Laugh and sing, but while we're apart, don't give your heart to anyone

Martu, my host-niece, as we were feeding ducks

The national flag flies high at ESMA, a detention center (in the middle of the city) used in the 80's to detain and torture around 30,000 citizens by the military dictatorship. Now, it serves as a museum and chilling reminder of the country's recent history.

The view from a mountaintop in Salta.

Mummified remains of the "Lightning Girl"

frame of reference as to where Salta is - just to the left of the big 4

https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/NorthernTravels?authkey=Gv1sRgCPfTsqbfueaavAE#5681689231158182514

^Iguazu and Salta pictures among other^

Hey-yo,

So good thing that wasn’t actually my last post. Yeesh! What a Debbie Downer.

Luckily, I had just enough funds and just enough time to visit one last province of the country this week: the desert northwest of Argentina, historically belonging to the Inca people and later seized by the gauchos. Today, the city of Salta is placed as Argentina’s 8^th largest city with a population of around 460,000 residents, comparable to the population of Allegheny county.

As I expected, it was “stinking, filthy”* hot and I survived only because I brought along with me camisoles and gym shorts to wear. Sure, the locals were not rocking the same exact clothes, but they were also dressing for the weather. According to several shopkeepers, it was a tad unseasonably hot so there was no relief to be found in a nearby swimming pool, because 90+F isn’t worth opening the pool yet. I would NOT survive the actual summer there.

* A reference to our Australian friends staying in our hostel. Elly and George were speaking what they believed we understood as English. Between the “jut gotta grab me rucksack” and the “where’s me jumpa?”, I’m not entirely confident that I understood our entire conversation, but they were very sweet.

Our choice of transportation from BA was flying because our residency visas allow us to book the low fare of those who live in AR which was turned out to be only 20 pesos more than booking a bus that would take approximately 24 hours. To avoid tears, I decided to spend the extra $5USD. Once we checked into our quaint little hostel, we toured the city on foot, excited to experience the gaucho way of life.

First lesson, gauchos take siestas. Unlike the US and even BA, everything shuts down between 3 and 7pm. Don’t try to eat, shop or even enjoy the tourist traps. They will be opened shortly.

Second lesson, once the businesses open, get ready for a wild ride. Street markets and peñas offer a variety of options for late night entertainment. Peñas are restaurants that offer delicious parilla options and a beautiful show of playing, singing and dancing to folk music. I was surprised as to how much I truly enjoyed the festivities, but the amount of meat I consumed was no surprise because it possessed the perfect combination of seasonings, quality, and deliciousness. Argentine meat is like no other, and I will for sure have issue when I return to the US and am not met with the exquisite sensation to which my taste buds are now accustomed. It’s a problem.

Third lesson, sleep in.... Check.

We decided over breakfast at half past 12 that we should probably be productive at some point, so we set off to find info at the tourist office in town. Of course, it wasn’t opened, so we made our way to the huge mountain that rests on the edge of Salta and has draped along one side a ski-lift looking pull that I wanted to ride the minute I saw it. We boarded our compartment and were simply awestruck by the view as we effortlessly ascended the great climb. At the top, I had hoped there would be at least a small area cleared for taking the best shots of the city, but I seriously underestimated. There were vendors, photo opps, a restaurant, a mountain bike rental shop, and strangely an outdoor spinning class waiting for us at the top. Did I forget to mention the waterfalls?

I was a little confused, but definitely not complaining. We spent the entire afternoon up there just looking, listening, and taking in the view. The mountain, as it turns out, serves as a natural barrier between different parts of the city. I had no idea that Salta extended as far as it did! Making the trip up the hill was a great way to gain perspective.

The next day, we took a city bus, at the recommendation of the man selling tickets for the lift and doubling as a tourist stand worker to a small town on the outskirt of the city, Campo Quijano.

It really is in the middle of nowhere. I’m not entirely sure why this man sent us there because it was strangely quiet; there was no info booth and no clear indicator as to where the trail heads were. As it turns out there were no trail heads, but the kind woman who worked a nearby store offer us the idea of walking to the rivers. One, brown and used for damming purposes. The other, the Rio Blanca, used for swimming. We jumped at the chance to swim so we set off down a dusty road. Along this walk, I realized that in that moment, I was the most detached from the outside world that I had ever been. I don’t think my cell phone was in service, there was the occasional tractor trailer that rumbled by, but mostly it was just people walking to and from town, sitting on the side of the ride waiting for the only bus that travels in the area, and smiling at us and wishing us safe travels. It was the least touristy place that I had every been in AR. I don’t think they knew what to make of us. We were regarded with kindness and exposed to simply everyday life.

The Rio Blanca, which is actually a small babbling creek (well, crick), served as a refreshing spot to spend the afternoon. We sat on the river’s rocks and read as the sun warmed us through the clouds. We put our feet in, but only enough so as not to disturb the incredible amounts of tadpoles. Families around us sat with their babies in their laps, splashing their toes with the cool water. Toddlers balanced on the rocks standing knee-deep in the clear water, clapping with fits of excitement.

We shared in a moment that was special that day.

That night we decided to order an steak sandwich and a chicken club and switch halves, so as to have the best of both worlds. Of course, Saltenians can’t just make a sandwich, they have to bake it like an empanada. Salta is famous for its empanadas which are approximately the size of a mini-stapler. The most popular selection is carne, but I prefer the queso which nearly always comes with the added bonus of cebolla. We tried empanadas at every restaurant we visited. Also a regional and delicious dish, humita. I’m sure I’ve described it before, but the real stuff is steamed inside of a cornhusk (similar to tamales) and tastes like a scrumptious corn pudding. Available in both salty and sweet, I prefer the salty. Anyway, our sandwiches surfaced as oversized baked empanadas stuffed with everything the menu promised, including the lettuce and tomato.

Unfortunately, that was the last real meal I’ve eaten since then. It’s going on 69 hours since I’ve been able to be hungry, eat something, and keep everything inside all in one go. I’ve eaten sporadically, but not more than one, small, bland snack a day. This isn’t fun.

I haven’t a clue as to what got me sick. It wasn’t the food, and it wasn’t the water. My travel buddy, Kristin, ate and drank more or less exactly what I ate all week including the last empanada/sandwich that we actually split in half and she’s peachy keen. I just don’t have luck traveling in the north of AR.

So, I spent the following day writhing in pain in my lumpy hostel bed, unable to find the energy to drink anything. I wish I was being dramatic. More than anything, I felt terrible that I destroyed our plans to catch a 7am bus to the Cafayate and spend the day in a highly recommended area. Kristin was very kind and supportive and told me not to worry about not being able to go. Luckily, she found some friendly faces and shops to explore in the city and was able to venture to the artesian mercado, a large area filled with handmade goods. She brought me crackers and Sprite. I owe her so much!

On our last day, we went to MAAM, a museum of archaeology in town that is now home to some of the best preserved mummies. Incan civilization believed in making sacrifices so as to have a better harvest for the whole, and so as to maintain their safety in general as a society. As a part of this thinking 5 centuries ago, the people living in what is currently referred to as the province of Salta selected 3 children under the age of 15 that were among the physical and social elite to parade around to the surrounding villages so that they could accept many gifts of food and goods. After their long journey, they were escorted up a mountain and given an elixir made from corn that caused them to fall into a deep, drugged sleep. Then, they were buried in the mountaintop among many grave goods as an offering.

Because the mountain is located in a position where is is consistently below freezing and the amount of oxygen that breached their graves was minimal, the bodies of these 3 individuals are in pristine condition considering that they’ve been buried around 500 years. Constanza Ceruti and Johan Reinhard, anthropologists from Argentina and the US respectively, led a expedition to excavate the bodies in the 80’s. On display in Museo de Arqueología de Alta Montaña now is “La niña del rayo”, the girl who was struck by lightening. She gained this nickname long after her demise when a lightening bolt struck the mountain near her burial and burned her lower face and neck.

Seeing her, being so close to her was both exciting and horrifying. On one hand, I can appreciate the immense workload of the anthropologist and the others who were on the expedition, but on the other, I can’t help but to think that she should remain in the mountain. The Incas did not sacrifice children with the intention of having them be disturbed from their slumber after a period of time. Who are we to decide where they remain?

Also, it was quite clear, despite obvious shrinkage from dehydration, that the figure in front of my face was a child, a small 6-year-old who because of her nobel status (apparent because of her altered skull growth) was denied the chance to live a longer life. It was a different time, and today’s society is not prepared to fathom such ideologies, but I was glad to have had the opportunity to see in person such stunning remains.

On the way out of the museum, we ran into a guy that was eager to practice his English and invited us for a coffee in the museum’s cafe. I didn’t realize that accepting his offer was going to make our last hours in Salta fly by! He was a really nice guy with many interesting opinions about this and that. We’ll remain facebook friends for some time.

Naturally, our flight was delayed back to BA, so we were not only early by Argentine standards, but really early. When we arrived, our company hadn’t even opened check-in for the flight that was due to take off in less than 2 hours. Security laughed at us when we wanted to sit near our gate with under 45 minutes until boarding. It’s a different world here.

Regardless, I made it home safely and by 2-3am (thanks to the delays), I was snuggly in my homestay bed.

Tomorrow’s it. That’s when I leave. I am in desperate need of repacking, but something tells me everything will work out.

This experience has been life changing. And that’s not some study abroad website mumbo jumbo. That’s actually what it has been. Hopefully, you caught the even the tiniest glimpse of what I’ve seen and experienced through my posts and pictures.

Thank you for your attention, your support and best of luck in your travels. May you find the opportunity to experience the world.

All the best and a huge beso,

Rachel

We had the chance to make it now it’s over, it’s over, it can’t be over.

We had the chance to make it now it’s over, it’s over, it can’t be over.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZmvJknzLfU&feature=related

My break-up with Buenos Aires

Listening to similar songs on the 108 bus on the way home from class tonight, I couldn’t help but to tear up a bit and blame it on the warm breeze blowing on my face from the open window. I recognize that I’ve been here for a while, but can it really be over?

In four months, I’ve made leaps and bounds as a traveler, a student, and marginal improvement as a person. I’ve come to know a city that has an understated way of being sophisticated. By day, it’s too bright and loud to be appreciated. By night, it’s too loud and slightly too dangerous to take it all in. But, at twilight, it’s soft spoken, tangible, and honest.

I ride the bus with doctors who are coming off of a long shift, young businesspeople with their iPods tightly secured in place, teenage mothers in too tight, nearly transparent shirts kissing their baby’s forehead, and a mix of others, resting their heads against the window because they are tired from a long day a work, or reading novels to pass the time.

On the sidewalk, parents walk with grocery bags full of ingredients back to their apartments to feed their children who are scootering along their sides. Couples canoodle on the corner and shamelessly kiss their partners. Kioscos with their bright lights distribute beverages and ice creams to passers-by. Apartments light up as their owners return for the evening, while dogs are ecstatic to being going for their evening walk. And, for some unknown reason, there are some with a extra little bounce in their steps. It’s something special, to accidentally stumble upon someone having a great moment.

As I knew I was teary-eyed and smiling for no apparent reason on the bus, I hope that someone looked at me and thought not about questioning my mental health, but experienced some joy from my obvious happiness.

I was greeted at my home on Salguero by my host parents, their son and his wife. The four of them have been so helpful in my learning about this country and traveling advise. They are great people. We have shared many a meals together, and tonight’s feast was no exception. Asked to request our favorite meals from our time in AR, my housemate and I were both treated to our favorite meals, hers chorizo, and mine a lentil stew. Good conversation and good food contributed to a great evening.

Though I am upset that I can’t spend time with my real family this holiday week, I’m am thankful for my time here and the benefits I’ve gained from spending time abroad.

Thanks, Argentina and Buenos Aires, for all you’ve shown me.

Now, I guess I should start packing...

Oh right, my passport.

Iguazú

Chivito

Casa Puebla

in Montevideo

Uruguay, Iguazú, and memorias

So, just in case you are wondering: you need your passport to enter Uruguay. I wouldn’t say that I forgot it, I just happened to not realize that I would actually need that tiny, yet important document to cross international borders for the weekend. Okay fine. I was the dumb Americana in the ferry station trying to explain in perfect(ly horrible) Spanish that I hadn’t brought my original passport and that I would miss my boat if I went to retrieve. The oh-so-patient worker kindly directly me to the change-your-ticket line, so I gave up and changed my departure. Luckily (well, maybe not), my friend and co-traveler and randomly fellow Penn Stater also forgot her passport so half of our group went to board our original boat, and we went home to grab our little blue books.

It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds. In Buenos Aires, there are many people who work in the city for the week and return home to their families in Uruguay for the weekends because it works out better financially. Going to Colonia, the nearest city to BA, is no big deal. People do it everyday. It was such a nonchalant trip that I didn’t bother to bring my passport because I subconsciously thought that the odds of me needing it versus the odd of me loosing it weren’t worth the bringing it! False. Get it together, Rachel.

Once I made it successfully from Argentina, I realized that even though the countries border, they are distinctly different. People in Uruguay have neither the same ridiculous Spanish accent that porteños insist on using, nor the same love of driving like it’s the end of the world. They are calm and friendly. And the people in places that I went love tourists - which is better than if they hated us!

In Montevideo, we walked down the main avenue to find a fountain secured heavily by thousands of small locks. Simple locks - like the kind you might use to secure the door of a shed or you hang from your high school gym locker. All of them had two names carved into them. The legend goes that if you place a lock with you and your partner’s name on the fountain, you’ll never fall out of love. It’s was so sweet to see so many people investing in their relationship’s futures! It made for cool pictures, if nothing else.

We spent the night in Punta del Este, a beach town. In the morning, we rented scooters (don’t tell IES, I’ll get kicked out) and drove all over the peninsula and beyond. I will have you know I am an excellent driver. But, who on earth trusts a bunch of foreign 20-somethings with brand new scooters in a foreign country? I’m still not really sure what the speed limit was or how it converts to miles per hour, but no importa.

We went to Casa Pueblo, a museum/restaurant/hotel/resort in the edge of a tiny peninsula. Formerly inhabited by an artist, it displayed art of great colors and interesting shapes. The view was breathtaking, and I hope you enjoy the pictures!

We later, returned our scooters, got some huge chivitos and headed back to BA. Chivito sky rocketed to my top ten list of all time favorite foods. It starts with a melt in your mouth steak sandwich and just gets better from there. Add lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, egg, jam, bacon, ketchup, mayo, and mustard, and anything else you would like to this delightful grease pile. It rivals Primanti’s for height, and far exceeds them in flavor. It’s a fabulous piece of art, but unfortunately only officially found in Uruguay. So, in 2 days I had it twice.

The following weekend, I hopped on a 17+ hour bus on Thursday to arrive in hot and steamy Puerto Iguazú on Friday morning. Located in the very Northeast of Argentina, Iguazú falls are familiar worldwide and are very recently recognized as one of the seven greatest natural wonders of the world.

The truth is they really are spectacular. My pictures aren’t lying. The immensity and intensity of the rushing water was enough to get my blood pumping. Maybe the ridiculously close proximity to the falls is why some people prefer the Argentine side of the falls as opposed to the Brazilian side. I was actually suspended mere feet above the incredibly forceful water on the balconies that also served as walkways. Era un poco peligroso? Si, pero no importa. It was too much fun.

In other news, it rained cats and dogs for 1.5 days of my 3 day trip, and I got a horrible case of food poisoning that I’ve yet to fully overcome, but I’d rather focus on how incredible sights were. We were able to take a boat under the falls and get totally drenched - which was great for 2 seconds then I couldn’t breathe or see and it wasn’t fun anymore. Awesome to be so close you get the feel for how powerless you are, not so awesome you get to be so powerless.

Oh, did I mention that when I was clad in my lifejacket heading down toward the boat via the stone steps carved from the mountain that the worker who was trying to hurry me along “helped” me along to miss a step completely, fall to the ground, twist my ankle and slam into the rocky mountainside back first? Yeah, the twisted ankle, black and blue back, and bruised pride were the cherry on top of my food poisoned weekend.

And, my bus broke down on the way home causing a 3 hour delay increments of 30 minute random stops whenever the engine decided to quit en route to BA.

But, seriously, I had a great time!

Tonight at dinner, I caught my host mother looking at me. Raising an eyebrow, I chewed my potatoes thoughtfully and looked back across the table. She explained that my face reminds her of her mother, a woman who traveled from Switzerland to Argentina to raise her family. I think that she was simply referring to bone structure and and circumstance (tonight, I had my hair pulled back), but she further commented on how I look very European and not so American. As the United States of today is comprised mostly of immigrants, I find this difficult to believe, but a compliment nonetheless. It’s sad to know that after the next couple of weeks, I will likely never see these people that have taken care of me so nicely again. =[

In happier news, I got my student’s feedback from my English classes this semester. I can’t believe that anyone would say such nice things about me! I really don’t think I deserve it, but I’m very happy to accept them anyway!

https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/BATres?authkey=Gv1sRgCJnq1dqMutWjQg

^ my pictures from Tigre and Uruguay ^

I'll post Iguazú soon!

un beso

More or Hands

view from my hotel

my lunch from the other day - who knew I could cook?

Asado, pollo y chorizo, ay de mi!

On Friday, my film class had the opportunity to visit BA’s film archive and museum. In reality, only 3 of the 10 or so people in my class managed to not forget and actually make it there. It ended up being nice though because instead of taking the subway and an extra bus to get there, we could just pile into my professor’s car and drive. Once we arrived to archives/his office, I got a distinct take-your-daughter-to-work-day feeling. My two friends and I tottered after him and asked all the appropriate questions. We met his awkward, yet likable office friends. (Similar to some nerdy friends of my father).

All in all, it was awesome because we got the opportunity to handle and preserve genuine Argentine films from the 20’s. The reel we worked with was made from Kodak film that boasted only one color at a time. As we spun the film through the homemade viewing machine, it displayed a rainbow of images. We stopped and peered through a small looking glass to examine the images more closely. It was awesome! I felt so important and so nervous that I was going to sneeze all over the one and only copy of an impeccable historical film. I wasn’t even feeling sneezy, but I was sure I was going to mess things up somehow.

Everything made its way safely back into its case, though. =]

Using a different (and automatic) machine, we got to view the original film of the trailer of the initial Star Wars movie from the 70’s. It was incredible to have witnessed something so raw. I’m sure many a Star Wars fans would have killed for the opportunity.

After finishing up at workshop and archives, we visited the what is completed of the new museum. It cost one peso to enter (about 25¢USD). The one floor, 3 room museum was disappointing in my opinion not in content, but in the quantity of displays. I think this is partly because I’m used to huge and well-organized museums, but also because I had just come from the overstocked archives. There is plenty of material that would make fascinating displays, but is not visible to the public.

And, of course, by that time we were starving, we went out for a pizza before our professor dropped us off near our houses. Wow, it really was take-your-daughter-to-work-day.

At volleyball, my coach has decided to run practices in English when there are only a few people there. Una problema, she can’t really speak English. I actually put us on similar levels in our corresponding languages. As much as she can’t speak English, I can’t speak Spanish.

One time after I hit a ball in practice, she gasped and exclaimed, “I love your... style!” It was a pretty decent hit, but I wouldn’t have declared love for it.

In fact, she was talking about my “fancy braid” hairstyle that I had sported that evening. She immediately stopped practice, came over, and touched my hair gently. She was in awe of one of the most common hairstyles on college campuses across the US. Go, USA.

At our next game, she asked my friend and I to put one in her hair and secure it tightly, just in case she had a “hot night”. In this instance, I did not ask her to elaborate. She did, however, beam when she checked herself out in a compact.

Volei is now over because we lost in the playoffs (though it was a super close match!). I hadn’t known that it was the playoffs until after the fact. Maybe I should learn that word in Spanish. Anyway, we still have practice. I’m not sure why, but maybe I missed that, too.

My friend, who knew little more than “hola” before coming to Argentina was responding to a waiter the other day when she said, “entiendo más o manos”. I cracked up immediately because without knowing she had just coined one of my new favorite phrases. What she was trying to say was “entiendo más o menos” which means, I understand more or less. By mistaking one letter in the entire phrase, she changed the meaning to “more or hands”.

This phrase is so wonderfully meaningless and funny that I’ve been trying to work it into everyday speech.

Cooking class:

At my cooking class last weekend, I had the opportunity to make wonderful Argentine dishes in a professional kitchen under the direction of a cut-throat chef. She was fabulous because although she was speaking pure Spanish, I could understand exactly what she wanted me to do. This happens with only some people I’ve met in this country. They can not know one word of English and I understand them 99% better than others. I guess some people enunciate and know what to stress for me to comprehend.

First, we made empanadas saltena, as in not dessert empanadas. They were delicious because we could add as much spice as we wanted to. We made them spicey!

Then, we made humita, a dish from northern AR that is similar to corn pudding, but more runny and with my veggies.

Moving onto postres, we created a merengue covered dulce de leche layer cake that resulted in fabulousness and turkey-delight-type filled dumplings which we subsequently deep fried, only to then dunk them in a simple syrup and sprinkles. In a word, heart attack. In another work, bliss.

We also grilled a huge hunk of steak that we covered in homemade chimichurri (a delicious oil and red wine vinegar sauce) to be the entre to our sweet potato pure. Mind you, these batatas are white with purple skin and are best served up with some caramelized sugar with milk mixed in. Also bliss.

All in all, even split between the four in my group, I ended up coming home with 4 huge containers of leftovers after devouring all I could there. It was a fabulous experience and one of my favorite activities in Argentina so far!

Best part? I just realized that I’ve already blogged about this experience, but I’m leaving this in here anyway because it was that good.

This weekend, I went to Tigre, an awesome delta just outside of BA. IES offers a special weekend trip to explore the town, the market, a local museum, and to be pampered at a fabulous resort in the middle of nowhere.

We arrived by van to a square full of vendors selling great goods for very reasonable prices. I did not hold back on shopping there. I got many holiday presents and gifts for me, too!

The museum was hosting an outdoor concert featuring a ~30 piece German band. Unfortunately, my group was not very interested in checking out the gorgeous artwork in the museum, so I was hurried through and back out of the door only having the chance to snap a few pictures of the gorgeous building and artwork.

Next, we took a boat through the channels of muddy water past the coast guard stations, past the shores scattered with weekend get-aways for the wealthy in BA, and past a lot of empty shoreline, too. Finally, after about an hour and a half of sailing, we docked at our resort to find the tranquility of nature surrounding us. It was spectacular to not hear any car horns, ambul-i (the plural of ambulance), or people shouting in the streets. The resort is connected by a series of balconies that allow passers-by to navigate with ease the jungle that surrounds the bungalows and main dining area. There also happens to a beautiful pool and wrap around deck available. Naturally, we all picked a reclining beach chair and read until dinner at 9:30. It was asado, naturally. Argentines take beef very seriously and at an asado, or barbeque, they serve it up in many different ways. There is one round of veggies, but at least 4 of meat, so you need to have the right mindset going in.

The next morning, I found myself awakened from a food coma and remembered that I had spent the evening chatting on the deck by the pool with other people on the trip. The best part was that everyone recognized how privileged we were to be there, in that beautiful place. The staff of the hotel were so kind and the atmosphere was something that I wish could be replicated for all of the kind people in the world.

It was a lazy and fabulous weekend. I sat by the pool (which was freezing cold) and read my book in the hot sun. I wasn’t worried about my homework or any other more significant issue. I was just in the moment.

Later that day, we set off in another boat to be taken directly back to BA via La Rio de la Plata (that vastly wide river). It was so special to be able to see the skyline of the city with the sun setting behind it (the river is on the eastern side). Truly beautiful.

The only unfortunate thing was that I didn’t care to complete any homework after that relaxing weekend and now I’m very much behind in 2 of my classes. =[

There are worse things.

Chimichurri-cher-ee, a girl is as lucky as lucky can be

Today, I accidentally scared an old man because I was walking behind him down the street. He noticed that someone was behind him and stopped and turned to get a proper look at me. I just smiled and kept walking. I felt bad, but I can’t help that I’m taller and bigger than the average person in the country. I’m intimidating without meaning to be.

This weekend I participated in a cooking class set up through IES. We walked to the downtown location and climb to the top floor to find a room with 3 or 4 workspaces complete with stoves, sinks, and plenty of marble counter space.

With my group, I made 60+ empanadas filled with bife y cebolla (beef and onion), humita (corn pudding type dish from northern Argentina), puré de batatas (mashed white-with-purple-skin sweet potatoes mixed with a toffee sauce), a huge steak with chimichurri (a dressing for the meat that consists of garlic, paprika, salt and pepper, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and other deliciousness), fried pastries filled with a Turkish delight type filling native to South America, and a dulce de leche layered cake with merengue on top.

It was awesome. Everything tasted wonderful and even split four ways, I took 4 containers filled with leftovers home. Fabulous!

On Saturday, I traveled through the city to the University of Buenos Aires’ Agronomia center to teach English. The small campus was filled with dog walkers, trees, 100 year old buildings, and mosquitos who believed they were vampires.

Mosquitos in BA are not like the ones in PA. They are tiny; you barely notice them. But, the bites last for a full 8 or 9 days. They are H-E double hockey sticks. I have never wanted to scratch off my skin more than I have in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, they have infiltrated my bedroom due to my large patio with plants and adjoining glass door that is my only option for ventilation. I now sleep with a small contraption plugged into the outlet that uses the scent from the pellet I install every night to release an decently unpleasant odor. But, it makes my count of mosquito bites in a 7 hour period of sleep go from 7-8 to approximately 0.3-0.5 a night. Annoying? Yes. Unbearable? No. Thank God for anti-itch cream.

Regardless of the mosquitos who attacked my legs because I was careless enough to wear a skirt, I had fun talking with a post-graduate level class. Their class was more about practicing conversation than actually learning new grammatical structures. Fine by me, but I couldn’t modify my lesson plan much at that point. They didn’t tell me ahead of time which level I would be working with. At CUI, it could be anything from Hop on Pop level to discussing in depth the probable consequences of Occupy Wall Street. I prefer Dr. Seuss, but was landed with Wall Street.

3 hours of intense conversation later, I was on my way home to Palermo. We stopped at Plaza Italia to grab a slice of pizza from Kentucky, supposedly some of the best pizza in the city. It was okay, but not the best I’ve had in AR.

A nap and a half later, I called up a friend to go to the movies with me. For my film class, I needed to view an off the beaten path film and write a review. Because my attempt to travel to a small, unknown theater to watch a foreign film failed miserably resulting in a pointless 3 hour bus ride, I threw in the towel and went to the theater in the huge mall in my ritzy neighborhood and saw a film that is advertised heavily on the side panels of facebook. Lucky for me, it was one of the cutest films I’ve seen in a while. Sure, it was in Spanish, but I understood most of it. At one point when two characters were chatting online, I was struggling to keep up with what was happening - panicking more and more because the audience was chuckling. I didn’t understand some of the jokes, but it doesn’t matter, I had fun. I’ll write my paper anyway and use the, “but I can’t speak Spanish” card.

After the movie we went to a cute little ice cream shop and snacked on delicious flavors. I had half chocolate brownie and half almond. Abby decided to mix spicy lemon with dulce de leche despite the protests from our scooper friend. It ended up being somewhat of a poor choice, but Emma was satisfied with her raspberry swirl.

On Sunday, I decided it was inappropriate to stay in bed all day as my laziness wanted me to and went to the zoo. There were an alarming number of bunny/fox mixed creatures roaming the sidewalks in addition to ducks chasing children in hopes they would drop the bucket containing the nuggets of feed. Small children pointed furiously into cages all around me and shouted, “¡Mira, mamá!” It was election day, so many families took advantage of the slightly overcast day to explore “wild”life with their children.

It was a pleasant afternoon that reminded me much of my trips to the zoo in the States, delightful nonetheless. I lapped the nearby park trying to find the planetarium that I can only seem to find when I’m not looking for it. Today wasn’t the day for gazing into the IMax induced sky, I suppose. I’ll try again.

For full pictures, check out https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/BATres?authkey=Gv1sRgCJnq1dqMutWjQg

Part 3 of 3: Fast paced hike on a glacial hunk of ice

Part 3 of 3: Fast paced hike on a glacial hunk of ice

On Saturday morning we woke up well before the crack of dawn to embark on the Big Ice tour. Driving to Parque Nacional Los Glaciales was quite entertaining. Through the bus’s front window, I could see the mountains ahead. What I didn’t realize is that they were so far away. But, slowly by slowly, as we sped toward them, they grew to be quite enormous.

The geography of southern Argentina (Patagonia) is quite interesting. The closer to the Andes, the more the climate is likely to rainy. The winds come from the Pacific Ocean, the west. Once the rain hits the mountains, it pretty much fizzles out and not much makes it over the top. The drive from Calafate (east) to the park showed this diverse landscape. It was flat and dry in town, but inside the park the forests are lush and the glaciers reign supreme between the mountains.

I know this primarily because that’s exactly what my midterm in History of the Argentine Environment was on. Then, every tour guide on this trip has reiterated it, sometimes in 2 or more languages.

The mountains themselves reminded me first of huge brownie chunks drizzled with oily white chocolate. A more apt description (yes, I thought about this all day to perfect the baking reference) is that the mountains resembled chocolate chunk coffee cake dusted carelessly in powdered sugar.

Regardless of the pastries I was then and still am craving, we paid the entrance fee to the park. (What would have been 100 pesos had it not have been for my awesome laminated small paper that serves as my IES id card. It actually serves no other purpose, but like a diligent student, I’ve been carrying it all over Argentina to find some use. Honestly, I’m not quite sure if it was the card that got me an 85 peso discount as my Spanish skills are still not very strong, but my residence visa, student id, or winning smile did the trick. Ps, my card says that my home university is Amherst. Go, IES).

Visiting first the balconies showing the view of the north side of the Moreno Glacier, we took many pictures which I encourage you to look through on Picasa. Then, we took a boat ride to the other shore of the lake (which is gray in color due to the sediment). There, we met up with our hiking guides who gave us a rundown of our time with them that started with a 1 hour hike on the mountain to the Cramp-on point.

It seemed like the whole way was uphill, but we finally made it to our sweat lodge looking destination. Our guides measured our feet with the metal spikey shoe enhancements and put us in harnesses. We were not tied together throughout our time on the glacier, it was just in case of emergencies.

We walked back toward the glacier and made use of the Cramp-ons as soon as we stepped foot on the ice. It was quite intimidating, this huge glacier I hiked on. Apparently, all of Buenos Aires and then some could fit on the surface. And, that’s not just a guess like the Heinz ketchup pack story Sarah made up; the numbers actually add up.

Moving on ice was at first difficult, but the more we climbing up and down the crevices, the more we go the hang of it. We walked for about an hour and a half before we stopped in the middle of the glacial to eat lunch by a huge pool of water that was frozen on the surface. After getting some great shots, we headed back home and de-Cramp-on-ed. It was a long way back, but apparently, I was right on the way there. It had been all uphill. The way home was much less cardio and more muscle. On the boat ride back, the crew cracked open a bottle of whisky and served us up with an alfahor (of course) and using ice chipped from the glacier itself. An awesome touch.

Zonked from a long day, we went into town to return our rented equipment and grab dinner, where I ordered ravioli and a Quilmes.

On Birthday Eve, we decided to make the 3 hour bus trip to El Chaltén, the teeny tiny town nestled in the valley surrounded by huge mountain ranges in every direction. I actually walked the entire length of the town in 20 minutes.

We chose our hike based on the park ranger’s recommendation at the info center. He said it was a 3 hour roundtrip easy hike with a great view of Fitz Roy. Knowing that we only had 6 hours before our bus back to Calafate, we decided to air on the safe side and stick with the shorter hike option.

Immediately the trail skyrocketed and was relentless for the first hour. Incredibly annoyed that I had agreed to 2 consecutive days of hiking, I took my time and photographed the scenery along the way. It was among the best I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t aware that earth tones are actually so colorful. Unfortunately, my camera isn’t capable of relaying the images in their full capacity. Please embellish with your imagination! There were brilliant shades of greens in the trees, the milky sapphire of the river, and the browns of the dust and trails.

Continuing our trek, we spotted red mosses, trees with buds, and a grand total of 2 beetles - no other wildlife. We filled our bottles from the babbling creeks and ate lunch at the top view point. The lookout point would have been perfect, but Fitz Roy was stuck in some heavy fog. We took a picture anyway.

Going back down was pretty much all downhill, and just about the time I thought my knees were going to give out, we reached the trailhead.

Recognizing that the other girls wanted to checkout the condor and eagle watchpoints, I opted to stay back by myself and sit in a cafe in town. Our friend at the info center described it as directly behind the info center building, so I figured it was at least another half hour uphill. According to my friends accounts, I guessed correctly.

My cafe experience was rocky at first because I walked in on 4 guys drinking Quilmes after Quilmes, but I ordered coffee and sat in the corner to read. Maybe an hour later, one of the guys from the kitchen came over and asked if I wanted anything to eat. I wasn’t sure what was on the menu because I couldn’t read the permanent marker on cardboard scribbles on the wall across the room. So, I asked what he suggested. He asked me if I liked dulce de leche and ice cream. I said, but of course. He came back 5 minutes later with DDL and ice cream filled crepe (or pancake, as it is here). It was sublime. Then, we got to talking (in English because he realized I can’t actually speak Spanish) about - well, a lot. He lived in Michigan for a while and is from Chile. He was visiting his friend, Ruby - the owner of the cafe - for a couple of days. He, Juan, told me about how difficult it is to find work in Chile and Columbia (Ruby’s home country), and that Argentina doesn’t know how good they have it.

Ruby, an older woman with milk chocolate skin and tired eyes, told me that when she visits Juan in Chile she is often mistaken for Serena Williams. I enjoyed her company as they sat to eat dinner with me, but I saw the modesty in their movements and being. Ruby moved about the kitchen slowly, almost as if every step was a great effort. Juan was sharper and friendlier, but had a worn air about him. Their hospitality and grace was so striking to me that I didn’t realize that I was late meeting my friends. I left with a new taste of Argentina, one that displays AR as an opportunity. Of course, the aftertaste was that of the caramel sweetness of the dulce de leche.

Birthday Eve was then celebrated by hitting the artisan fair by the bus station, dancing to Spanish love songs in the street with a stray dog, and a trip to the grocery store before heading back to the hostel. My friends surprised me after our makeshift meal of cereal for dinner with a tub of dulce de leche and chocolate ice cream and singing Happy Birthday to me. I was pleasantly surprised and thanked them for thinking of me. And, the ice cream was delicious!

I’m writing this last leg of this entry on the plane ride back to BA - the alternative to a 40 hour bus ride. Because they were pretty much the same price, we opted for the 3 hours in a plane. Being entertained by Canadian reality shows and eating alfahors is not a bad way to celebrate 21 years of life.

Good trip. =]

Part 2 of 3: Penguinos de la playa

Part 2 of 3: Penguinos de la playa

Later in the week, we booked a took of a nearby penguin colony. Luckily, there were about 350,000 penguins around all posing for their close-ups on this windy and sunshiny day. We walked along the path marked by nothing but differently colored rocks and peeked into the thousands of nests. The penguins, about 44-46 cm tall, could waddle by and fall the short distance to the ground on their bellies to take a nap. A-dorable.

While some were napping, some were standing facing the wind, flapping their wings and honking as loudly as possible. The noise was similar to what I imagine it would sound like to choke a duck.

After the penguins, we stopped in the town of Gaiman, a Welsh village in the middle of Argentina. Their we visited a paleontological museum, MEF, among the best in South America. My favorite was the Argentinosaurus.

We ended the tour in Trelew, another Welsh town that serves as the perfect spot to drink full tea. Included in the spread was unlimited black tea with milk and plates full of buttered breads, scones, cheese with bread, welsh cakes and gingerbread, and other desserts like jellyrolls, cream cheese cake, lemon cake and an apple tort.

Almost all were delicious. My favorite was a tie between the gingerbread (scored big because of the heavenly smell) and the scone, which had the perfect amount of sweetness. The quaint atmosphere of the tea house also contributed to the peaceful afternoon.

We returned to the hostel to make dinner (stir fry) and friends who spoke English. One voluminous redhead, a self described “gap-year traveler” had recently come from Holland to South America to explore the world. Caught between high school and “uni”, he is traveling first through South America, then to Canada to learn how to be a ski instructor. Then, back to Holland to study econometrics... Whatever that is.

Another guy, with a pointy nose and well-loved baseball cap, had a heavy Wisconsin accent despite spending the past two years living and working in Brazil. A Brewers fan, he traveled to AR for his vacation this year, but will return to the US for a week or so in the summer.

Hostels are pretty cool like that - putting you in touch with people from around the world.

On Wednesday, we decided to relax by scaling down a sandy cliff in order to see a colony of elephant seals. The only elephant seal that I had seen before was the one we happened upon while kayaking with the whales. It was alone and Eloise, our guide, told us it was probably dying and didn’t want to be near the others. S/he was grouchy.

But, the elephant seals we saw at this beach were really huge and totally lazy. The rolled over only to get a closer look at us when we approached. Determining that we weren’t much of a threat, they just went back to sleep. We enjoyed getting very close to them and taking about a million pictures. We also saw orcas in the ocean swimming by, which is extremely rare this time of year.

All in all, it was yet again, an awesome experience.

27.5 hours of consecutive traveling later, we had bade farewell to our favorite hostel ever, boarded 3 different buses, and walked over the river and through the woods (truly) to our hostel in El Calafate - a hipster-type, cool kids hostel. We didn’t fit in.