seemed like everyone was very clique-ish and had been here awhile. I felt like I was intruding on some really established social scene. But, that’s nothing a bottle of wine won’t solve! After a bottle of cabernet shared with Peter, Martin, Effie, and a couple from New Zealand, the four of us (Peter, Martin, Effie, me) headed out for a steak dinner at a restaurant that had been recommended. It was so incredibly delicious, and so cheap! For seven bucks, I got the best steak I’ve had since I’ve been here, fries and my share of two bottles of wine. Mmmmmmm….good! We headed to the bar afterward, and made it home “early” (2a.m.). People stay out VERY late here in Argentina. Dinner is usually around 9 or 10, and the bars don’t even get busy until 1 or 2. It’s completely common to stay out drinking until 6 a.m. I guess if I was still into the party life, I might give it a try.

I think I like the semi-drinking life better, though. We managed to make it out of bed and into town to look for rental cars by 11 a.m. We’re renting a car to do “the drive of the seven lakes” tomorrow. It’s supposed to be absolutely gorgeous, and we save 100 pesos doing it ourselves instead of going on a tour. I think I might leave tomorrow night for Chile. I was considering going all the way to the tip of South America where all the explorations to Antarctica depart, but I think I’d better save that for a trip in the South American summer.

Today, after we got our rental car reserved for tomorrow and ate breakfast, we attempted to climb Cerro Otto (Otto Hill), which rises about 2,100 feet above the town and the lake. We missed the fork for the trail, though, and ended up 2 miles farther than we expected. I think we walked about 8 miles today, which was really quite a bit. It didn’t seem like it at the time, for me, because everything is in kilometers. So, I have this psychology that a kilometer is less than a mile, and therefore not that far. We walked at least 12km in all. Although we didn’t make it anywhere near the top of Cerro Otto, the views were still amazing.

When we got back to town, we tried out this ice cream place that had been recommended. I have never had better ice cream. And those of you who know how much I love ice cream will understand what a huge statement that is. Ben and Jerry’s can’t hold a candle to this place. I wonder if it’s healthier?

Some backpackers, Dan, Dave, and their crew, have just arrived and invited me to dinner. All you can eat for $7. I’m starving, but I can’t eat that much at once. I think I’ll probably go just to get to know some new people. Maybe they’ll want to take me camping!

Best day yet!

Oh man. Today has been awesome. I got up early enough to have the free hostel breakfast (bread and jam, but still it’s free!), and then Eleanor and Jared and I went back to the huge park in Mendoza (acres and acres of trees and lawns). There is a big hill at the very back of the park, and some awesome views from the top. We did a ton of walking. For those of you familiar with Eugene, it would be like walking from my house to Spencer’s Butte, going up Spencer’s, and then walking back. Several miles, for sure. And it was so gorgeous today. The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect… I just can’t say enough about it! The flora, as my padre says, is really neat. There’s lots of cactus and aloe and eucalyptus, but also some ponderosa pines combined with palm trees. Oh, and some awesome succulents that are really short and scrubby.

Mmmm… and about that awesome vegetarian restaurant that I was going to avoid in the name of new experiences everyday. Yeah… my will-power is pretty much non-existent when I’m hungry. But it was so good! (again!)

Non-stop hiking/walking combined with delicious food. Now that’s my kind of day! I leave in a few hours for Bariloche, and am leaving Eleanor and Jared behind in Mendoza. Let the adventure begin!

Grape stompin’

So actually this entry has nothing to do with grape stomping. We did just return from a wine tour, though. This entry includes stuff about: the amazing lunch I ate yesterday, the cool people I’ve been meeting, the cute stuff I’ve seen, how I’ve been spending my time with Eleanor and Jared, and the neat wine tour we took today. End of short version.

Yesterday for lunch I had the most amazing, filling, and delicious meal I’ve had since I’ve been here. There is this great vegetarian buffet here called the Green Apple. I was skeptical at first, because when you try to make EVERYTHING without meat, sometime you have to get a little “creative” with the substitutes. And sometimes I can’t stomach creative. But it was so, so, so good. If I wasn’t so insistent on new experiences every day, I’d go back!

Like I said before, Mendoza is much more my speed. More so than Buenos Aires, but I’m ready to move on. I just got back from buying my bus ticket to Bariloche, in the Lake District in the mountains in southern Argentina. There should be plenty of beautiful trails to hike. I just hope I beat the snow! In the name of packing light, I only brought my trusty Chacos. However, those of you who know me well, know they’ll hold up even in snow for me, as long as it’s only a couple inches!

The hostel here is better than the last. It’s much easier to meet people and cheaper, too! I was reading in the courtyard yesterday afternoon and noticed the lawn mower. It plugs in! As in, it’s electrically powered! How funny! Speaking of reading… I’m wondering if I’m being too thorough with my guide book. I like to be really prepared… I’m very thorough (did someone say anal retentive?), and I wonder if it’s eating up too much of my time. Maybe I won’t be so insistent about reading EVERYTHING about a country before I decide where I want to go and what I want to do. But then again I have several 24 hour bus rides ahead of me. 🙂

Yesterday afternoon, while Eleanor and Jared were napping, I went to check out the “central park” of Mendoza. It’s called Parque del San Martin. It`s huge, and really pretty. It was really interesting to see the leaves of deciduous trees changing color side by side with the palm trees. I spent a lot of time reading by the lake where there were crew teams rowing. Made me kind of nostalgic! Oh! And it was so cute… this little girl walked by with her parents when I was eating a grapefruit, and she asked her parents what I was eating. But when she asked, she called me “señora,” which is only used for women who are either married or over forty. Any female who`s spent time in a spanish speaking country will understand how weird it is to be referred to as señora instead of señorita when you’re as young as I am.

When I got back to the hostel, Jared and Eleanor were watching “Along Came Polly” in the common room with some other folks. I’ve never seen it before, and it was so funny. Also, it’s about following your heart and taking risks, so it definitely had a message I could relate to. Plus it’s really great to watch it with the Spanish subtitles, because you get to learn the different expressions that are used. It’s different in other languages. Just for example, to say “I’m 22 years old” in spanish, you actually say I have 22 years. If you said it any other way, no one would understand you. So, it’s good to learn how to keep people from being entirely confused when they talk to me.

The hostel also has a ping pong table, which is fun. And it’s nice to play with someone other than my cousin who is really vicious about it. We went out and had pizza and beer for dinner. The beer here is great! Later that night, I was hanging out on the roof and I ended up meeting this woman from New Zealand who taught me how to fire dance! It was awesome! It’s where you have a ball of fire at the end of a rope and you swing them really fast and dance while you cross them around your body. I have a hard time getting my arms to go different directions and to keep the ropes from getting crossed, but I managed to learn how to turn, cross, and I learned one side of a fancy trick. I also met two other women who were my age travelling alone. They both had come from Peru and Bolivia. Both said to go as fast as I could through Chile because it’s so expensive and that I would love Bolivia because the people are so nice.

Speaking of people being nice, the woman who sold me my bus ticket was really sweet and very helpful. I’m not worried at all anymore about my mediocre spanish. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!

The wine tour we went on today was really neat. We visted a very industrialized winery where absolutely everything was mechanized. It’s the biggest in Argentina, and it was really impressive. Then we went to another, smaller but much cuter place. They had a more thorough tour and did a better job of describing what you’re looking for when you’re wine tasting. The tours were in Spanish and then in a very accent-laden English. It was great, because I got to find out how much I actually understood once they said it in English. And the good news is, I got most of it! What a relief! We also drove out into the country where the dam is for the water for the vineyards. The countryside was beautiful with all the leaves changing colors at the foot of the Andes. I can’t wait to get closer! I leave for Bariloche tomorrow night!