Life is all but too easy here in Buenos Aires. I´ve got a great home, shitty job, and a pretty stellar group of friends. It´s just like real life! It´s all very new, but reminds me very much of my so called normal life back in the States. I think it´s because I actually have a job again. Fuck working. It´s really hard for me to adjust to this job. I´m working as a front desk lady in a cool hostel, but oh my god is it boring sometimes. At least when there are people out and about it makes the job much more enjoyable. But really there´s only so much time you can watch House and stalk ex girlfriends on facebook before you get bored. It´s funny that even though this is a shit job, I still find myself taking this it way too seriously. I get offended when a coworker or boss points out a flaw in my work, or when I´m anything less than a model employee. Not really the point of getting a brainless job, so I´ve decided to stop giving a shit, and pursue my original goal in South America: have the time of my life. Soon enough I´ll be done with this high paying monkeys job and get back on the road. I´m getting the stir crazy, excited feeling about getting back on the bike. I´ve somehow talked my Danish friend Teresa into coming back for round two on the bike. Hopefully I can keep the bike on two wheels this time around because we have plans on visiting the largest country in South America: Brazil. I´m pretty excited to see her again, get back on the bike, and try embarrassing myself speaking Portuguese. Should be fun.
Meanwhile in Argentina, I´m finally picking up their ridiculous accent, and I´m really getting into the big city life. I remember in Panama City I spent two days running around doing motorcycle related errands. By the end I pretty much accomplished nothing but waste my (extremely valuable) time. Here is Buenos it´s a different story. I went to change my oil, get some parts welded back together, get a car wash, and fix some bolts. I had to drive four blocks, and it took all but an hour or so. I fucking had those errands scheduled in for a whole day, now I guess it´s time to kick back with a beer. It seems pretty typical here that when I want to get out of the apartment and run around the city for a while it takes me like ten minutes to complete my tasks because everything is so damn close. It´s a good and bad sometimes because I only work three or four days a week, and I´ve become some lazy bum hanging around the apartment for way longer than what´s healthy. Good thing this is a very cool large city with plenty of places to explore, or else I´d think I go effing crazy staying in one place for so long. Let´s just say I do a lot of people watching / walking around different neighborhoods.
I´ve been lucky enough to meet some good people here too. My besties / roommates took off for a quick concert in Salta while I was stuck at work for a few days. I was pretty jealous when they left because it was the first time my job forced me to miss out on some good fun. I was left in this city ready to make my own good time. I had the weekend off, so I called up some friends and met some more cool expats. I was being lazy since I went to an English bar and hostel to see some live music. Not really Argentinian, but whatever it was still a good weekend. Time to get back to my albeit boring life here in the big city. More stories to come as soon as I hit the road again. Chau.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
3/14/2011 - Buenos Aires, Argentina: Car Jacking Trannies
Ok, so I know I´ve been incredibly lazy with this whole blogging thing. And I´m pretty sure I know the reason. It´s because I haven´t really been doing anything incredibly interesting. After the ridiculously long ride from near Ushuaia to Buenos Aires, I´ve been on a break. So honestly, I´ve just been fucking lazy. For the three weeks I have been living in Buenos Aires, I don´t have a whole lot of stories to tell. That said some fun / sad / awesome / boring stuff has happened so I´ll get to it.
After arriving to Buenos Aires, I immidiately felt at home. I knew I was going to like this place. It´s dubbed the ´Paris of the South´ which I think is a pretty apt description. Aside from the generally friendly people (Parisians are notoriously rude) and incredibly tall buildings everywhere, there are a lot of similaritites. Like the great food (sandwiches!), coffee culture, public transit, and high desinity living. And from what I remember when I visited Paris a few years ago, I loved it. Therefore, in a place where I can (well almost, I guess) speak the language, and know a bunch of great people, I know I should be content here for a few months.
A couple of weeks ago in the early afternoon heat, I get into a hostel looking for a party or a few new friends to meet and hit the city. It was a long lonely week on the road. I was stoked to be around people again, but the hostel I stayed at sucked. I don´t know how it happened, but everybody in this particular hostel was kind of unfriendly. Wierd, but I´ve met so many people that live here, that I just hit up some old mates and we grab a drink the next night. It was nice and low key, but they clue me in on how they got jobs and an apartment in the city. The plan starts developing, and the next step is to get out of a hostel and save some money by couchsurfing.
I don´t know if I´ve said it before, but couchsurfing.org is the best website on the internet. If you like to travel you should be on it. Really, I´ve met so many wonderful people through that website that I can´t begin to compliment it. Anyhow, once in Buenos I hit up a few surfers, thinking I´ll have to move around for a few weeks, before I can find an apartment and settle down for a bit. Again, I get incredibly lucky when the first surfers I hit up turn out to be totally awesome people. I was greeted with an ice cold beer on a hot humid afternoon, and all three of us hit it off immediately. I originally asked to stay for three days, but after a couple of weeks, I´m still living with them. I don´t even know how I managed that because I killed thier cat. Ok, not really, but thier long hair persian cat did commit suicide. The official story is that Duncan the cat watched a pigeon from the kitchen window. Then at one point jumped out of the window, caught the bird, and fell twelve stories to his death. It was a pretty hectic morning searching for him, and investigating the crime scene.Ultimately the sad truth was discovered, and miraculously Mariana and Sol took the news rather well. They are truly fabulous and geneours people. Even today after my first real day of working a graveyard shift. They brought me home a giant cheese burger from Burger King. How fucking nice! Just incredible people. Not to mention funny, witty, and all around delightful to be around. I have no idea how I´m going to thank them when I leave. What a great network for giving me an avenue to meet such cool people.
Alright, so the original plan when comming here was to get a job, because honestly I`ve had so much fun that I blew all my money. I had already made the decision that I´m not ready to come home yet, because really it´s like as soon as I start looking at plane flights, fun time is over. I´ve got to go back to California, get a job, find an apartment, blah blah blah. Fuck that, that´ll happen in a few months when I´m so home sick and broke, I´m forced to take my claws out of this continent and retreat. So intermitienly between naps, tv, and poking around with my guitar. I do look for jobs, and somehow successfully landed one. Thanks again to craisgslit, I found a job working nights at a little hostel nearby. It´s pretty chill job. I work the graveyard shift, so the hardest part is keeping myself entertained when nobody is around. I was describing it to my dad, and I told him that I´ll work for three nights at about seven to nine hours and I´ll make almost exactly as much money as I would working two hours at my old engineering job. I think it´s hillarious, it really puts things into a great culture perspective. But really it is an unfair comparison, because rent isn´t a thousand dollars a month, and I´m not working my ass off nearly fifty hours a week. At least I´ve got some income now, but it´s not enough to survive. I was basically relying on my tax return in hopes that I´ll get a lot of the taxes I paid back. After plenty of bitching, my old company finally sends the paperwork to the correct address. I was able to do my taxes, and it´s great fucking news. Since I only worked three quarters of the year I dropped down a few brackets, and I´m getting enough of my money back to go to Brazil. I´m so stoked! Thanks Uncle Sam! It was so relieved.
After being gone for so long, I´ve become homesick plenty of times. I really do miss family and friends the most, but there´s a lot I miss about my own culture. Burritos, burgers, sushi, and pho are pretty high on the list too, but there are plenty of other things. Like local live music, driving in a familiar place, my favorite bar: The Press, more food, and living in a place where I can zip to the mountians, big city, or beach all within a few hours drive. I remember in La Paz I was watching ´Cops´ on TV, and I was stoked when they pulled over some cross dressing car thief on the 10 freeway right near where I went to college. I was hanging with Teresa at the time and was like "yeah! I used to drive that freeway everyday! And I used to live just on the other side of those bushes in the dorms!" Then proceeded to bore her with stories of college and home. I´m sure from that show she got a great impression of my home town, but whatever. It was all pretty silly, but anything that brings back good memories of places and things at home are more than welcome. Even if they are car jacking trannies from Pomona.
That said, I was ready for a nice taste of America. Good thing one of my favorite punk bands, Rise Against, is in town. I´ve seen them before in San Diego with some great friends. It was such a fun road trip, and concert that there´s no way I´m missing this show. Of course, I´m lazy and forget to buy tickets. So the night of the concert I show up, and pay an extra five bucks to the bouncer, and sneak in. The opening bands are actually tolerable, and when the main attraction comes on the crowd is really pumped up. I´ve been to a bunch of concerts, but these kids are really crazy for this band. So, like any good American I jump right into the mosh pit, and yell all the lyrics at the top of my lung along with everybody else. After about the third song I pat my pocket and realize some really bad news. My camera is gone. I was wearing jeans in which the camera has never fallen out before, so I´m guessing it got stolen in the action. Who knows, but what´s certain is there is no way of getting it, or more importantly any of my pictures back. Fuck. Only thing I can do is enjoy the great show, and take out some frustration jumping around in the pit. It definitely works, because I´ve come to peace with my camera being gone. I was pretty pissed for a while, but looking at the bright side, I saved a ton of great pics on this blog and people tag me all the time in pictures on facebook. Also, now I get to go back to traveling the way I love. Without a camera in front of my face trying to capture a memory I´m already trying to memorize in my head. So I feel it´s not the worst loss, but it´s still frustrating about the pictures. Oh well, shit happens. Anyway, the show was fucking great and since I didn´t let it bother me too much, I had an amazing time. The band played great, played new songs, and it was loud and rowdy where I watched the show twenty feet from the band. Then in true concert style, I got a knock off tee shirt on the way out and walked home sweaty and tired. It was fucking great to get my taste of English speaking American culture. That should hopefully hold me over for a while.
After arriving to Buenos Aires, I immidiately felt at home. I knew I was going to like this place. It´s dubbed the ´Paris of the South´ which I think is a pretty apt description. Aside from the generally friendly people (Parisians are notoriously rude) and incredibly tall buildings everywhere, there are a lot of similaritites. Like the great food (sandwiches!), coffee culture, public transit, and high desinity living. And from what I remember when I visited Paris a few years ago, I loved it. Therefore, in a place where I can (well almost, I guess) speak the language, and know a bunch of great people, I know I should be content here for a few months.
A couple of weeks ago in the early afternoon heat, I get into a hostel looking for a party or a few new friends to meet and hit the city. It was a long lonely week on the road. I was stoked to be around people again, but the hostel I stayed at sucked. I don´t know how it happened, but everybody in this particular hostel was kind of unfriendly. Wierd, but I´ve met so many people that live here, that I just hit up some old mates and we grab a drink the next night. It was nice and low key, but they clue me in on how they got jobs and an apartment in the city. The plan starts developing, and the next step is to get out of a hostel and save some money by couchsurfing.
I don´t know if I´ve said it before, but couchsurfing.org is the best website on the internet. If you like to travel you should be on it. Really, I´ve met so many wonderful people through that website that I can´t begin to compliment it. Anyhow, once in Buenos I hit up a few surfers, thinking I´ll have to move around for a few weeks, before I can find an apartment and settle down for a bit. Again, I get incredibly lucky when the first surfers I hit up turn out to be totally awesome people. I was greeted with an ice cold beer on a hot humid afternoon, and all three of us hit it off immediately. I originally asked to stay for three days, but after a couple of weeks, I´m still living with them. I don´t even know how I managed that because I killed thier cat. Ok, not really, but thier long hair persian cat did commit suicide. The official story is that Duncan the cat watched a pigeon from the kitchen window. Then at one point jumped out of the window, caught the bird, and fell twelve stories to his death. It was a pretty hectic morning searching for him, and investigating the crime scene.Ultimately the sad truth was discovered, and miraculously Mariana and Sol took the news rather well. They are truly fabulous and geneours people. Even today after my first real day of working a graveyard shift. They brought me home a giant cheese burger from Burger King. How fucking nice! Just incredible people. Not to mention funny, witty, and all around delightful to be around. I have no idea how I´m going to thank them when I leave. What a great network for giving me an avenue to meet such cool people.
Alright, so the original plan when comming here was to get a job, because honestly I`ve had so much fun that I blew all my money. I had already made the decision that I´m not ready to come home yet, because really it´s like as soon as I start looking at plane flights, fun time is over. I´ve got to go back to California, get a job, find an apartment, blah blah blah. Fuck that, that´ll happen in a few months when I´m so home sick and broke, I´m forced to take my claws out of this continent and retreat. So intermitienly between naps, tv, and poking around with my guitar. I do look for jobs, and somehow successfully landed one. Thanks again to craisgslit, I found a job working nights at a little hostel nearby. It´s pretty chill job. I work the graveyard shift, so the hardest part is keeping myself entertained when nobody is around. I was describing it to my dad, and I told him that I´ll work for three nights at about seven to nine hours and I´ll make almost exactly as much money as I would working two hours at my old engineering job. I think it´s hillarious, it really puts things into a great culture perspective. But really it is an unfair comparison, because rent isn´t a thousand dollars a month, and I´m not working my ass off nearly fifty hours a week. At least I´ve got some income now, but it´s not enough to survive. I was basically relying on my tax return in hopes that I´ll get a lot of the taxes I paid back. After plenty of bitching, my old company finally sends the paperwork to the correct address. I was able to do my taxes, and it´s great fucking news. Since I only worked three quarters of the year I dropped down a few brackets, and I´m getting enough of my money back to go to Brazil. I´m so stoked! Thanks Uncle Sam! It was so relieved.
After being gone for so long, I´ve become homesick plenty of times. I really do miss family and friends the most, but there´s a lot I miss about my own culture. Burritos, burgers, sushi, and pho are pretty high on the list too, but there are plenty of other things. Like local live music, driving in a familiar place, my favorite bar: The Press, more food, and living in a place where I can zip to the mountians, big city, or beach all within a few hours drive. I remember in La Paz I was watching ´Cops´ on TV, and I was stoked when they pulled over some cross dressing car thief on the 10 freeway right near where I went to college. I was hanging with Teresa at the time and was like "yeah! I used to drive that freeway everyday! And I used to live just on the other side of those bushes in the dorms!" Then proceeded to bore her with stories of college and home. I´m sure from that show she got a great impression of my home town, but whatever. It was all pretty silly, but anything that brings back good memories of places and things at home are more than welcome. Even if they are car jacking trannies from Pomona.
That said, I was ready for a nice taste of America. Good thing one of my favorite punk bands, Rise Against, is in town. I´ve seen them before in San Diego with some great friends. It was such a fun road trip, and concert that there´s no way I´m missing this show. Of course, I´m lazy and forget to buy tickets. So the night of the concert I show up, and pay an extra five bucks to the bouncer, and sneak in. The opening bands are actually tolerable, and when the main attraction comes on the crowd is really pumped up. I´ve been to a bunch of concerts, but these kids are really crazy for this band. So, like any good American I jump right into the mosh pit, and yell all the lyrics at the top of my lung along with everybody else. After about the third song I pat my pocket and realize some really bad news. My camera is gone. I was wearing jeans in which the camera has never fallen out before, so I´m guessing it got stolen in the action. Who knows, but what´s certain is there is no way of getting it, or more importantly any of my pictures back. Fuck. Only thing I can do is enjoy the great show, and take out some frustration jumping around in the pit. It definitely works, because I´ve come to peace with my camera being gone. I was pretty pissed for a while, but looking at the bright side, I saved a ton of great pics on this blog and people tag me all the time in pictures on facebook. Also, now I get to go back to traveling the way I love. Without a camera in front of my face trying to capture a memory I´m already trying to memorize in my head. So I feel it´s not the worst loss, but it´s still frustrating about the pictures. Oh well, shit happens. Anyway, the show was fucking great and since I didn´t let it bother me too much, I had an amazing time. The band played great, played new songs, and it was loud and rowdy where I watched the show twenty feet from the band. Then in true concert style, I got a knock off tee shirt on the way out and walked home sweaty and tired. It was fucking great to get my taste of English speaking American culture. That should hopefully hold me over for a while.
Monday, March 7, 2011
2/17/2011 - Buenos Aires, Argentina: Walking Uphill
Captain's log February 13th, 2011. Location: Piedra Buena, Argentina. Today's activities: ate, drove motorcycle straight for a number of hours, ate again, gassed up a few times, then went to bed.
As you can probably tell from that awful first paragraph, the days where I´m driving in desolate Patagonia are long and boring. The distances are vast and the towns are small and rural.The only thing this land has going for it is the nature. Otherwise this place would suck and be overpriced. Luckily for the residents, the outdoors are simply stunning during the summer months. I´ve gotten a good chance to see it while driving through and even (gasp!) taking some long distance hikes.
While in Ushuaia, I met some very cool Argintinian guys at my hostel. That night I join them in the kitchen and learn the sacred art of drinking beer and making empanadas. After they´re cooked and being served up, we make a bunch of new friends. It´s surprising how fast you can win new friends with little fried doughy pockets of awesome. As our table is filling up everyone is invited on an overnight hike through Tierra Del Fuego national park. Like usual, I´ve got nothing planned, so I accept the invitation and begrudgingly wake up early the next morning to embark. The group is now up to nine people: four wild Argentinian dudes, three responsible and friendly Israeli girls, one super fun Swiss guy, and one unprepared American.
The Israeli girls are smart and well prepared for the trek. They´ve bought enough food and got a map of our route. It´s a fifteen mile (25k) hike split between two days. It doesn´t sound so bad. As we leave around eleven, I´m thinking we´ll be there relaxing at camp around five. Not exactly what happened, because as a large group we need to take plenty of snack and tea breaks. Whatever, I love snacks and tea, so I don´t mind the frequent stops. We do need to get to camp, so we all decide to hurry up at the hardest and steepest part. Then some funny shit starts happening. Poor Nikolas fell and got caught on a cable crossing on this shady river bridge. He was a bit bruised up, but generally ok. The best part was Josiah caught it all on tape. We must have watched that thing laughing hysterically maybe twenty, thirty times.Then German slips and falls into a river getting himself and his sleeping bag wet in the process. Ouch, going to be a cold night. Then as the trail steeply declines I go knee high into mud. Thank goodness for my absurdly high motorcycle boots. Of course a few people fall down, (always funny) and one poor German girl we met along the way got caught into some deep mud. It was like quicksand dragging her down. But eventually we all successfully make it to camp at Laguna del Caminante. We set up camp, and since it´s bitterly cold. We all gather some wood and proceed to make a huge bonfire right in front of the "no fires" sign. (That´s right, I like to live dangerously.) The fire is hot and comforting, so we all pull up stumps or logs and bond for hours over nature´s TV.
The next morning. I´m somehow one of the first people up. I see an adorable little fox hanging around the campsite, so I chase it and snap a few photos. Little did I know, that bastard stole our breakfast. Later we find our milk and salami missing with the fox nowhere to be found. What a douche. I guess putting the food under the tent´s rain fly wasn´t enough. Oh well, in eight hours we´ll all be home and we can eat whatever we want. Too bad we have to go over a mountain and a whole forest full of fallen trees. After only six hours (felt like twelve) we all make it back to the main road and call a cab home. Thank goodness that was over. I mean it was some wonderful nature, and the campsite and company were fantastic, but in motorcycle boot and a shitty little backpack I was happy to be off my feet for a bit. Three short days later, I left on a four day, fifty mile (85k) trek through Chile´s jewel national park: Torres Del Paine. I don´t think I´ll ever know just what the fuck I was thinking.
It took two long days to reach Puerto Natales, Chile from Ushuaia, but when I meet up with my old pals from the earlier trek, it makes it all worthwhile. We spend a night and a day farting around the little city trying to get a game plan for the hike. The Israelis are again responsible (must be all that army training) and attend a hour lecture on what´s in store. The lecture is in Hebrew, so I take it upon myself to find some other Americans and start pregaming for the Superbowl. My plan works excellent. I get to watch Ben Rapelessberger and the Steelers go down before I start packing. I know it´s four days long, but figure it´s some walking and a lot of downtime camping. So I don´t bother asking many questions. I just follow the pack and load up on the bus.
It´s a couple hours by bus and boat, but we all make it to camp number one. We set up camp and then hit our first trail. The hike is called the "W" because it´s roughly that shape on the map. (It looks more like a saggy ass, but that´s not really an appealing name.) Anyway, the main draw is the impressive glaciers,lakes, and cool rock formations. Four hours later the group has somewhat split up because some members are more psyched then others. At the mid point, I get a fantastic view of my first glacier. It´s nice to take a break, and have a laugh at some poor kid who fell part way into the frozen lake. I eventually get down to the lake to eat some glacier ice (high quality h2o) and throw rocks at bigger pieces of ice. We all enjoy the fruit of our first days hike, then turn right back around and head back to camp. During the walk back I come to the realization that this is a hard core hike for those well prepared tourist adorned head to toe in North Face gear, carrying two hundred dollar walking sticks, and eating only lightweight military rations and power bars. Looks like my ripped jeans, motorcycle boots, and borrowed backpack made for a midget will just have to do. I make it back to camp at dusk just after ten.
Day two starts off at six thirty in the morning, and is much the same as the previous day. Lots of walking, but new fabulous nature. It turns out to be the of the easiest and therefore least spectacular day. Then comes grueling day three. Fuck. It´s about thirteen hours of hiking with a fully loaded backpack. Luckily the weather is nice and hot, so I take a much needed bath in the lake. (BTW glacier water is cold.) Then at lunch time after an extremely delicious lunch of crackers and tuna. (Sarcasm) I enjoy a nap riverside in the sunshine. As I´m groggily waking up, I see a random familiar face. It´s Arielle! What are the chances? This is the fifth country we´ve met up in. I just fucking love random fate. So we chat and catch up for a bit, but as we´re walking in different directions we hug and say farewell yet again. Maybe I´ll see her in Brazil.
Only six more hours of walking uphill until we get to camp. It´s a good thing I love walking uphill. (If only I could do it on the way back too!) Apparently I looked uncomfortable, because Doron offers some help by saying the backpack I have probably adjusts for height. So at the next stop, I´m able to adjust it from five foot little girl to six foot man. What a difference! I get some new energy as I feel I can cartwheel and hurdle mountains with the new fit and comfort. Too bad, there´s only like four total hours of carrying it left since the trips almost over. Anyhow, camp is actually set up in the daylight and dinner is cooked up early. Then since everyone is obviously pooped; we all easily drift to sleep awaiting the grand finale the following day.
Somehow everybody wake up on time at three thirty in the morning. It´s a steep one hour walk in the dark to reach the Torres (towers) Del Paine. It´s stunning to watch the sun rise and watch the monstrous rocks change colors. It definitely made the whole hike worthwhile. Afterwards, I´m surprised to discover that the Israelis didn´t think it was spectacular enough. Apparently in the prep talk, they were told that the colors were supposed to be more vivid and awesome in the morning sun. Totally shocked I decide to stay with a few survivors to see it again the following morning. I guess those crazy chicks were right because the following day as I´m sleeping and avoiding the cold wind. I´m awoken by oohs and aahs. Those huge rocks are legitimately golden in the morning light. Truly amazing. I´m glad I stayed the extra day.
Once back to civilization, we all enjoy a healthy portion of cookies, pringles, and chocolate milk.We were all so happy to eat something besides tuna, rice, or soup. Later that night, we all gorge out on some homemade Jewish dishes then partake in some excellent Chilean wine as a reward for completing one crazy ass hike.
Sadly (like always though) I´ve got to leave my new friends and book it to Buenos Aires. So we all say our goodbyes with hopes of reuniting later in the capital. I´m essentially out of money, (come on, uncle Sam!) so I´ve got to get some place where I can land a job and hopefully relax for a bit. Buenos Aires sounds like the right place, so I start the fifteen hundred mile (2,800k) journey early and plan on making the straight boring shot right there in hopefully about five days.
The riding at first is really tough, because of the high winds. It feels like I´ve got the bike leaned over to thirty degrees just to bear straight in the sixty mile an hour side wind. Then there are the trucks that roll by every minute. If I forget to duck under my tiny windshield, I get slammed with a huge wake of wind. It snaps my head back and pushes me to the edge of the road. Scary shit when, you´re trying to do anything to escape the awful boredom of the long straight drive. It was a constant battle, but after two days the wind eventually died down. Thanks goodness for that, but too bad there are still three boring ass days left. In the five days the scenery changed exactly twice, and every town (except Puerto Madryn) looked the same. Some runned down shitty version of Barstow. Though I would have stabbed a puppy for Barstow. At least they have an In-N-Out. Eventually after plenty of roadside naps, shady campsites, and plenty of boring hours singing and talking to myself on the bike. I do in fact make it to the big city. It´s time to settle down, get a job, and take a much needed pause from this crazy ass adventure.
As you can probably tell from that awful first paragraph, the days where I´m driving in desolate Patagonia are long and boring. The distances are vast and the towns are small and rural.The only thing this land has going for it is the nature. Otherwise this place would suck and be overpriced. Luckily for the residents, the outdoors are simply stunning during the summer months. I´ve gotten a good chance to see it while driving through and even (gasp!) taking some long distance hikes.
While in Ushuaia, I met some very cool Argintinian guys at my hostel. That night I join them in the kitchen and learn the sacred art of drinking beer and making empanadas. After they´re cooked and being served up, we make a bunch of new friends. It´s surprising how fast you can win new friends with little fried doughy pockets of awesome. As our table is filling up everyone is invited on an overnight hike through Tierra Del Fuego national park. Like usual, I´ve got nothing planned, so I accept the invitation and begrudgingly wake up early the next morning to embark. The group is now up to nine people: four wild Argentinian dudes, three responsible and friendly Israeli girls, one super fun Swiss guy, and one unprepared American.
The Israeli girls are smart and well prepared for the trek. They´ve bought enough food and got a map of our route. It´s a fifteen mile (25k) hike split between two days. It doesn´t sound so bad. As we leave around eleven, I´m thinking we´ll be there relaxing at camp around five. Not exactly what happened, because as a large group we need to take plenty of snack and tea breaks. Whatever, I love snacks and tea, so I don´t mind the frequent stops. We do need to get to camp, so we all decide to hurry up at the hardest and steepest part. Then some funny shit starts happening. Poor Nikolas fell and got caught on a cable crossing on this shady river bridge. He was a bit bruised up, but generally ok. The best part was Josiah caught it all on tape. We must have watched that thing laughing hysterically maybe twenty, thirty times.Then German slips and falls into a river getting himself and his sleeping bag wet in the process. Ouch, going to be a cold night. Then as the trail steeply declines I go knee high into mud. Thank goodness for my absurdly high motorcycle boots. Of course a few people fall down, (always funny) and one poor German girl we met along the way got caught into some deep mud. It was like quicksand dragging her down. But eventually we all successfully make it to camp at Laguna del Caminante. We set up camp, and since it´s bitterly cold. We all gather some wood and proceed to make a huge bonfire right in front of the "no fires" sign. (That´s right, I like to live dangerously.) The fire is hot and comforting, so we all pull up stumps or logs and bond for hours over nature´s TV.
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| Excellent excellent people. |
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| Tea and snack break. Score! |
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| Great people in a great place. |
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| A little "Into the wild" at the other side of the planet. |
It took two long days to reach Puerto Natales, Chile from Ushuaia, but when I meet up with my old pals from the earlier trek, it makes it all worthwhile. We spend a night and a day farting around the little city trying to get a game plan for the hike. The Israelis are again responsible (must be all that army training) and attend a hour lecture on what´s in store. The lecture is in Hebrew, so I take it upon myself to find some other Americans and start pregaming for the Superbowl. My plan works excellent. I get to watch Ben Rapelessberger and the Steelers go down before I start packing. I know it´s four days long, but figure it´s some walking and a lot of downtime camping. So I don´t bother asking many questions. I just follow the pack and load up on the bus.
It´s a couple hours by bus and boat, but we all make it to camp number one. We set up camp and then hit our first trail. The hike is called the "W" because it´s roughly that shape on the map. (It looks more like a saggy ass, but that´s not really an appealing name.) Anyway, the main draw is the impressive glaciers,lakes, and cool rock formations. Four hours later the group has somewhat split up because some members are more psyched then others. At the mid point, I get a fantastic view of my first glacier. It´s nice to take a break, and have a laugh at some poor kid who fell part way into the frozen lake. I eventually get down to the lake to eat some glacier ice (high quality h2o) and throw rocks at bigger pieces of ice. We all enjoy the fruit of our first days hike, then turn right back around and head back to camp. During the walk back I come to the realization that this is a hard core hike for those well prepared tourist adorned head to toe in North Face gear, carrying two hundred dollar walking sticks, and eating only lightweight military rations and power bars. Looks like my ripped jeans, motorcycle boots, and borrowed backpack made for a midget will just have to do. I make it back to camp at dusk just after ten.
Day two starts off at six thirty in the morning, and is much the same as the previous day. Lots of walking, but new fabulous nature. It turns out to be the of the easiest and therefore least spectacular day. Then comes grueling day three. Fuck. It´s about thirteen hours of hiking with a fully loaded backpack. Luckily the weather is nice and hot, so I take a much needed bath in the lake. (BTW glacier water is cold.) Then at lunch time after an extremely delicious lunch of crackers and tuna. (Sarcasm) I enjoy a nap riverside in the sunshine. As I´m groggily waking up, I see a random familiar face. It´s Arielle! What are the chances? This is the fifth country we´ve met up in. I just fucking love random fate. So we chat and catch up for a bit, but as we´re walking in different directions we hug and say farewell yet again. Maybe I´ll see her in Brazil.
Only six more hours of walking uphill until we get to camp. It´s a good thing I love walking uphill. (If only I could do it on the way back too!) Apparently I looked uncomfortable, because Doron offers some help by saying the backpack I have probably adjusts for height. So at the next stop, I´m able to adjust it from five foot little girl to six foot man. What a difference! I get some new energy as I feel I can cartwheel and hurdle mountains with the new fit and comfort. Too bad, there´s only like four total hours of carrying it left since the trips almost over. Anyhow, camp is actually set up in the daylight and dinner is cooked up early. Then since everyone is obviously pooped; we all easily drift to sleep awaiting the grand finale the following day.
Somehow everybody wake up on time at three thirty in the morning. It´s a steep one hour walk in the dark to reach the Torres (towers) Del Paine. It´s stunning to watch the sun rise and watch the monstrous rocks change colors. It definitely made the whole hike worthwhile. Afterwards, I´m surprised to discover that the Israelis didn´t think it was spectacular enough. Apparently in the prep talk, they were told that the colors were supposed to be more vivid and awesome in the morning sun. Totally shocked I decide to stay with a few survivors to see it again the following morning. I guess those crazy chicks were right because the following day as I´m sleeping and avoiding the cold wind. I´m awoken by oohs and aahs. Those huge rocks are legitimately golden in the morning light. Truly amazing. I´m glad I stayed the extra day.
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| Some much needed relaxing on day two |
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| Fighting the wind for a slightly better view. |
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| Meditation with Leo near the Glacier. |
Sadly (like always though) I´ve got to leave my new friends and book it to Buenos Aires. So we all say our goodbyes with hopes of reuniting later in the capital. I´m essentially out of money, (come on, uncle Sam!) so I´ve got to get some place where I can land a job and hopefully relax for a bit. Buenos Aires sounds like the right place, so I start the fifteen hundred mile (2,800k) journey early and plan on making the straight boring shot right there in hopefully about five days.
The riding at first is really tough, because of the high winds. It feels like I´ve got the bike leaned over to thirty degrees just to bear straight in the sixty mile an hour side wind. Then there are the trucks that roll by every minute. If I forget to duck under my tiny windshield, I get slammed with a huge wake of wind. It snaps my head back and pushes me to the edge of the road. Scary shit when, you´re trying to do anything to escape the awful boredom of the long straight drive. It was a constant battle, but after two days the wind eventually died down. Thanks goodness for that, but too bad there are still three boring ass days left. In the five days the scenery changed exactly twice, and every town (except Puerto Madryn) looked the same. Some runned down shitty version of Barstow. Though I would have stabbed a puppy for Barstow. At least they have an In-N-Out. Eventually after plenty of roadside naps, shady campsites, and plenty of boring hours singing and talking to myself on the bike. I do in fact make it to the big city. It´s time to settle down, get a job, and take a much needed pause from this crazy ass adventure.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
1/30/2011 - Ushuaia, Argentina: El Fin Del Mundo
As you can probably tell from the title. I made it to the so dubbed "end of the world". It was far from an easy road to get here, but that´s probably most of the fun. Anyhow a ton of stuff has happened, since I last updated this thing. So I´ll go into recap mode and lay it out.
I got to Futaleufú (yeah, don´t worry I can´t pronounce it either) on a cold rainy afternoon. I was only there to go white water rafting, so I hit up all the tour companies to find a ride. Two boring days later I have one booked. Lots of things just seem to work a lot slower here in South America. Anyhow, I meet some really fun other Americans and we stay the night at the beautiful lodge right on the river. It´s a stunning river, a gorgeous blue turquoise in the deep water and crystal clear in the shallows. It´s the first time in my life where I just drank right from the river. Awesome, because rafting does make you thirsty. After a quick safety lowdown from our old river rat guide, Josh, we´re on to the first rapids. Its fucking great, hitting waves and just trying to stay in the damn boat. We hit a few class III´s and are ready for the class IV´s and V´s. These are gnarly waves, that if you don´t hit just right everyone is coming out of the boat. Josh yells at us "adelante, adelante!" (Forward, forward) Then we dive in, the waves are crashing on us as we´re gaining speed. Massive six foot waves crash over the boat as we´re barreling and dropping down. I´m so excited that I don´t want a break I just want to keep going and keep tackling these waves. What a fucking blast. Then during the quiet parts of the river, it´s some of the greatest scenery I´ve ever seen. I´m super happy I stuck around that little quiet city without even a ATM to do it.
After the rafting I head out on the Carretera Austral in Chile. It´s Chile´s Route 66 and during the summer it´s packed with mountain bikers, hitchhikers, and motorcyclists. It´s by far the most beautiful road I´ve ever driven on. It´s what I would imagine Alaska to look like, except without all the scary bears. I´m excited to spend a few days on the road camping and seeing the sights. I was not disappointed. The driving was on a pretty well maintained dirt road, and the lakes, rivers, and mountains were all just stunning. I´d drive for twenty minutes, then I´d have to stop and take a quick photo because it was just too damn cool to pass up. The best night camping was in the Quelat National Park. I found a little dirt path to a gorgeous river that was surrounded by snow capped mountains and even a glacier. I got there early, so I had plenty of time to relax, read, catch some fish, and make some kick ass dinner. If you´re in the right mind set camping alone is awesome. Not minding the solitude, I was in heaven for a night. It´s funny camping by yourself, because sometimes the littlest things freak you out. I usually camp as far off the road as possible, but sometimes somebody could find me if you just stumbled down some little path. The funniest example was one morning when I woke up, I heard a loud purring sound outside my tent. I thought fuck, do they even have cougars or pumas here? I figured yes, so I tried to wait it out, but after fifteen minutes of this sound it was time to get up and do something. So I get dressed, and open up my knife and mentally prepare myself for a cougar-knife fight. As I´m about ready to get out of the tent, I hear the loud purring and I see the shadow of a pretty big bird hit my tent. It was a fucking humming bird or something. What a douche bag. I got all worked up for some stupid bird. I have to say that when camping alone you´re somewhat vulnerable to other people and things. But for the most part, I´ve only had great experiences. It´s only when you let your mind wander, that you can work yourself up and imagine a harmless humming bird is a ferocious man eating cougar.
I took about four of five days on the Carratera to get back into Argentina. I crossed near the second largest lake in South America, Lago General Carrera. It was such an awesome ride, too bad the road was absurdly dangerous. I´d be flying straight, then some blind curve would come out of nowhere. I ate shit pretty good once. It wouldn´t have been so bad, but I just happened to land in the one thorn bush around. I was pissed because I ripped up my riding jeans and got pricked up pretty good. I think the pictures are pretty hilarious, and they probably explain it better.
Once I got into Argentina (I think I´ve crossed back and forth like six times already, goodbye spare passport pages), I was ready to buckle down and head south. I could feel how close I was to my goal, so I just started booking it. I met some good bikers along the way, and it was probably the funniest when we all happened to cross paths for the last time. I was cruising along on this slightly muddy highway. Then all of a sudden, I hit the worlds slipperiest mud. I instantly flip a one eighty, and smash up my panniers (again). So as I´m cursing the weak ass bars that hold them on, and start processing how I´m going to fix them temporarily so I can make it to the next town. I see the two Austrian guys I met last night. They hit the mud and instantly hit the floor. Then while they´assessing their damage, another American and German both eat shit. I was pretty angry at the time, but looking back, it was fucking hilarious. It´s like some asshole put ball bearings on the road and was just waiting for a bunch of bikers to come by and have a good laugh. Oh well, a bit later I was able to strap my bike back together thanks to the new tie down the Austrian guys gave me. Then I pretty much had to walk my bike for then next five miles, but I made it out of there. Only to run out of gas down the road. (Sometimes it just never ends.) Luckily, while I´m opening my gas tank to look inside, (as if more gas would magically appear) I´m saved by some other biker with some spare gas. I felt pretty awesome when I arrived in Calafate. It was a long fucking day of riding.
All these ups and down have really made me feel a lot like a pregnant teenager. I´ve been all emotional with my mechanical problems and I´ve somehow developed a strange addiction to cookies. My bike was in serious need of parts, and when this idiot mechanic couldn´t fix my bike. I was in a pretty low valley. I wanted to punch this dick who said "we can´t win" and just gave up. Leaving me to put my back together alone. I made some calls home which definitely cheered me up, but the next day I had some tough choices to make. Play it safe, and take the easy / boring road and wait while my parts (new chain and rear sprocket) are bring shipped. Or risk it and head straight for Ushuaia in hopes I´ll make it there and they have my parts. Of course I risk it and head onto the desolate, windy road south. I was miraculously rewarded for my (probably dumb) move though. As I´m just passing through this city of maybe five thousand, I see a Yamaha dealership. I almost passed it up because I´ve been looking for these stupid parts for over a month in countless cities and shops. I turn around convincing myself that I´d really regret not looking, just in case they do have my parts. I walk in and within minutes I have my parts in hand. I was so fucking excited! You wouldn´t believe the joy some ridiculous fucking sprocket could give me. So I head off all cocky and confident, because there´s nothing stopping me now. The very next day my old chain and sprocket wear out for good. I loudly grind to stop near a gas station, and am ready to get to work. It seems only fitting that I have to work on my bike for four fucking hours on my last days ride. Eventually with the help of a few local industrial shops, I´m on my way. With my new parts installed I´m ready to hit the road. I was so fucking happy because getting stuck in Cerro Sombrero, a small town in the absolute middle of nowhere, was now out of the picture. Next stop: Ushuaia!
I was warned way back in Panama that the last three days drive to Ushuaia wasn´t going to be barrel of monkeys. It wasn´t as bad as I was told though. Yes, there was what seemed like gale force winds and long empty stretches, but really it wasn´t so bad. It was a bit dull fighting the wind, but when I started rising and getting into the forest, I started getting pumped up. A short giddy ride and exactly six months later I pulled into the golden sun drenched city on the ocean at sunset. Fuck yeah! What a fucking trip, I´ve gone through so damn much to get here. There´s been so much that´s happened that I can say it´s the best decision I´ve ever made. (Well, second best. First was not getting married.) I´ve gone over mountains, across deserts, through so called dangerous countries, driven through all kinds of shitty weather, made and lost friends, ran over a dog and hit plenty of birds, fixed my bike more times then I´ll ever care to remember, all to persevere and keep trucking on no matter what the road threw at me. It´s definitely one my biggest accomplishments. I can truly say it has been the trip of a life time. Now what?
I got to Futaleufú (yeah, don´t worry I can´t pronounce it either) on a cold rainy afternoon. I was only there to go white water rafting, so I hit up all the tour companies to find a ride. Two boring days later I have one booked. Lots of things just seem to work a lot slower here in South America. Anyhow, I meet some really fun other Americans and we stay the night at the beautiful lodge right on the river. It´s a stunning river, a gorgeous blue turquoise in the deep water and crystal clear in the shallows. It´s the first time in my life where I just drank right from the river. Awesome, because rafting does make you thirsty. After a quick safety lowdown from our old river rat guide, Josh, we´re on to the first rapids. Its fucking great, hitting waves and just trying to stay in the damn boat. We hit a few class III´s and are ready for the class IV´s and V´s. These are gnarly waves, that if you don´t hit just right everyone is coming out of the boat. Josh yells at us "adelante, adelante!" (Forward, forward) Then we dive in, the waves are crashing on us as we´re gaining speed. Massive six foot waves crash over the boat as we´re barreling and dropping down. I´m so excited that I don´t want a break I just want to keep going and keep tackling these waves. What a fucking blast. Then during the quiet parts of the river, it´s some of the greatest scenery I´ve ever seen. I´m super happy I stuck around that little quiet city without even a ATM to do it.
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| All geared up. Complete with styling pink helmet |
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| The mighty Futaleufú |
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| The guides looking for the best route through this class V rapid. |
After the rafting I head out on the Carretera Austral in Chile. It´s Chile´s Route 66 and during the summer it´s packed with mountain bikers, hitchhikers, and motorcyclists. It´s by far the most beautiful road I´ve ever driven on. It´s what I would imagine Alaska to look like, except without all the scary bears. I´m excited to spend a few days on the road camping and seeing the sights. I was not disappointed. The driving was on a pretty well maintained dirt road, and the lakes, rivers, and mountains were all just stunning. I´d drive for twenty minutes, then I´d have to stop and take a quick photo because it was just too damn cool to pass up. The best night camping was in the Quelat National Park. I found a little dirt path to a gorgeous river that was surrounded by snow capped mountains and even a glacier. I got there early, so I had plenty of time to relax, read, catch some fish, and make some kick ass dinner. If you´re in the right mind set camping alone is awesome. Not minding the solitude, I was in heaven for a night. It´s funny camping by yourself, because sometimes the littlest things freak you out. I usually camp as far off the road as possible, but sometimes somebody could find me if you just stumbled down some little path. The funniest example was one morning when I woke up, I heard a loud purring sound outside my tent. I thought fuck, do they even have cougars or pumas here? I figured yes, so I tried to wait it out, but after fifteen minutes of this sound it was time to get up and do something. So I get dressed, and open up my knife and mentally prepare myself for a cougar-knife fight. As I´m about ready to get out of the tent, I hear the loud purring and I see the shadow of a pretty big bird hit my tent. It was a fucking humming bird or something. What a douche bag. I got all worked up for some stupid bird. I have to say that when camping alone you´re somewhat vulnerable to other people and things. But for the most part, I´ve only had great experiences. It´s only when you let your mind wander, that you can work yourself up and imagine a harmless humming bird is a ferocious man eating cougar.
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| The legendary road |
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| Dinner! |
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| Worlds best campsite |
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| Lago General Carrera |
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| Some random stop along the way |
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| Sunset on this trout filled river |
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| Mountains in Quelat National Park |
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| A view from above of Cohaique, Chile |
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| Notice the track in the middle from one idiot motorcyclist going way too fast |
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| Boom. Comeupins. Right into a damn thorn bush |
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| Mud! |
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| Oh so fitting on my last day to Ushuaia |
Monday, January 31, 2011
1/16/2011 - Valdivia, Chile: Reverse Vampires
An hour into cruising around Santiago, I´m tired of being lost, so I bust out my GPS (compass) and start heading South. I stop in for some giant empanadas and get some proper directions out of the city. Once I´m on the freeway I start getting a little more enthusiastic about Chile. It´s by far the most developed country in South America, and is nothing but a first world, well organized, and well governed country. Its a long sliver of a place, but it thrives on its vast and greatly managed agriculture. Don´t even think about bringing a banana across the border, you might as well have a fist full of crack. The agriculture is highly regarded and for good reason. Unlike Argentina, they in fact have fruits and vegetables. It was awesome stopping in for a snack at a little stand on the side of the highway. While eating a peach, the shop owner comes over and gives some mystery fruit, which I rather enjoyed. Then when I went to pay, he wouldn´t accept any money. What a country! Beautiful landscape, great wine, stellar empanadas, and free fruit. Sweet!
When it wasn´t raining (which it did a lot) the terrain and camping were fabulous. Crystal blue virgin rivers and somewhat untouched forest (Chileans do love their chainsaws.) It all makes for a really enjoyable drive. The only downside is this one specific type of bug. While I´m off discovering new cultures and landscapes. I also get to discover evil little animals as well. The colihuacho (literally translated to fag) is the worst creature I´ve encountered thus far. They´re about the size of a bumble be, but are like little reverse vampires on the hunt for only human flesh. They don´t care about cow patties or whatever the fuck normal bugs are concerned about. So as the sun was setting one would find me, bite me, or buzz around me waiting to land on me and attack. It was no use trying to shoo it away. Those evil fuckers are persistent. There were only two options: let it bite me or kill it. Obviously, I grab my weapon of choice (a empty two liter bottle), and head into the sun so I can see its shadow then seek and destroy. I look like an idiot, half battering my self, half swinging at nothing. Eventually I manage to give it a good whack and kill it. I´ve never felt so satisfied killing another living thing. By the time I left one campsite, I was up to about ten confirmed kills and maybe half a dozen wounded.
The next few days I spent riding hard through long, cold, and rainy days. I was nearly frozen and soaked to the bone, so I stopped in Valdivia. It was a bit off the Pan-Am, but I needed shelter quick. I was lucky to find a budget room with hot showers and a garage. I stayed a few days because frankly, I was tired of the fucking rain. So in between spats, I ran out and did some touristy things. The best was this awesome little fish market. What made it so special were these humongous lazy sea lions. About six of them have gotten smart enough to realize that there´s always a free meal at the market. So probably by chance they swam fifty miles upriver and found a new home. It was fun watching them fight over fish scraps. And also just stand in awe of their enormous size. They looked the size and shape of a thousand pound football. Other than that, it was a cutesy little quite town at the start of Patagonia.
I wanted to avoid taking a ferry, so I had to jump back into Argentina for a quick stint. On my way back over to Chile. I met some very nice and very enthusiastic older German guys. They were on a tour through Patagonia on some Yamahas geared more towards dirt. They were fascinated at how far I´ve come on my own. I loved the ego boost so I chatted a while with them. Then one guy, Dan, was really interested in my bike because he wants to start a tour group in the States and buy a dozen. (Nice. Another business option.) We all process our border paperwork and hit the road. They finish early, so they´re a bit ahead of me. I was glad to be back on pavement, so I let the throttle rock. It was a fun twisty, hilly two lane road. Only a few miles in, I hit a nasty spiral right hand turn that seams to be getting sharper and sharper. I give the breaks a good squeeze, and maintain complete control as I drop into a quick hard left. I notice the damage right away. There are two bikes crumpled on the side of the road. Two of the four guys just went down. Hard. I pull over and help the guy whose worse off. He´s badly shaken up, and has already fallen down after standing up. We all help him up, and soon enough he´s got his mind straight. He was wearing all the right safety gear, but still got pretty banged up. He´s going to need a lot of stitches and down time. The other guy was pretty well off. Just some bumps and minor cuts. It was a nice reality check for me because I´ve got way too much experience for that to ever happen to me. (Foreshadowing. Yes, I think so.) As the ambulance comes and I start helping load what´s left of the I bikes. I feel very well put into my place. Easily could have happened to me. Needless to say, I took the rest of that days drive a bit slower. It was only another twenty minutes until I hit my destination of Futaleufú. (Don´t worry, I can´t pronounce it either.) I´m only stopping there to white water raft on (according to my google search) the best river in South America. Tell you all about it later. Ciao!
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| A rare healthy snack |
The next few days I spent riding hard through long, cold, and rainy days. I was nearly frozen and soaked to the bone, so I stopped in Valdivia. It was a bit off the Pan-Am, but I needed shelter quick. I was lucky to find a budget room with hot showers and a garage. I stayed a few days because frankly, I was tired of the fucking rain. So in between spats, I ran out and did some touristy things. The best was this awesome little fish market. What made it so special were these humongous lazy sea lions. About six of them have gotten smart enough to realize that there´s always a free meal at the market. So probably by chance they swam fifty miles upriver and found a new home. It was fun watching them fight over fish scraps. And also just stand in awe of their enormous size. They looked the size and shape of a thousand pound football. Other than that, it was a cutesy little quite town at the start of Patagonia.
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| Lazy mofos |
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| My first taste of the Futaleufú |
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| Damage |
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
1/12/2011 - Mendoza, Argentina: Seizure Nights
As you can imagine, I´ve had a lot of time to ponder sitting alone, musicless on my bike. A lot of things have come into perspective like life goals, friends, family, and careers. It´s becoming more and more clear that the things I once valued have evolved into new and drastically different goals and ideas. Though all my lofty life goals are generally the same: get super rich, find a smoking hot awesome wife, learn to play ´Piano Man´ by Billy Joel, travel the world, catch a foul ball at an Angels game and give it to a kid, start a family, and I guess make the world a better place. Anyhow, I now believe I have more options to achieve those goals. Take my career, I´m an Civil Engineer by trade and education. Whereas before I would have thought it´s a vast field with ton of different areas to work in. I now look at it as a means to an end. There is an entire planet ready to spend money and pay me for numerous different ideas, trades, and products. Therefore, I´ve decided to go into business upon my return to the United States. Life is just too fucking short to waste away in a cubicle doing something you don´t absolutely love. So, I´m off to become a self made man / millionaire. (I mean, come on, a million dollars isn´t that much nowadays. 1911 sure, but now?)
But before all that, I should maybe focus on this trip. Right-O. Anyhow, I´ve been traveling alone over the last month, and it´s definitely a new experience. There are ups and downs like anything. For example I get to meet tons more interesting and new people (it´s much easier to meet people on your own), I get to be totally selfish, and I don´t have to listen to anybody whine about stupid shit. Because I can just move on anytime I want. The downside is it´s lonely. Sometimes when I´m riding hard and camping, I only get to chat with gas station attendants and restaurant workers. No deep political convos there. But all in all, I´d have to say the pros outweigh the cons, and some solitude isn´t the worst thing for me.
Bored of all this serious mumbo jumbo? I am. So I´ll talk about something fun, like my stay in Mendoza. Which by the way is a super fun awesome city. It´s got fun locals, beautiful tree lined streets, and plenty of outdoor restaurants / patios everywhere. I get in and find what I think is a nice hostel. Then I met some people and saw the bathrooms. There was one guy in my room I wanted to shank so bad. First off, super rude to me as I´m reading in bed. There's a problem because my guitar is touching his trash bags full of stuff. Ugh. Then he slept under my bunk and snored and farted all fucking night. I´m a pretty heavy sleeper, but that was way too much. The last straw was in the morning when his fat ass woke up and turned on all the lights and was ridiculously noisy. For fucks sake it´s a hostel not your apartment. It was probably the worst hostel since the high strung, weird ass, Purple House in David, Panama.
Anyway . . . I switched hostels the next day because my friend Arielle is in town. You may remember her from such blogs as: ´The Terminator´, ´Quality Time With The Griswalds´, or ´Where Am I?´. (Man those are some pretty stupid blog titles when you look at them. Oh well.) I pull up to her hostel and find the big yellow bus parked outside. I´m stoked to see their stupid ´truck´ parked outside. I met them somewhere in southern Bolivia. I saw a group of gringos and the bus by the side of the road. They were all outside chatting and taking a break. It was about time for me to do the same, so I made the quick decision and stopped. It was super. They offered me coffee, and within minutes I had a whole bus full of new friends. Later that night we all met up again in Tupiza, Bolivia for dinner and drinks. It was a fun and albeit sane night.
Jump ahead a week and a half. I randomly catch up with them in Mendoza. I´m hanging at the hostel pool (yeah, the new hostel had a pool and no douche bags, instant upgrade) when all the yellow bussers come in. It´s a very welcome change to camping because I can converse with other humans in my native language. Later we all go out for some Mexican food. (Disappointing. I swear when I get back I´m going to be such a fattie and eat so many damn burritos and cheese burgers.) It´s a huge group, but we all make it work. And as the huge group windles down, I´m left with Arielle and two girls from the tour group. It´s pleasant chatting and drinking outside in the warm night air. Before we know it, it´s one in the morning. So we head back to see what the others are up to back at the hostel. There we play some pool and crack open another bottle of wine. I´d say about three, we all decide that dancing is best course of action. Not unusual since things in Argentina don´t pick up until three or four in the morning. Our cab driver eventually finds us an open club on a Wednesday, and we´re welcomed with five dollar drinks and a constant strobe light. We all definitely make the best of it, and have fun until the place closes. We all get back into the hostel and after a quick, cold dip in the hostel pool in our underwear. We all drift to sleep until the next afternoon.
The next day, I enjoyed doing nothing all day long. Then we all replayed the exact previous evening. Except this time we had pizza and free tequila for a half hour. Which BTDub is so dangerous. The bathrooms were wrecked, but at least the party livened up a bit. I guess cheap tequila has that effect. Later after leaving the same seizure inducing club, I´m brought home by a super nice local girl. I find all the yellow bussers packed up and ready to head out to Chile. It´s six in the morning, so people are either just waking up and grumpy, or have stayed up all night and are super cheery and perky. It´s funny to see the dynamics of a big group like that. I eventually decide that sleep is a good idea and pass out for a few hours. Much too soon, I´m woken up by a hostel worker saying it´s one in the afternoon, and I´ll have to pay for another night. No way. I jump out of bed and pack up only to find it´s eleven in the morning. Damn, well I´m up and have a border crossing, so I take off way too early and hung over. I fight the wind of the crossing over the Andes for a few hours, but eventually I find a nice sunny spot to eat some cookies and take a break. Still hungover, I end up taking a nice long nap by the side of the road. It was super awesome and refreshing. Thank goodness I´m traveling alone on a motorcycle, so I have the freedom to stop and chill where ever I want.
Later, I cross the border into the capital, Santiago (aka a whales vagina). I was greeted by the dirtiest motel / whore house in the city. Whatever, it was late and I couldn´t find a youth hostel. I was sad to leave Argentina, but I know I´ll be back soon. Next up is Chilean empenadas, wine country, fruit stands, forest and plenty of rain. Bienvenidos a Chile.
But before all that, I should maybe focus on this trip. Right-O. Anyhow, I´ve been traveling alone over the last month, and it´s definitely a new experience. There are ups and downs like anything. For example I get to meet tons more interesting and new people (it´s much easier to meet people on your own), I get to be totally selfish, and I don´t have to listen to anybody whine about stupid shit. Because I can just move on anytime I want. The downside is it´s lonely. Sometimes when I´m riding hard and camping, I only get to chat with gas station attendants and restaurant workers. No deep political convos there. But all in all, I´d have to say the pros outweigh the cons, and some solitude isn´t the worst thing for me.
Bored of all this serious mumbo jumbo? I am. So I´ll talk about something fun, like my stay in Mendoza. Which by the way is a super fun awesome city. It´s got fun locals, beautiful tree lined streets, and plenty of outdoor restaurants / patios everywhere. I get in and find what I think is a nice hostel. Then I met some people and saw the bathrooms. There was one guy in my room I wanted to shank so bad. First off, super rude to me as I´m reading in bed. There's a problem because my guitar is touching his trash bags full of stuff. Ugh. Then he slept under my bunk and snored and farted all fucking night. I´m a pretty heavy sleeper, but that was way too much. The last straw was in the morning when his fat ass woke up and turned on all the lights and was ridiculously noisy. For fucks sake it´s a hostel not your apartment. It was probably the worst hostel since the high strung, weird ass, Purple House in David, Panama.
Anyway . . . I switched hostels the next day because my friend Arielle is in town. You may remember her from such blogs as: ´The Terminator´, ´Quality Time With The Griswalds´, or ´Where Am I?´. (Man those are some pretty stupid blog titles when you look at them. Oh well.) I pull up to her hostel and find the big yellow bus parked outside. I´m stoked to see their stupid ´truck´ parked outside. I met them somewhere in southern Bolivia. I saw a group of gringos and the bus by the side of the road. They were all outside chatting and taking a break. It was about time for me to do the same, so I made the quick decision and stopped. It was super. They offered me coffee, and within minutes I had a whole bus full of new friends. Later that night we all met up again in Tupiza, Bolivia for dinner and drinks. It was a fun and albeit sane night.
Jump ahead a week and a half. I randomly catch up with them in Mendoza. I´m hanging at the hostel pool (yeah, the new hostel had a pool and no douche bags, instant upgrade) when all the yellow bussers come in. It´s a very welcome change to camping because I can converse with other humans in my native language. Later we all go out for some Mexican food. (Disappointing. I swear when I get back I´m going to be such a fattie and eat so many damn burritos and cheese burgers.) It´s a huge group, but we all make it work. And as the huge group windles down, I´m left with Arielle and two girls from the tour group. It´s pleasant chatting and drinking outside in the warm night air. Before we know it, it´s one in the morning. So we head back to see what the others are up to back at the hostel. There we play some pool and crack open another bottle of wine. I´d say about three, we all decide that dancing is best course of action. Not unusual since things in Argentina don´t pick up until three or four in the morning. Our cab driver eventually finds us an open club on a Wednesday, and we´re welcomed with five dollar drinks and a constant strobe light. We all definitely make the best of it, and have fun until the place closes. We all get back into the hostel and after a quick, cold dip in the hostel pool in our underwear. We all drift to sleep until the next afternoon.
The next day, I enjoyed doing nothing all day long. Then we all replayed the exact previous evening. Except this time we had pizza and free tequila for a half hour. Which BTDub is so dangerous. The bathrooms were wrecked, but at least the party livened up a bit. I guess cheap tequila has that effect. Later after leaving the same seizure inducing club, I´m brought home by a super nice local girl. I find all the yellow bussers packed up and ready to head out to Chile. It´s six in the morning, so people are either just waking up and grumpy, or have stayed up all night and are super cheery and perky. It´s funny to see the dynamics of a big group like that. I eventually decide that sleep is a good idea and pass out for a few hours. Much too soon, I´m woken up by a hostel worker saying it´s one in the afternoon, and I´ll have to pay for another night. No way. I jump out of bed and pack up only to find it´s eleven in the morning. Damn, well I´m up and have a border crossing, so I take off way too early and hung over. I fight the wind of the crossing over the Andes for a few hours, but eventually I find a nice sunny spot to eat some cookies and take a break. Still hungover, I end up taking a nice long nap by the side of the road. It was super awesome and refreshing. Thank goodness I´m traveling alone on a motorcycle, so I have the freedom to stop and chill where ever I want.
Later, I cross the border into the capital, Santiago (aka a whales vagina). I was greeted by the dirtiest motel / whore house in the city. Whatever, it was late and I couldn´t find a youth hostel. I was sad to leave Argentina, but I know I´ll be back soon. Next up is Chilean empenadas, wine country, fruit stands, forest and plenty of rain. Bienvenidos a Chile.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
1/7/2011 - Cafayate, Argentina: Argentina Dreaming
It really felt like a legitimate road trip the other day in Argentina. I was headed on a scenic highway to wine country in Cafayate. It was a splendid drive where there were actual outlooks over scenic views and plenty of natural phenomena to gaze at along the way. I´d drive twenty miles then stop at a giant rock formation or huge millions year old crevices. It was great! It was just like Moab in Utah, except it had a giant natural rock shaped just like a toad. It was awesome, if only all the roads were that spectacular.
Sadly that´s not always the case, as the following three days were long flat and boring. And as always filled with many roadside repairs. I´ve learned to just budget extra time for when shit breaks down on the bike. It´s too bad though because I was becoming a time liability for my buddy Ray. Eventually I told him to move on because I was broken down and it was going to take me at least an hour to fix my problem. So we said our goodbyes and he left me with some great inspirational words. I was pretty frustrated at the time because I didn´t have the proper tools to fix my bike on my own, so I had to see a mechanic. But what he said was: "the end of the world is waiting for you." I love it. I mean I´ve come this far, so no matter what happens I´m still going to make it. I instantly got in a better mood, and once my bike was fixed I took off smiling for a new destination.
And now for something completely different. (Great segue, I know.) But really, learning a new language has been challenging yet fun and rewarding. Of course as an American, I only speak English, but it really did start when I was forced to take a second language for two years in high school. Luckily I realised that I lived near Mexico, so Spanish was probably a better choice than German. Like everyone else I slacked off and only did it for the grade. Luckily for me some vocabulary and most of the grammar stuck. Skip ahead ten years and I´m living in Spanish speaking countries for six months already. It´s always a new experience learning something new, but language is totally different. At first I surprise myself by actually thinking in Spanish. That´s a good start. It´s much better to start in Spanish rather than translate your thought from English. Then I started to learn the intricacies, and about how to say things we have no way of saying in English. It´s nice, but it´s like that in a lot of other languages too. In Danish they have no word for ´please´. So naturally you can assume all Danes are rude. :)
One of the last steps in learning for me was actually dreaming in Spanish. Now that´s crazy, but consciously lets me know I´m getting there. I can´t say something like: "I´m going to donkey punch you right in the baby maker, then slay a baby deer for breakfast", but really, how often am I going to have to get that thought across. Maybe once or twice max. I´m content with my current level of comprehension, but until I can understand everything in a random ass episode of Los Simpson; I´m not fluent. I´ll get there though.
Right now I´m practicing and camping my way ever southward. Soon I´ll be in Patagonia, fishing and hiking the days away. I´m nearing my hard fought goal of Ushuaia. It feels nice to be on the home stretch, but really there is so much to do and see before I head back to the real world. Unill next time..
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| Toad rock. duh. |
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| Finally! Wine country. |
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| Pretending to look cool with the self timer option on the camera. ha. |
One of the last steps in learning for me was actually dreaming in Spanish. Now that´s crazy, but consciously lets me know I´m getting there. I can´t say something like: "I´m going to donkey punch you right in the baby maker, then slay a baby deer for breakfast", but really, how often am I going to have to get that thought across. Maybe once or twice max. I´m content with my current level of comprehension, but until I can understand everything in a random ass episode of Los Simpson; I´m not fluent. I´ll get there though.
Right now I´m practicing and camping my way ever southward. Soon I´ll be in Patagonia, fishing and hiking the days away. I´m nearing my hard fought goal of Ushuaia. It feels nice to be on the home stretch, but really there is so much to do and see before I head back to the real world. Unill next time..
Sunday, January 16, 2011
1/6/2011 - Salta, Argentina: Emersion
I´m making the permanent switch to wine and beef here in Argentina. Wine, because it´s dirt cheap. For a good red it´ll cost about two bucks. And that´s not even bottom shelf! And beef . . . oh yeah. As soon as I crossed the border I got one of the best sandwiches I´ve ever had at, of all places, a runned down gas station. I had a Milanesa, which is almost like chicken fried steak, but super thin and topped off with a fried egg and veggies. It may have been because I spent four hungry hours at the border, but it was a welcome change from the soup and dry rice in Bolivia.
It´s weird, but yet again things drastically change at the border. No more goofy hats, round dark faces, or dirt roads. Here come Argentina with its uppity young travel scene, paved roads, and very Western / European culture. It all comes with a big price tag in comparison, but really I´m stoked to be able to find parts and have options come meal time.
First stop on the list is Jujuy (pronounced hoo-hooey). It´s New Years Eve and it´s a big city. I´m still traveling with Ray, so we hit the town for a drink. We find the one open bar, and it´s filled with sad drunks without family. I guess it must be a family holiday. It´s not really how we celebrate the new year in the States, but a relaxed New Years is just as well. While we were out, we did hear some very important information. The Dakar motorcycle rally is coming to town in a few days. So I stick around an otherwise desolate town so I can watch a bit of the biggest motorcycle race on the planet.
I find out there´s camping , so the day before I get all geared up to leave. On my way out of town, I hit a small ditch and notice my bike isn´t sitting right. Its another subframe bolt. They really are feisty little buggers. No big deal, I know where a tool shop is, so I head straight there only to find out it´s siesta time and they´re closed. Fuck siesta time. Everything is closed from one to five in the afternoon. What a hassle, so I head to another place for the slight chance they´re open. Then it happens again. My bike is snapped in two. This time I open the bike up to find that the extra stress of a missing bolt and water rusting out the inside of my frame has caused the actual frame to rip apart. So there I am again in a foreign country with my bike in shambles. No calling Triple A. Ray was kind enough to find someone who knew a mechanic. They arrived and told me that he´s bringing a truck to take my bike to the shop. Sweet. Saved again. I´m glad I broke down in the city rather than somewhere else. Too bad this giant fat guy arrived on the smallest motor scooter you´d ever seen. It was like a giant slobby, smoking clown, on one of those teeny little bikes. (I have the greatest picture of this dude, but its on my iPhone which finally died, oh well.) Not really what I was expecting, but he helped my jimmy rig the bike with my cable lock so I could get to the shop. Three hours, fifty bucks, and about twenty cigarettes later, I´m back on the road.
The next day was Dakar, and after a great nights sleep camping. I´m ready for the festivities. There are cool tents, bitching bikes, trucks, and motorcycle enthusiasts everywhere. After the madness died down, every passer by wanted a picture with Ray´s giant BMW. It was nice to kind of feel like a rockstar, since all the racers had their bike shipped to the start in Buenos Aires. Pssshh . . . pussies. Didn´t even ride there. It´s all in fun though, and it seems as if Argentina and Chile really are taking in the race well. It´s only been here three times in it´s long history. It hilarious when I´m buying empenadas on the side of the road or at a stop light and strangers ask if I´m in the race. I should probably lie, but it´s still fun.
Then after late night and short days ride, I arrive in Salta. I set up shop for a couple of nights, as it´s supposed to be one of the coolest cities in South America, and I also desperately needed new parts. So after I got all my work done, I was ready to relax and have a drink at the hostel bar. Now I´ve been traveling for about five and a half months now, and this is the first hostel where all the backpackers spoke only Spanish. It was great, I got to practice and make some new Argentinian friends. We all go out for dinner, and have Parrilla. Which is some normal beef barbecue, but with a healthy portion of mystery cow guts. I´m guessing: heart, kidney, liver, intestines, and some crazy blood sausage. Intestines weren´t my fave, too chalky and chewy. But the heart was damn tender and tasty. Definitely a new experience. (Can you tell when I´m writing and hungry? Seems I like to talk about food a bit much. ha)
After our meal two new Argentinian buddies and I head out to down town. It´s a long walk, but when we arrive it´s awesome. It´s almost like the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. I´m begining to like Argentina. It was a blast dancing and chatting totally emersed in the culture. It´s funny we were all talking with these three girls who were totally uninterested until my buddies tell them I´m from North America. Instantly they were all smiles and eager to chat with us. It´s hilarious, but sometimes you´ve got to drop the "yeah, I´m on a motorcycle and driving to the end of the world" line. Anyhow we all dance for a bit then the girls take off. (Standard) and I somehow lose my buddies at the club. So I take the long stumble home solo, and call it a pretty awesome totally Argentinan night.
It´s weird, but yet again things drastically change at the border. No more goofy hats, round dark faces, or dirt roads. Here come Argentina with its uppity young travel scene, paved roads, and very Western / European culture. It all comes with a big price tag in comparison, but really I´m stoked to be able to find parts and have options come meal time.
First stop on the list is Jujuy (pronounced hoo-hooey). It´s New Years Eve and it´s a big city. I´m still traveling with Ray, so we hit the town for a drink. We find the one open bar, and it´s filled with sad drunks without family. I guess it must be a family holiday. It´s not really how we celebrate the new year in the States, but a relaxed New Years is just as well. While we were out, we did hear some very important information. The Dakar motorcycle rally is coming to town in a few days. So I stick around an otherwise desolate town so I can watch a bit of the biggest motorcycle race on the planet.
I find out there´s camping , so the day before I get all geared up to leave. On my way out of town, I hit a small ditch and notice my bike isn´t sitting right. Its another subframe bolt. They really are feisty little buggers. No big deal, I know where a tool shop is, so I head straight there only to find out it´s siesta time and they´re closed. Fuck siesta time. Everything is closed from one to five in the afternoon. What a hassle, so I head to another place for the slight chance they´re open. Then it happens again. My bike is snapped in two. This time I open the bike up to find that the extra stress of a missing bolt and water rusting out the inside of my frame has caused the actual frame to rip apart. So there I am again in a foreign country with my bike in shambles. No calling Triple A. Ray was kind enough to find someone who knew a mechanic. They arrived and told me that he´s bringing a truck to take my bike to the shop. Sweet. Saved again. I´m glad I broke down in the city rather than somewhere else. Too bad this giant fat guy arrived on the smallest motor scooter you´d ever seen. It was like a giant slobby, smoking clown, on one of those teeny little bikes. (I have the greatest picture of this dude, but its on my iPhone which finally died, oh well.) Not really what I was expecting, but he helped my jimmy rig the bike with my cable lock so I could get to the shop. Three hours, fifty bucks, and about twenty cigarettes later, I´m back on the road.
The next day was Dakar, and after a great nights sleep camping. I´m ready for the festivities. There are cool tents, bitching bikes, trucks, and motorcycle enthusiasts everywhere. After the madness died down, every passer by wanted a picture with Ray´s giant BMW. It was nice to kind of feel like a rockstar, since all the racers had their bike shipped to the start in Buenos Aires. Pssshh . . . pussies. Didn´t even ride there. It´s all in fun though, and it seems as if Argentina and Chile really are taking in the race well. It´s only been here three times in it´s long history. It hilarious when I´m buying empenadas on the side of the road or at a stop light and strangers ask if I´m in the race. I should probably lie, but it´s still fun.
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| Having fun and looking goofy at the rally |
After our meal two new Argentinian buddies and I head out to down town. It´s a long walk, but when we arrive it´s awesome. It´s almost like the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. I´m begining to like Argentina. It was a blast dancing and chatting totally emersed in the culture. It´s funny we were all talking with these three girls who were totally uninterested until my buddies tell them I´m from North America. Instantly they were all smiles and eager to chat with us. It´s hilarious, but sometimes you´ve got to drop the "yeah, I´m on a motorcycle and driving to the end of the world" line. Anyhow we all dance for a bit then the girls take off. (Standard) and I somehow lose my buddies at the club. So I take the long stumble home solo, and call it a pretty awesome totally Argentinan night.
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| Too much fun in Argentina |
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
12/30/2010 - Tupiza, Bolivia: New Friends And Street Food
I know my blogs have been kind of Debbie Downer lately, but things are picking up so they shouldn´t be so depressing.
Anyhow, it hasn't been long riding on my own. As luck would have it, as soon as I got back to La Paz I was able to meet up with a buddy, Raymond from Quebec. Facebook being of some use, other than a complete time waster, provided us with some nice random circumstance to meet up. In Oruro we met for the first time in two months. It was nice to be back on the road, heading South. Because I had to get the fuck out of La Paz. Party hostels are nice, but man every night is just too much. So I said my farewells to my new friends and took off.
Oruro was a little city, but it had a ton of cool giant sculptures. It reminded me a lot of Ecuador. I got there and again I'm the only tourist for miles. It's a nice change from La Paz. So after I get settled, I head out for some Internet and my new fave: salchipapas. Yes, more kick ass street food. I'm instantly taken in by locals because obviously I'm not from there, and I still love they're local food. It's funny when you are approached by people just because you're eating some greasy local specialty. After a night there I meet up with Ray and we head for the largest salt flats on the planet in Uyuni. A wrong turn later, and we take a gorgeous detour towards Potosi. The roads are actually decent and mostly paved, so I'm definitely ok with the error. The next day we made the trip to Uyuni. And I'm blessed with a mostly paved gorgeous ride. Bolivia is a stunningly beautiful country. And I definitely got to take a lot of it in. The colors were probably the most amazing I've seen yet. Purple mountains, blood red rocks, and deep green willow trees speckle the ride. All those people who were suicidal and depressed because they couldn't see the world in Avatar, are first off retarded, and second probably never got their fat asses off the computer. Because there really is some breathtaking scenery on this planet, and unless you get off your ass you'll probably never see it either. I'm lucky and happy to have the opportunity to see some of the things I've seen.
The salt flats are next, and from what I hear they're truly spectacular. I can tell you I wasn't disappointed. I pussed out and took a tour instead of traveling the flats by motorcycle. It was a tough decision, but eventually I decided that my chain is in such piss poor condition (it actually fell off the day before) to play it safe. Since if I camp in the middle of nowhere, and my chain breaks I'm pretty much doomed. A few German guys went into the flats, only to get lost. They were found dead three years later. Hence, the guided jeep tour. It starts off quite well, because my truck is filled pretty girls. Not so bad, then after a quick visit to a train graveyard we're off to the salt. You might think that just a bunch of flat land would be kind of boring. But really it was awesome being surrounded by nothing but white salt, blue sky, mirages, and far away glimmering mountains. After a bit we're taken to a cactus filled hill in the middle. It's astonishing to drive for forty minutes and not see a thing then, bam, a giant rock. It was so out of place. I actually took a few photos, and eventually we headed back. It was a simply stunning place that I'm super glad I visited.
Finally comes my last day comes in Bolivia, and I couldn't be more pleased. Though Bolivia has a lot of culture and beautiful scenery. It truly is the dumbest country I've visited. It's tough to say because Bolivia isn't necessarily a third world country, but it's close. It's because simple things that north Americans find easy, Bolivians struggle with. Simple business practices like being clean and friendly are just so far beyond them. It's so frustrating. Searching for a trashcan only to realize: there aren't any trashcans. Everyone just throws it on the street. It's really no wonder why they're the poorest country in South America. I'll be happy to get back to a modern civilization and kick ass beef in Argentina.
Anyhow, it hasn't been long riding on my own. As luck would have it, as soon as I got back to La Paz I was able to meet up with a buddy, Raymond from Quebec. Facebook being of some use, other than a complete time waster, provided us with some nice random circumstance to meet up. In Oruro we met for the first time in two months. It was nice to be back on the road, heading South. Because I had to get the fuck out of La Paz. Party hostels are nice, but man every night is just too much. So I said my farewells to my new friends and took off.
Oruro was a little city, but it had a ton of cool giant sculptures. It reminded me a lot of Ecuador. I got there and again I'm the only tourist for miles. It's a nice change from La Paz. So after I get settled, I head out for some Internet and my new fave: salchipapas. Yes, more kick ass street food. I'm instantly taken in by locals because obviously I'm not from there, and I still love they're local food. It's funny when you are approached by people just because you're eating some greasy local specialty. After a night there I meet up with Ray and we head for the largest salt flats on the planet in Uyuni. A wrong turn later, and we take a gorgeous detour towards Potosi. The roads are actually decent and mostly paved, so I'm definitely ok with the error. The next day we made the trip to Uyuni. And I'm blessed with a mostly paved gorgeous ride. Bolivia is a stunningly beautiful country. And I definitely got to take a lot of it in. The colors were probably the most amazing I've seen yet. Purple mountains, blood red rocks, and deep green willow trees speckle the ride. All those people who were suicidal and depressed because they couldn't see the world in Avatar, are first off retarded, and second probably never got their fat asses off the computer. Because there really is some breathtaking scenery on this planet, and unless you get off your ass you'll probably never see it either. I'm lucky and happy to have the opportunity to see some of the things I've seen.
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| What a gorgeous drive. |
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| These salt flats provide all the table salt in Bolivia. This is how they collect it. |
Finally comes my last day comes in Bolivia, and I couldn't be more pleased. Though Bolivia has a lot of culture and beautiful scenery. It truly is the dumbest country I've visited. It's tough to say because Bolivia isn't necessarily a third world country, but it's close. It's because simple things that north Americans find easy, Bolivians struggle with. Simple business practices like being clean and friendly are just so far beyond them. It's so frustrating. Searching for a trashcan only to realize: there aren't any trashcans. Everyone just throws it on the street. It's really no wonder why they're the poorest country in South America. I'll be happy to get back to a modern civilization and kick ass beef in Argentina.
Monday, January 10, 2011
12/26/2010 - La Paz, Bolivia: A Very Merry Christmas Bender
There's only been one time on this trip where I actually wished I was back in cozy cubicle with a hot coffee and full day ahead. I was in a bank in Rurrenabaque. It all kind of hit me at once. I was totally alone, waiting in line to get money so I could go back into the pouring rain and try to fix my bike. I was finally ready to leave and drive the legit death road back to La Paz. Of course the day I'm ready to leave, it's pouring rain in the morning. It hadn't rained all week. Whatever, I was over the town and just wanted to keep on south, so I took off anyway. Only to find I can't shift gears, and as soon as I let out the clutch the bike dies. Damn it. I was not in the mood, but I've got no other options. I push my bike to some cover and address and fix the problems. Sixty bucks and a new battery along with some tinkering with my shift lever and I'm back on the road. It's been absolutely brutal with my bike lately. Every time I ride I encounter a new problem that fucks with me. I've got a good streak of eight straight days of crap. Here's a quick list of shit I've had to fix in the last week or so: battery, starter, chain, gear lever, clutch cable (twice), radiator, speedometer, hand guard, and chain guard. It's so fucking annoying when you finally get all geared up and as soon as you get on the road something like your clutch cable snaps again in the middle of the city. Thus is my life with a bike that's almost ten years old. Next bike I own is going to be a bit newer, but for now I can only dream.
Anywho, bike problems haven't been the only problems I've had over the last week or so. It's been a pretty deep valley here around the holidays. I guess it's not always sunshine and puppy dog tails. I didn't want to be alone for Christmas, but I was kind of forced to. Baby Gay attacked and fought me, hence no gift exchange there. Then my sweet Danish travel buddy, Teresa, had to go home as well. I couldn't help but laugh as the irony was oh too sweet and calculated. I, unfortunately, had to watch her ride away on a motorcycle taxi to the airport. What a fucking trip. I first have to leave my poor ex girlfriend, Nicole, on a bike. I still can't imagine what she felt like. Then a quick five months later I've got to watch a new friend leave on a motorcycle. Trust me, the cruel irony is not lost on me. It was all too much. The inevitable loneliness of life on the road finally caught up to me. And I hate to admit this, but I was definitely bummed out. It was a combination of everything. Losing a great buddy of mine, wishing a fond farewell to a new friend, missing my family and friends from home, and not even being able to lose my troubles on the road since my bike has been fucked. As always though, I suck it up and point my bike south. It's a long damn road.
Inevitably, I do make it back to La Paz in time for Christmas. I check into a really nice party hostel for the next few days. I happened to meet some super fun and cool people in my dorm room, so since it's Christmas eve and we're in a party hostel we've got to have a couple of drinks. It all starts pretty tame as a group of us are chatting away over some beers. Then since we're a little too far away from the bar for comfort, we all make our way closer. Only to find we need to perk our selves up. Easy solution: Jäger Bombs! So after what seems like three or four, I'm not tanked, but damn close. The night continues with me being a chatty Cathy with everyone at the bar. It's going well, people are all in a good mood and happy to make small talk or dance with me. Inevitably our hostel bar has to close, and throw a bunch of perfectly drunk people back on the streets or worse their beds. My group would have none of this sleeping business, so out on the streets of La Paz we went. We all end up at a club then continue to dance and drink the night away. Later, I end up talking with some super cool dudes about everything from girls to religion and traveling. But before I know it they're heading back to their comfy hostel beds. Well that wasn't for me, not tonight. I've had too much shit go down, and I miss too many people to call it what I thought was an early night. Too bad I was so far gone I didn't realize it was eight in the morning. Time to talk to the last few people left at the bar. I make my way over to the last table of people, and find a giant group of Aussies. They're amazingly welcoming, and we all bullshit and drink for another four hours until we're all kicked out into the harsh Christmas daylight. I've just about had enough, so I leave my new buddies as they're staying at another hostel. I stumble back to my dorm and find my roommates almost dead. They're talking and still alive. So we all laugh as we recap the previous night. Then at about two in the afternoon I say goodnight and finally head off to sleep. Christmas bender complete.
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| I´m pretty sure this isn´t supposed to happen. |
Inevitably, I do make it back to La Paz in time for Christmas. I check into a really nice party hostel for the next few days. I happened to meet some super fun and cool people in my dorm room, so since it's Christmas eve and we're in a party hostel we've got to have a couple of drinks. It all starts pretty tame as a group of us are chatting away over some beers. Then since we're a little too far away from the bar for comfort, we all make our way closer. Only to find we need to perk our selves up. Easy solution: Jäger Bombs! So after what seems like three or four, I'm not tanked, but damn close. The night continues with me being a chatty Cathy with everyone at the bar. It's going well, people are all in a good mood and happy to make small talk or dance with me. Inevitably our hostel bar has to close, and throw a bunch of perfectly drunk people back on the streets or worse their beds. My group would have none of this sleeping business, so out on the streets of La Paz we went. We all end up at a club then continue to dance and drink the night away. Later, I end up talking with some super cool dudes about everything from girls to religion and traveling. But before I know it they're heading back to their comfy hostel beds. Well that wasn't for me, not tonight. I've had too much shit go down, and I miss too many people to call it what I thought was an early night. Too bad I was so far gone I didn't realize it was eight in the morning. Time to talk to the last few people left at the bar. I make my way over to the last table of people, and find a giant group of Aussies. They're amazingly welcoming, and we all bullshit and drink for another four hours until we're all kicked out into the harsh Christmas daylight. I've just about had enough, so I leave my new buddies as they're staying at another hostel. I stumble back to my dorm and find my roommates almost dead. They're talking and still alive. So we all laugh as we recap the previous night. Then at about two in the afternoon I say goodnight and finally head off to sleep. Christmas bender complete.
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