During my long bus ride I met several Isrealis on holiday after conscription. They were all heading to El Bolson, a hippie's paradise about two hours south of where I am now. The way they talked it up I almost hopped off the bus with them. Apparently there is very little in El Bolson, just farms to relax on and a lake and mountains to explore. But I needed to get some laundry done and I was really craving a big steak dinner. Plus I heard some of the best ice cream and chocolate can be found here in Bariloche. So I continued on. Though the Brit I was traveling with did bail.
Bariloche is nothing like a farm town. It is like a ski resort town - very built up with all sorts of little boutique shops and video stores. Fortunately I discovered this hostel(ish) way up on the mountain - seemingly miles removed from the hussle of the town below. Yesterday I had a much needed shower and took my pile of dirty clothes down the footpath to the laundry. Then I enjoyed a grande beer and just sat and stared at the lake and mountains. There was a U.S. photographer and his German girlfriend hanging outside and they invited me to join their dinner of Philly cheese steak sandwiches. I offered a bottle of wine and we watched the sun set and chatted well into the evening.
When they headed to bed, I found a group of four German guys chatting buy the window in the main room. I offered another bottle of wine and we chatted until 2am.
Today I am pulling out the books and the Spanish notebook and finding the hammock I swear I saw in a picture of this place. I may get frisky later and go look for the ice cream everyone is raving about. Then again, maybe that can wait until tomorrow. Right now I am happily digesting the home made bread that was laid out for breakfast. What a life.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
33 Hours Later
Where have I been? Scrambling over Argentina. I just arrived in the lake district after a 33 hour bus ride. Longest to date and not eager to do it again. But I am now staying a really nice place on a hill in Bariloche with amazing views of the lakes and mountains. Nothing to do now but drink wine and stare. I guess that also gives me time to catch up on the blog. I will try to do that as well tonight and tomorrow. Who knows where I left off last. But so much has happened in the past four weeks that I feel it will take months to catch up here online.
I`m just happy to be in one place for a few days. Now if I can just find a cigar shop to compliment my four bottles of wine and my view.
I`m just happy to be in one place for a few days. Now if I can just find a cigar shop to compliment my four bottles of wine and my view.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Back From the Bottom of the World
I just got back to Ushuaia from Antarctica. The trip was by far the most amazing trip I have ever done. I would go back immediately. If it didn´t cost so friggin much. But really, Antarctica is an awesome destination with the most beautiful views I have ever seen. Penguins galore - I think 700 of my 1000 pics are of penguins alone. But there are several shots of whales, leopard seals and the landscape. Problem is I took way too many pics. So unfortunately you will probably have to wait until I am back in the states before those pics get posted along with the stories. I will post a few in the next couple of days as a teaser.
I met two gals from Charlotte and a Brit on my boat who were planning to rent a car and drive to Torres del Paine (look at the Patagonia logo - that´s the place) in Chile. So I am hitching a ride with them for some good hiking and then on to Calafate to see the world´s only growing glacier. After those two stops I am back on my own to head to the lake district of Argentina and Mendoza before heading back to Buenos Aires and then home. It´s almost painful to think that I only have 20 days left. Those of you that are reading at my office, if something has happened and I need to be let go, now woul be a good time to let me know so I can plan on continuing my travels. I am in no hurry to return.
I met two gals from Charlotte and a Brit on my boat who were planning to rent a car and drive to Torres del Paine (look at the Patagonia logo - that´s the place) in Chile. So I am hitching a ride with them for some good hiking and then on to Calafate to see the world´s only growing glacier. After those two stops I am back on my own to head to the lake district of Argentina and Mendoza before heading back to Buenos Aires and then home. It´s almost painful to think that I only have 20 days left. Those of you that are reading at my office, if something has happened and I need to be let go, now woul be a good time to let me know so I can plan on continuing my travels. I am in no hurry to return.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Transition in the Proud City of Civil Unrest
After my tour through the Bolivian salt flats I had to take an all night bus (on more unpaved roads) to the city of Sucre - where my coworker had gone earlier to see his grandparents and recover from a cold. When we bought the bus tickets much earlier, the office had told us the bus would arrive in Sucre at 4am. When I arrived in Sucre at 6:30am, my coworker was still at the bus station, waiting for me to arrive. He informed me that he had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis and it was a good idea he had decided to skip the salt falts and rest at his grandparent`s place.
Sucre was to be a transitional stop. Staying just long enough so my coworker could visit the other side of his family before getting back to La Paz. I had no real desire to stay here (or even stop here), but once I arrived I was very much impressed with the whitewashed city. It`s considered the jewel of Bolivia and I could see why immediately. UNESCO declared it a Cultural Heritage site in 1991 and the city is full of history. Back when Potosi was the richest city in the Americas because of its silver mining, the residents eventually grew tired of its high elevation and the younger people started moving down to Sucre for its preferable climate and elevation. Families moved here to have their children in a cleaner environment, and as more families arrived and those families grew, the need for schools and jobs made the city larger. The silver mines of nearby Potosi made it a wealthy city. After some time Sucre grew so large it became the capitol of Bolivia.
As the city of La Paz, to the northwest, grew in size and wealth (because of the increasing price of its tin) and Sucre became less important (as silver prices dropped) a civil war started between the two cities over which should be the capital city of Bolivia. La Paz won making it the defunct capital. Sucre remained the judiciary capital and the the Supreme Court still convenes here. But there is still strife as the people of Sucre continue to urge the country, and the president they hate, to return the title of capital city to its original place. Demonstrations are happening all the time. In fact, I missed a big demonstration by only a few days when the Supreme Court started the new year. Cars were burned and bottles thrown as a huge group of protesters marched through the streets. The only evidence that remained was a burned out car in front of the Supreme Court when I arrived.
While I was there my coworker and I stayed in his grandfather`s 2nd home; a home away from home where he once tended to his large garden behind the house. When the house was built it was in the country side, even though it was only a 10 minute drive from his original house. Now the city has surrounded the house (a huge soccer stadium is blocks away and can be seen over the house walls). But the large garden remains and is still tended to by a man who lives at the house and maintains the crops for abuelo. The fresh fruits and vegetables that were once grown for family dinners and for friends, are still grown and used for family lunches and snacks. Walking through the large garden, with its variety of crops, I lost the sense of being in a city completely. My coworker showed me the above ground cement pool the grandfather had built to be used for his grandkids and as an irrigation system for the plants. He told me stories of growing up and spending vacations and summers here. Now tall apartment building surround the home, all must be enjoying their view down into the garden.
When it was time for lunch we would cab over to the orginal house and join his grandparents and aunt for a large traditional meal. The helpers (every family has a maid to clean and cook) made some of the best meals I have had during my travels. Abuelo would recount stories from his life and my coworker would translate for me. Afterwards Abuelo and Abuela would walk the halls of the house for exercise. My coworker and I went out to explore the city and its historic streets and buildings. Later in the afternoon we would return for coffee and tea with the family. At night we discovered the Joy Ride Bar, a bar mentioned to me by the aid workers from my Salt Falts trip in Uyuni. The bar had great music and the best mojitos I have ever had (the secret seemed to be the mint shrub they stuffed in the drink).
At night I crashed hard - needing to catch up on sleep missed during the over night bus rides and the tours through the deserts. On the third day we met the Abuelos for breakfast and a long tearful goodbye - they didn`t know when they would see my coworker again. And then tia took us to the airport. We had agreed the 14 hour bus ride to La Paz was out of the question when I $65 plane ticket only took an hour. By lunch I was back in La Paz, the city I had spent less than 24 hours in just before Christmas. And I was also back with the tios and primos from my holidays in Tarija. It was good to see the family again. And it was time to explore the highest capital in the world (even if it wasn`t considered by Sucre residents to be the real capital).
For pictures from my time in Sucre, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705342804/
Sucre was to be a transitional stop. Staying just long enough so my coworker could visit the other side of his family before getting back to La Paz. I had no real desire to stay here (or even stop here), but once I arrived I was very much impressed with the whitewashed city. It`s considered the jewel of Bolivia and I could see why immediately. UNESCO declared it a Cultural Heritage site in 1991 and the city is full of history. Back when Potosi was the richest city in the Americas because of its silver mining, the residents eventually grew tired of its high elevation and the younger people started moving down to Sucre for its preferable climate and elevation. Families moved here to have their children in a cleaner environment, and as more families arrived and those families grew, the need for schools and jobs made the city larger. The silver mines of nearby Potosi made it a wealthy city. After some time Sucre grew so large it became the capitol of Bolivia.
As the city of La Paz, to the northwest, grew in size and wealth (because of the increasing price of its tin) and Sucre became less important (as silver prices dropped) a civil war started between the two cities over which should be the capital city of Bolivia. La Paz won making it the defunct capital. Sucre remained the judiciary capital and the the Supreme Court still convenes here. But there is still strife as the people of Sucre continue to urge the country, and the president they hate, to return the title of capital city to its original place. Demonstrations are happening all the time. In fact, I missed a big demonstration by only a few days when the Supreme Court started the new year. Cars were burned and bottles thrown as a huge group of protesters marched through the streets. The only evidence that remained was a burned out car in front of the Supreme Court when I arrived.
While I was there my coworker and I stayed in his grandfather`s 2nd home; a home away from home where he once tended to his large garden behind the house. When the house was built it was in the country side, even though it was only a 10 minute drive from his original house. Now the city has surrounded the house (a huge soccer stadium is blocks away and can be seen over the house walls). But the large garden remains and is still tended to by a man who lives at the house and maintains the crops for abuelo. The fresh fruits and vegetables that were once grown for family dinners and for friends, are still grown and used for family lunches and snacks. Walking through the large garden, with its variety of crops, I lost the sense of being in a city completely. My coworker showed me the above ground cement pool the grandfather had built to be used for his grandkids and as an irrigation system for the plants. He told me stories of growing up and spending vacations and summers here. Now tall apartment building surround the home, all must be enjoying their view down into the garden.
When it was time for lunch we would cab over to the orginal house and join his grandparents and aunt for a large traditional meal. The helpers (every family has a maid to clean and cook) made some of the best meals I have had during my travels. Abuelo would recount stories from his life and my coworker would translate for me. Afterwards Abuelo and Abuela would walk the halls of the house for exercise. My coworker and I went out to explore the city and its historic streets and buildings. Later in the afternoon we would return for coffee and tea with the family. At night we discovered the Joy Ride Bar, a bar mentioned to me by the aid workers from my Salt Falts trip in Uyuni. The bar had great music and the best mojitos I have ever had (the secret seemed to be the mint shrub they stuffed in the drink).
At night I crashed hard - needing to catch up on sleep missed during the over night bus rides and the tours through the deserts. On the third day we met the Abuelos for breakfast and a long tearful goodbye - they didn`t know when they would see my coworker again. And then tia took us to the airport. We had agreed the 14 hour bus ride to La Paz was out of the question when I $65 plane ticket only took an hour. By lunch I was back in La Paz, the city I had spent less than 24 hours in just before Christmas. And I was also back with the tios and primos from my holidays in Tarija. It was good to see the family again. And it was time to explore the highest capital in the world (even if it wasn`t considered by Sucre residents to be the real capital).
For pictures from my time in Sucre, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705342804/
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Shhhh...I´m Hunting Peengwins
There you go, four more stories to read while I am off exploring Antarctica. That catches me up to about a month ago. Ugh, so far behind. Make some comments while I`m gone and tell me something interesting. Complain about the blog or the stories. Rave about the pictures. Laugh at me because I have only one short month left. Give me something to read when I return in 12 days.
I may try to get in one more entry tomorrow morning depending on how much sleep I get tonight and how much cold weather clothes shopping I do.
Anyway, I am looking forward to hopefully getting a full night`s sleep tonight for the first time in about a week. Buenos Aires was tough on me. Shame on it and it`s yummy bottles of wine. I just hope this bright sky at 11pm doesn`t keep me awake. I am having Iceland flash backs, but without the young Icelandic hipsters out clubbing. Just hippies and old couples. Wish me luck and warmth. I`ll be sending out post cards from Antartica. If you want one, send me an address and I`ll see how much money I have left for stamps.
Hasta Luego
I may try to get in one more entry tomorrow morning depending on how much sleep I get tonight and how much cold weather clothes shopping I do.
Anyway, I am looking forward to hopefully getting a full night`s sleep tonight for the first time in about a week. Buenos Aires was tough on me. Shame on it and it`s yummy bottles of wine. I just hope this bright sky at 11pm doesn`t keep me awake. I am having Iceland flash backs, but without the young Icelandic hipsters out clubbing. Just hippies and old couples. Wish me luck and warmth. I`ll be sending out post cards from Antartica. If you want one, send me an address and I`ll see how much money I have left for stamps.
Hasta Luego
The Scenic Safari Part 2
On day two of the tour the landscapes would change as drastically as the music playing in the car. Our first day we were treated to traditional flute music. I have come to really hate this music. But I was pleasantly surprised to find the Police playing when I climbed into the truck that morning. The music was across the board that day, just like the scenery we would see.
I was up at 6am and into the cafeteria for a bread and bananas breakfast. Not exactly an Americano breakfast, but what can you do. The others in my group gradually made their way out to the table to join me. But no one really talked.
We were in the truck and on the "road" by 7:30am. Most of our day would be spent driving from location to location, none of them being close to each other. In fact, we drove for five straight hours that morning with only random stops for pee breaks. At one point we were in a ghost town where our guide disappeared for 20 minutes doing who knows what. Other times we just stopped along the hills for some one to relieve themselves.
The music changed from the Police to Nirvana to a Swedish mixed CD. The scenery seemed to change with each new CD. We drove past large heards of alpaca and llamas in the middle of no where. We passed tiny villages of farmers. And we passed giant rock cliffs. The driving again made my eyes heavy, but I didn`t want to shut them for fear of missing something.
There were two other trucks following us on our route. One filled with a Brazilian family, the other with the family of the loud German from the bus incedent in Potosi and the aid working couple. When we all stopped for lunch, the guy from Iowa darted out of the truck. Apparently the German guy was driving him crazy - the guy wouldn´t shut up and he was belittling the guide. I kept a healthy distance. Lunch was lame. Disappointing actually. I ate what I could and went off to climb a hill for a better view before we took off again. We drove on to our first real destinations: lagoons. Some times we seemed to be driving along an obvious trail. Other times we seemed to be following light tracks in the dirt.
The lagoons were pretty. Everything was. But our time to see them was limited. Our guide seemed bent on keeping us moving. We seemed bent on slowing him down. We found flamingos at one and made him wait patiently as we crept close and closer to the birds to get a good picture, and they moved farther and farther from us. We drove further into a desert-like area where the landscape seemed to change colors with the breaks in the clouds. Our next stop was the Arbol de Piedra (the rock tree), a rock that had been weathered into the shape of a tree. We took our obligatory pictures, relieved our full bladders and marveled at the colorful sands and other rock formations.
Eventually we made it to Lago Colorado, a lake colored a rosy shade because of the algae in it. Here we apparently entered a portion of the park we needed to pay for and show our passports. Our guide cut off the engine as we all went in to take care of formalities. When we returned, the engine wouldn`t turn over. The other guy and I had to push our truck the 500 meters to our hostel. We were at over 5000 meters elevation, and so when we got the truck parked, I felt like I was hyperventalating. Our new hostel was a bit less extravegant than our previous one. No heat. No hot water. Just 8 blankets on our beds to keep us warm. I stole several more off the bed my coworker was supposed to get. And then I found a small store with wine to make sure I stayed warm. Dinner was even less extravegant than our place. Spaghetti noodles. I think there was sauce, but it could have also been the soup. I settled for bread and my wine and went back to the store for some cookies to tide me over. With nothing to do and the temps so low, we were all in bed early. Our guide told us to be up at 4am so we could get an early start. I had no problem going to bed early. But I did have a problem staying asleep. I tossed almost all night and ended up grumpy when my alarm went off in the dark of the early morning.
There was no breakfast before we got moving. We pulled off in the truck in the dark. Our guide followed truck tracks for the first 15 minutes in the dark, in the middle of a desert. Then he veered of that trail and seemed to just be following his instincts. The moon was just a thin sliver in the sky, but it was the first time I was able to see the entire moon although it was in the shade of the earth. As the sky gradually grew lighter we arrived at a site where the earth opened up and steam poured out and grey mud pits boilded. Our first stop of the day.
There was little to keep people from getting too close to the suflur smelling steam vents. A danger sign marked one particulary large hole. I watched as two older women tempted the fates by edging ever closer to the cusp. It was cold out - we were at the highest elevation of the tour. Our group explored for a short time and then raced back to the car to huddle in the heat spitting from the vents. I passed around the big bag of cookies I had bought the night before. That was breakfast for the time being. We stopped half an hour later at another lake - this one steaming in the cold air. It was thermally heated. And there was a small pool of water where the tourists could take a warm dip. Our guide failed to mention this to us. So we watched as the other groups jumped in with huge smiles brought by the warmth of the waters. I snapped photos. The Swiss girls looked pleadingly at the warm waters. Fifteen minutes later we were all back in the truck heading to Lago Verde. I strolled down to take a picture of the beautiful landscape and meandered around the cliffs surrounding the lake. When I looked back at the jeep I noticed everyone was already back inside. Ugh. Back I trotted.
Our next stop was for breakfast, at the Lago Blanco. Breakfast sucked. I ate more cookies. And then we sat around the lake waiting for the other truck to show. The two Dutch girls, along with the German group from the other truck, were going on to Chile while the rest of us drove back to Uyuni. So we had to wait on the other truck to divide up the passengers. But they had stopped for a dip at the thermal pool. grumble...
When they arrived and we got everyone divided up, I found myself in the other truck with the Isrealies and the aid working couple. The guy from Iowa went on a rant about how annoyed he was traveling with the German. The stories were funny. But we had an eight hour ride back to Uyuni and fortunately converstation changed from bad-mouthing the German to a list over other topics. Until everyone passed out.
I woke to everyone frantically looking for sugary foods and drinks. Apprently our driver had gotten sleepy and was having trouble staying on the road. I tossed the remaining cookies I had into the front seats. It must have done the trick because we were back in Uyuni two hours early. I had plenty of time to kill before my bus to Sucre at 7pm so I checked email and made calls. I was looking forward to my ride because I still had the open seat my coworker gave up when he left earlier. So I could stretch out. But I was later reminded there are no open seats on Bolivian busses. How do you explain to a Bolivian mother and her three kids that they can`t have the empty seat because your friend paid for it already and you want to stretch out? So when an Argentine girl, who missed her earlier bus, asked if she could take the available seat I gave it to her. Better her than a family of four cramped in beside me. Though when I woke up mutch later (some how I managed to sleep a few hours), the Argentine girl was gone and a large, snoring man had taken her place. I didn`t sleep the rest of the way. And we arrived in Sucre two and half hours late.
But all the long commutes were worth that amazing scenery. If you find yourself near Bolivia, brave the unpaved roads and cramped busses to get down to Uyuni. The pictures tell it all...
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
I was up at 6am and into the cafeteria for a bread and bananas breakfast. Not exactly an Americano breakfast, but what can you do. The others in my group gradually made their way out to the table to join me. But no one really talked.
We were in the truck and on the "road" by 7:30am. Most of our day would be spent driving from location to location, none of them being close to each other. In fact, we drove for five straight hours that morning with only random stops for pee breaks. At one point we were in a ghost town where our guide disappeared for 20 minutes doing who knows what. Other times we just stopped along the hills for some one to relieve themselves.
The music changed from the Police to Nirvana to a Swedish mixed CD. The scenery seemed to change with each new CD. We drove past large heards of alpaca and llamas in the middle of no where. We passed tiny villages of farmers. And we passed giant rock cliffs. The driving again made my eyes heavy, but I didn`t want to shut them for fear of missing something.
There were two other trucks following us on our route. One filled with a Brazilian family, the other with the family of the loud German from the bus incedent in Potosi and the aid working couple. When we all stopped for lunch, the guy from Iowa darted out of the truck. Apparently the German guy was driving him crazy - the guy wouldn´t shut up and he was belittling the guide. I kept a healthy distance. Lunch was lame. Disappointing actually. I ate what I could and went off to climb a hill for a better view before we took off again. We drove on to our first real destinations: lagoons. Some times we seemed to be driving along an obvious trail. Other times we seemed to be following light tracks in the dirt.
The lagoons were pretty. Everything was. But our time to see them was limited. Our guide seemed bent on keeping us moving. We seemed bent on slowing him down. We found flamingos at one and made him wait patiently as we crept close and closer to the birds to get a good picture, and they moved farther and farther from us. We drove further into a desert-like area where the landscape seemed to change colors with the breaks in the clouds. Our next stop was the Arbol de Piedra (the rock tree), a rock that had been weathered into the shape of a tree. We took our obligatory pictures, relieved our full bladders and marveled at the colorful sands and other rock formations.
Eventually we made it to Lago Colorado, a lake colored a rosy shade because of the algae in it. Here we apparently entered a portion of the park we needed to pay for and show our passports. Our guide cut off the engine as we all went in to take care of formalities. When we returned, the engine wouldn`t turn over. The other guy and I had to push our truck the 500 meters to our hostel. We were at over 5000 meters elevation, and so when we got the truck parked, I felt like I was hyperventalating. Our new hostel was a bit less extravegant than our previous one. No heat. No hot water. Just 8 blankets on our beds to keep us warm. I stole several more off the bed my coworker was supposed to get. And then I found a small store with wine to make sure I stayed warm. Dinner was even less extravegant than our place. Spaghetti noodles. I think there was sauce, but it could have also been the soup. I settled for bread and my wine and went back to the store for some cookies to tide me over. With nothing to do and the temps so low, we were all in bed early. Our guide told us to be up at 4am so we could get an early start. I had no problem going to bed early. But I did have a problem staying asleep. I tossed almost all night and ended up grumpy when my alarm went off in the dark of the early morning.
There was no breakfast before we got moving. We pulled off in the truck in the dark. Our guide followed truck tracks for the first 15 minutes in the dark, in the middle of a desert. Then he veered of that trail and seemed to just be following his instincts. The moon was just a thin sliver in the sky, but it was the first time I was able to see the entire moon although it was in the shade of the earth. As the sky gradually grew lighter we arrived at a site where the earth opened up and steam poured out and grey mud pits boilded. Our first stop of the day.
There was little to keep people from getting too close to the suflur smelling steam vents. A danger sign marked one particulary large hole. I watched as two older women tempted the fates by edging ever closer to the cusp. It was cold out - we were at the highest elevation of the tour. Our group explored for a short time and then raced back to the car to huddle in the heat spitting from the vents. I passed around the big bag of cookies I had bought the night before. That was breakfast for the time being. We stopped half an hour later at another lake - this one steaming in the cold air. It was thermally heated. And there was a small pool of water where the tourists could take a warm dip. Our guide failed to mention this to us. So we watched as the other groups jumped in with huge smiles brought by the warmth of the waters. I snapped photos. The Swiss girls looked pleadingly at the warm waters. Fifteen minutes later we were all back in the truck heading to Lago Verde. I strolled down to take a picture of the beautiful landscape and meandered around the cliffs surrounding the lake. When I looked back at the jeep I noticed everyone was already back inside. Ugh. Back I trotted.
Our next stop was for breakfast, at the Lago Blanco. Breakfast sucked. I ate more cookies. And then we sat around the lake waiting for the other truck to show. The two Dutch girls, along with the German group from the other truck, were going on to Chile while the rest of us drove back to Uyuni. So we had to wait on the other truck to divide up the passengers. But they had stopped for a dip at the thermal pool. grumble...
When they arrived and we got everyone divided up, I found myself in the other truck with the Isrealies and the aid working couple. The guy from Iowa went on a rant about how annoyed he was traveling with the German. The stories were funny. But we had an eight hour ride back to Uyuni and fortunately converstation changed from bad-mouthing the German to a list over other topics. Until everyone passed out.
I woke to everyone frantically looking for sugary foods and drinks. Apprently our driver had gotten sleepy and was having trouble staying on the road. I tossed the remaining cookies I had into the front seats. It must have done the trick because we were back in Uyuni two hours early. I had plenty of time to kill before my bus to Sucre at 7pm so I checked email and made calls. I was looking forward to my ride because I still had the open seat my coworker gave up when he left earlier. So I could stretch out. But I was later reminded there are no open seats on Bolivian busses. How do you explain to a Bolivian mother and her three kids that they can`t have the empty seat because your friend paid for it already and you want to stretch out? So when an Argentine girl, who missed her earlier bus, asked if she could take the available seat I gave it to her. Better her than a family of four cramped in beside me. Though when I woke up mutch later (some how I managed to sleep a few hours), the Argentine girl was gone and a large, snoring man had taken her place. I didn`t sleep the rest of the way. And we arrived in Sucre two and half hours late.
But all the long commutes were worth that amazing scenery. If you find yourself near Bolivia, brave the unpaved roads and cramped busses to get down to Uyuni. The pictures tell it all...
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
The Scenic Safari Part 1
The morning of our tour of the salt falts, my coworker was feeling much worse. He looked much worse too (no offense bro). But we packed up our bags and made the walk to our tour agency anyway. Here we ditched our bags and went looking for a bus to book back to Sucre after the tour, hopefully for the same night. It took six bus companies but we found one that would get us directly to Sucre without having to stop in Potosi again and without having to switch busses. That secured, it was time for some breakfast before our tour`s departure. I ordered my coworker two large glasses of fruit juices and I downed another Americano breakfast (my favorite - typical).
As we waited at the office for all the provisions to be packed into our truck, my coworker started feeling worse and decided it would be best to skip the trip. Clearly I was bummed. Who was going to take all the pics of me now? Or speak Spanish for me? But he decided he needed to go ahead and catch a bus to Sucre then and rest at his grandparents` house. I couldn`t argue with him and just wished him well as I jumped on board my jeep with the other four people in the group.
My group included two Isrealies who had just finished their conscription and two Swiss girls who unwillingly got stuck in the back of the truck, just over the tires. Everyone was quiet at first; the Swiss girls talking amongst themselves in Swiss-German and the Isrealies talking in Hebrew. And the guide humming flute music to himself. That left me to stare out the window.
Our first stop was our guide`s house where he picked up some laundry. That duty taken care of, we moved on to our first official stop: the train cemetary. Not all that exciting. Not sure why it`s on the tour. Just a bunch of old locamotives abandoned and rusting on the outskirts of the town. We dutifully took pictures and then let the guide know we were done and very much ready to move on. Next it was to a small village that technically, I believe, worked directly gathering the salt for distribution; but seemed to exist soley to sell tourists ashtrays and figurines made our of salt. There was a little salt hotel where everything was made of salt, even the beds (mmm...comfy). And some salt sculptures that a woman tried to charge me 5 soles to view. They weren`t that interesting. We let our guide know we were, again, ready to go.
On to the salt flats. It was wild. We were suddenly surrounded on all sides by white. Lots of white. We made a stop in the drier area of the flats and, skipping the second salt hotel, played with various poses in the salt desert. It took a few goes, but I finally was able to explain to the barely English speaking Swiss gals what I was trying to acheive in my fool-the-eye pics. Though they still couldn`t get most of the pics just right, they did manage to get one the way I wanted it (see photos for bottle posing). Once our guide grew tired of watching us pose with various food packaging, he summounded us to move to the next spot.
We drove further into the flats as the landscape became more and more surreal. The horizon disappeared as the clouds melded into their reflections in the salt water. It felt trippy. Woooaaaaahh.
Watching other trucks in the distance sail across the flats looked like they were flying in mid air. We eventually arrived at Isla Incahuasi in the middle of the flats. Here an "island" full of cactus seemed to rise up from the waters. There were trails to hike up for better views of the surroundings. But mainly the crowds of trucks and their passengers stopped here to have lunch and walk through the salt water. And take more pictures. It was a very cool experience and I am still going back and looking at the pics a month later.
It was getting late in the afternoon and time to get to our hotel for the night. We sailed on through the trippy landscape and I fought off heavy eyes so I could take it all in. My truckmates were out for the final hour`s drive back.
At our hotel, with nothing to do in the two hours before dinner, I ordered a grande beer and pulled a plastic chair outside to watch the sunset. An American from Iowa and his girlfriend, a Dutch gal, joined me as did the Isreali guy. The couple were aid workers and we spent the evening talking about their work and their travels. Dinner was better than expected and bed time was early - in my shared dorm.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
As we waited at the office for all the provisions to be packed into our truck, my coworker started feeling worse and decided it would be best to skip the trip. Clearly I was bummed. Who was going to take all the pics of me now? Or speak Spanish for me? But he decided he needed to go ahead and catch a bus to Sucre then and rest at his grandparents` house. I couldn`t argue with him and just wished him well as I jumped on board my jeep with the other four people in the group.
My group included two Isrealies who had just finished their conscription and two Swiss girls who unwillingly got stuck in the back of the truck, just over the tires. Everyone was quiet at first; the Swiss girls talking amongst themselves in Swiss-German and the Isrealies talking in Hebrew. And the guide humming flute music to himself. That left me to stare out the window.
Our first stop was our guide`s house where he picked up some laundry. That duty taken care of, we moved on to our first official stop: the train cemetary. Not all that exciting. Not sure why it`s on the tour. Just a bunch of old locamotives abandoned and rusting on the outskirts of the town. We dutifully took pictures and then let the guide know we were done and very much ready to move on. Next it was to a small village that technically, I believe, worked directly gathering the salt for distribution; but seemed to exist soley to sell tourists ashtrays and figurines made our of salt. There was a little salt hotel where everything was made of salt, even the beds (mmm...comfy). And some salt sculptures that a woman tried to charge me 5 soles to view. They weren`t that interesting. We let our guide know we were, again, ready to go.
On to the salt flats. It was wild. We were suddenly surrounded on all sides by white. Lots of white. We made a stop in the drier area of the flats and, skipping the second salt hotel, played with various poses in the salt desert. It took a few goes, but I finally was able to explain to the barely English speaking Swiss gals what I was trying to acheive in my fool-the-eye pics. Though they still couldn`t get most of the pics just right, they did manage to get one the way I wanted it (see photos for bottle posing). Once our guide grew tired of watching us pose with various food packaging, he summounded us to move to the next spot.
We drove further into the flats as the landscape became more and more surreal. The horizon disappeared as the clouds melded into their reflections in the salt water. It felt trippy. Woooaaaaahh.
Watching other trucks in the distance sail across the flats looked like they were flying in mid air. We eventually arrived at Isla Incahuasi in the middle of the flats. Here an "island" full of cactus seemed to rise up from the waters. There were trails to hike up for better views of the surroundings. But mainly the crowds of trucks and their passengers stopped here to have lunch and walk through the salt water. And take more pictures. It was a very cool experience and I am still going back and looking at the pics a month later.
It was getting late in the afternoon and time to get to our hotel for the night. We sailed on through the trippy landscape and I fought off heavy eyes so I could take it all in. My truckmates were out for the final hour`s drive back.
At our hotel, with nothing to do in the two hours before dinner, I ordered a grande beer and pulled a plastic chair outside to watch the sunset. An American from Iowa and his girlfriend, a Dutch gal, joined me as did the Isreali guy. The couple were aid workers and we spent the evening talking about their work and their travels. Dinner was better than expected and bed time was early - in my shared dorm.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
Bouncing Across Bolivia on Unpaved Roads
Waking up on January 2nd was a struggle. The 30 hours of solid drinking had exhausted me. But it was finally time to leave Tarija, my coworkers family, and the comforts of being chauffered around on paved roads. We were off to see the salt flats of Bolivia, the largest in the world and the other highlight of my trip to this country, and I needed to get moving so we could catch our bus across the country.
I moved very slowly. Papito made home-made ravioli for lunch. This dish had been talked up all week and had anxiously been waiting for him to get down to it. It was delicious (well worth all the hype) and helped get me moving a bit more quickly.
That afternoon we checked on busses going in our direction. It wasn`t easy. Several were full. Most didn`t go exactly where we wanted to end up. We finally settled on an over-night bus to Potosi, the highest city in the world. There we would find another bus going to Uyuni and the salt flats. We figured an over-night bus would save us time as we could just sleep as we made our way to our destination. By daybreak we would be well rested and ready for our next bus. We were that niave.
Tio got us back to the bus station later that afternoon in time to catch our 6pm bus. The bus left much to be desired - including shocks. And we were seated in the back, right on top of the wheels. It was only about 40 minutes later, when the bus took a left turn off the paved road and onto a dirt road, that we realized we would be getting no sleep that night. Just to test the waters, I pulled out my iPod in an attempt to block out the droning of the rattling windows. And I discovered all of my music had been erased. Strike three.
There was no bathroom on the bus, so 2.5 hours into the trip we pulled off at a small village surviving soley on the stopped busses. A collection of small restaurants (I use this word loosely) and shops sat in the middle of no where, way up in the mountains. Looking for, and not finding a bathroom, I took a cue from the women squating near a stream and walked down to some bushes. The tall grass hid the stream/sewage water, and I stepped right into it up to my shins. That would be a smell that wouldn`t leave my boots and socks for another two weeks. The driver said we would stop here for 20 minutes. We were stopped for close to an hour. Not such a big deal unless you find yourself locked on the bus as my coworker did. The driver locked the bus after he got off. My worker was just going to chill in the bus for the 20 minutes. But when the 20 minutes came and went, he decided he wanted off. Thems the breaks.
Since we couldn`t sleep as we bounced all over our seat that night, my coworker brought out his iPhone and we watched a movie. Then another. Then another. Then we just sat in the dark and tried to will ourselves to sleep. No luck. I hate busses in Bolivia.
At 5am we finally arrived in Potosi. Exhausted and broken we got off the bus and went walking through the cold air (an unwelcome change from the warmer air of Tarija only 11 hours earlier) towards the bus station across the street. People laid on the floors of the station covered in layers of blankets or burried in sleeping bags, waiting for bus offices to open or their bus to leave. Everyone looked cold. We couldn`t find a bus office advertizing Uyuni and finally asked some one how to get there. There was a street just 10 minutes away full of bus companies offering rides there. Why they were operating there and not out of the bus station like everyone else I have no idea. But it seemed to fit with the overall oddity of S America. So we taxi`d there at 5:20am. Everything was, of course, closed. And now we didn`t have the slightly warmer bus station to keep us slightly more comfy. We out in it and cold. We asked a man on the street what time the offices opened. He shrugged. We asked another man. He thought maybe 8:30. sigh.
So we waited. We met another backpacker as we waited, a Bolivian out seeing his country during a 10 day vacation. We passed some of the time talking to him. Actually my worker did, as they talked to each other in Spanish. They took pity on me every 15 minutes or so and offered some English for me. But then it was right back to Spanish.
When the offices opened at 8am, we quickly snatched up two tickets for the first bus leaving at 10:30. That was a little too much more time to kill standing in the cold so we decided to catch a cab into the city center and see what it had to offer for a couple of hours. We found a warm cafe with free internet. Dos Americano breakfasts por favor. We slowly warmed up. With little enthusiasm, and an increasingly heavy backpack, we walked around the city plaza and down the colonial streets of this UNESCO World Heritage sight. It was raining. We grew tired of exploring quickly. Why not just wait in the bus office? Good idea.
The bus was running late. Or so the office manager said. It seemed more like it was not working and thus not coming. An older german man waiting for the same bus threw a fit and demanded his money back. The manager hid from him in another agency`s office. He found a cop. The cop seemed to have little sympathy for either of them as he clearly wanted to just be inside where it was warm. But the man managed to get his money back. Then he suggested we do the same and go across the street to the other bus company. We discussed it, decided we didn`t want to be stuck there, and my coworker offered to argue for our money as I went across the street to buy two tickets on the other bus. When I returned he had not yet gotten the money back. The manager was hiding again. Tickets were only about $4 so we decided to eat the cost and just go with whichever left first.
Our first choice finally arrived and we decided to go with it. I hoisted my big pack to be tied down on top of the bus. We boarded. It wasn`t pretty. And it was very tight. We looked across the street at what seemed to be a much larger bus. Off our bus we went. My coworker pleaded with the man on top of the bus to untie and lower my pack again. And across the street we jogged. The bus wasn`t in much better condition. But my bag would go underneath (out of the rain) and there were fewer people on board so it felt less squeezed.
The 7 hour trip to Uyuni only took 5 hours. This was because our driver refused to stop. It was bittersweet. I wanted to get threre quickly to secure a tour of the salt flats for the next day. But I also needed to pee. Badly. And we were on another unpaved road which didn`t help my bladder.
When we arrived we went looking for a hotel in the small town with flooded streets and walkways. It was an ugly town. And the rain didn`t help me appreciate it any more. But the bathroom at the hotel did. Checked in and bags ditched we went looking for a tour operator. We found three with varying levels of costs and offers. When one later told us they didn`t have enough people to form a tour, we went with the one that seemed to have a shred competency. Now, time to eat.
Excited to find the pizza place our guide book touted as "Uyuni`s best all around choice", we went off in search with stomachs growling. But we couldn`t find it. On the second try we discovered it inside a hotel. But it was closed due to lack of customers. So we settled on a random pizza place, with painfully slow service, near the hostel. My worker was growing increasingly more sick and couldn`t finish his meal. With our three day tour taking us into the middle of no where, we called it an early night and went to bed. It was nice to close my eyes and lay in something that didn`t move. It wouldn`t last.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and the journey there, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
I moved very slowly. Papito made home-made ravioli for lunch. This dish had been talked up all week and had anxiously been waiting for him to get down to it. It was delicious (well worth all the hype) and helped get me moving a bit more quickly.
That afternoon we checked on busses going in our direction. It wasn`t easy. Several were full. Most didn`t go exactly where we wanted to end up. We finally settled on an over-night bus to Potosi, the highest city in the world. There we would find another bus going to Uyuni and the salt flats. We figured an over-night bus would save us time as we could just sleep as we made our way to our destination. By daybreak we would be well rested and ready for our next bus. We were that niave.
Tio got us back to the bus station later that afternoon in time to catch our 6pm bus. The bus left much to be desired - including shocks. And we were seated in the back, right on top of the wheels. It was only about 40 minutes later, when the bus took a left turn off the paved road and onto a dirt road, that we realized we would be getting no sleep that night. Just to test the waters, I pulled out my iPod in an attempt to block out the droning of the rattling windows. And I discovered all of my music had been erased. Strike three.
There was no bathroom on the bus, so 2.5 hours into the trip we pulled off at a small village surviving soley on the stopped busses. A collection of small restaurants (I use this word loosely) and shops sat in the middle of no where, way up in the mountains. Looking for, and not finding a bathroom, I took a cue from the women squating near a stream and walked down to some bushes. The tall grass hid the stream/sewage water, and I stepped right into it up to my shins. That would be a smell that wouldn`t leave my boots and socks for another two weeks. The driver said we would stop here for 20 minutes. We were stopped for close to an hour. Not such a big deal unless you find yourself locked on the bus as my coworker did. The driver locked the bus after he got off. My worker was just going to chill in the bus for the 20 minutes. But when the 20 minutes came and went, he decided he wanted off. Thems the breaks.
Since we couldn`t sleep as we bounced all over our seat that night, my coworker brought out his iPhone and we watched a movie. Then another. Then another. Then we just sat in the dark and tried to will ourselves to sleep. No luck. I hate busses in Bolivia.
At 5am we finally arrived in Potosi. Exhausted and broken we got off the bus and went walking through the cold air (an unwelcome change from the warmer air of Tarija only 11 hours earlier) towards the bus station across the street. People laid on the floors of the station covered in layers of blankets or burried in sleeping bags, waiting for bus offices to open or their bus to leave. Everyone looked cold. We couldn`t find a bus office advertizing Uyuni and finally asked some one how to get there. There was a street just 10 minutes away full of bus companies offering rides there. Why they were operating there and not out of the bus station like everyone else I have no idea. But it seemed to fit with the overall oddity of S America. So we taxi`d there at 5:20am. Everything was, of course, closed. And now we didn`t have the slightly warmer bus station to keep us slightly more comfy. We out in it and cold. We asked a man on the street what time the offices opened. He shrugged. We asked another man. He thought maybe 8:30. sigh.
So we waited. We met another backpacker as we waited, a Bolivian out seeing his country during a 10 day vacation. We passed some of the time talking to him. Actually my worker did, as they talked to each other in Spanish. They took pity on me every 15 minutes or so and offered some English for me. But then it was right back to Spanish.
When the offices opened at 8am, we quickly snatched up two tickets for the first bus leaving at 10:30. That was a little too much more time to kill standing in the cold so we decided to catch a cab into the city center and see what it had to offer for a couple of hours. We found a warm cafe with free internet. Dos Americano breakfasts por favor. We slowly warmed up. With little enthusiasm, and an increasingly heavy backpack, we walked around the city plaza and down the colonial streets of this UNESCO World Heritage sight. It was raining. We grew tired of exploring quickly. Why not just wait in the bus office? Good idea.
The bus was running late. Or so the office manager said. It seemed more like it was not working and thus not coming. An older german man waiting for the same bus threw a fit and demanded his money back. The manager hid from him in another agency`s office. He found a cop. The cop seemed to have little sympathy for either of them as he clearly wanted to just be inside where it was warm. But the man managed to get his money back. Then he suggested we do the same and go across the street to the other bus company. We discussed it, decided we didn`t want to be stuck there, and my coworker offered to argue for our money as I went across the street to buy two tickets on the other bus. When I returned he had not yet gotten the money back. The manager was hiding again. Tickets were only about $4 so we decided to eat the cost and just go with whichever left first.
Our first choice finally arrived and we decided to go with it. I hoisted my big pack to be tied down on top of the bus. We boarded. It wasn`t pretty. And it was very tight. We looked across the street at what seemed to be a much larger bus. Off our bus we went. My coworker pleaded with the man on top of the bus to untie and lower my pack again. And across the street we jogged. The bus wasn`t in much better condition. But my bag would go underneath (out of the rain) and there were fewer people on board so it felt less squeezed.
The 7 hour trip to Uyuni only took 5 hours. This was because our driver refused to stop. It was bittersweet. I wanted to get threre quickly to secure a tour of the salt flats for the next day. But I also needed to pee. Badly. And we were on another unpaved road which didn`t help my bladder.
When we arrived we went looking for a hotel in the small town with flooded streets and walkways. It was an ugly town. And the rain didn`t help me appreciate it any more. But the bathroom at the hotel did. Checked in and bags ditched we went looking for a tour operator. We found three with varying levels of costs and offers. When one later told us they didn`t have enough people to form a tour, we went with the one that seemed to have a shred competency. Now, time to eat.
Excited to find the pizza place our guide book touted as "Uyuni`s best all around choice", we went off in search with stomachs growling. But we couldn`t find it. On the second try we discovered it inside a hotel. But it was closed due to lack of customers. So we settled on a random pizza place, with painfully slow service, near the hostel. My worker was growing increasingly more sick and couldn`t finish his meal. With our three day tour taking us into the middle of no where, we called it an early night and went to bed. It was nice to close my eyes and lay in something that didn`t move. It wouldn`t last.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and the journey there, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
This Family Likes to Drink - And I Get No Sleep
Christmas morning I woke up hungover. That was a first.
There was nobody gathered around a Christmas tree eagerly awaiting presents. That was also a first. There were no presents to hand out. The smallest cousin got his Wii the night before and that was it for presents. On the actual day of Christmas the idea was just to spend time with the family. And we did this at a public pool. Another first.
The first thing I did on Christmas day was call home to wish my family a merry Christmas. That was about the only thing I did that day that seemed tied to the holiday.
The pool outing was interesting. We all piled into two trucks and drove to this large, German-run pool complete with basketball courts and a bar. It was a little chilly and about to storm, so my coworker and I made a b-line to the bar as the uncles went straight into the pool. We watched them play and carry on from the comfort of the bar. Until the thunderstorm started. And then we were all huddled into the small bar. So after an hour at the pool, it was back to the house.
The following days were fairly routine. Random relatives would drop in each day to say hello and pay their respects to Papito. We would generally sleep in as late as possible - usually until one of the cousins couldn´t wait any longer for the nicer shower in our bathroom and come through waking us up. Afternoons we would eat a big lunch and later we would go to the Puente, a large covered area by a bridge where locals sold various foods cooked on-site and other locals gorged themselves on these empanadas, ahmintas, and home-made sweet drinks. At night the cousins who were old enough (and one who wasn´t) went out to dip into Tarija`s night life. Tarija`s night life is apparently at it`s peak this time a year, when kids from all over the country are in town visiting family. It`s remarkable; sort of like American families who know other families only by the time they spend with them at the beach or other annual vacation spots. All the kids know each other from the two weeks a year they see each other out at the bars and clubs in Tarija. But Tarija isn`t really a backpackers destination. So, being one of the only gringos in the city, I stood out at the bars and clubs. I am sure people will remember me, too, when I go back next year. At the end of the night, usually around 5am or later, we would stumble to our beds and sleep as late as possible the next morning.
This routine was occasionally broken up. We would go out to a big dinner at a restaurant. And one day we visited one of Tarija`s vineyards - Tarija is home to the highest vineyards in the world. Another full day of drinking wine.
But all this eating and drinking finally took its toll on me on the eve of New Year`s eve. After another trip to the Puente, my stomach started to cramp something awful. I had been waiting for this. So far I had been fairly lucky with my eating adventures in S America. In fact, I had started to believe I was immune to all the dangers that come with eating foods my weak American stomach isn`t used to. But now my stomach was in bad shape (I blamed the fried cornmeal from the Puente - I had serious doubts about the hygiene of the woman cooking them in the big black, crusty pan) and I wasn`t excited about having pissbutt the day before big parties were supposed to go down.
All day New Years eve I was trying various combinations of pills hoping to relieve my stomach of its burden and better my chances of having a decent New Years out. Who celebrates New Years in a different country without drinking? Not this gringo. Pepto wasn`t working; the white, toxic drink tio gave me to down (with a pinched nose) wasn`t working; even the drugs proccured from a drive-thru pharmacy were only stopping the pains for a few minutes at a time. I relunctantly avoided the asado-cooked meats offered up for lunch that day and the glasses of wine that accompanied them. I spent most of the day lying on the bed watching whatever movies I could find in English (and some that weren`t). As each hour ticked down I prayed for my stomach to grant me this one night. I promised it could be as upset as it wanted to be on January 2nd. But tonight was my night.
It didn`t listen. And so I decided to ignore it.
The family toasted away on the patio and I took no part in these toasts. But when it came time for the cousins to pile into the car for the formal party we had all bought tickets for earlier in the week, I clinched my stomach and made my way gingerly to the car. My coworker and I discovered a few days after we bought the tickets to this event that it was a formal one. Neither of us had anything remotely resembling something formal. His cousin, all decked out in her formal dress, didn`t make us feel any more confident in our jeans and button-up club shirts. But we went anyway.
And when we arrived and saw all the guys in attendance wearing suits, we pretended not to care and went for the free drinks. An hour later, when the heavens opened up and let forth the mighty roar of a heavy downpour, we smiled at each other and watched as the fancy shmucks all dolled up for their party got drenched or clung to each other as they pressed to the edges of the meager tents set up outside. The last laugh was on me, though, when I got stuck talking to one of the more boring of these shmucks for hours while everyone darted off to the dance floor. And there was no ditching him. For two hours I listened to him drag on about how great American music was (using some interesting examples to illustrate his point) and how good he was at mimicking their sounds with his band. When he excused himself to head to the bathroom I darted in the opposite direction to find my coworker and curse him for stranding me (I had been waiting for this moment, wondering how long a guy downing mug after mug of beer and glass after glass of whiskey could possibly hold it for so long).
As the party wound down, and I got slightly more eniberated with each drink I could find, the sun started to breach the horizon. I was ready for sleep. The cousins weren`t. Apprently there was an after party in the main plaza. It took very little convincing to get me to go. My coworker wasn`t biting. He went straight to bed. And, at 7am, instead of going to sleep, I followed the cousins to the city`s plaza where everyone who was at the party, and still dressed in their formals, were drinking beers (etc) from boxes by their feet.
It was here I learned about the strong feelings of distaste for one another that each half of Bolivia felt for the other. Well, mostly how much people from Tarija don`t like people from La Paz. The people of Tarija, in general, are not fans of the president and blame the people of La Paz for putting him in office. They don`t stop to consider that these people visiting Tarija are mostly white and don`t like Evo Morales either. Or the large amounts of alcohol in their systems at this point didn`t let them stop to think that point through. And these huge amounts of alcohol only fueled this dislike. Fights broke out every where. Over something as simple as a different accent.
Some how I managed to avoid all these confrontations. In fact, the only incident I encountered was a guy offering me his pink tie when I mentioned how much I liked it. For the rest of the morning I felt a bit more formal. Even as I got progressively more drunk. As the time coasted toward noon, the visitors from La Paz started heading home, and the locals of Tarija broke out into song. The sight of the man bent over himself on a park bench with a puddle of vomit in front of him was enough to convince me it was time to call it quits. And home we went.
Only to be told we needed to get ready for Papito`s birthday party. I made the effort to at least shower the previous party off of me before getting back into the car to be shuttled to another tio`s house for the big BBQ. My stomach had long since ceased to be in pain. Or it was so full of booze that it was numb to the pain. So when crusified pig was offered up, I dove in. When more wine was offered, I dove in. And my buzz continued. My sensitivity grew. I told my coworker how much I appreciated being with his family during the holidays. It was a hushed, serious moment. But one that was overheard by the tios. They pressed me to make a formal annoucement telling the entire family what I had just told my coworker. They weren`t taking no for an answer. And so I suddenly found myself standing in front of the entire family, seventh glass of wine in hand, telling them how much I appreciated each of them. They didn`t understand a word, so my coworker stood beside me and translated. There were toasts. There were hugs and kisses and offers to host me next year. Eventually me, my coworker and the tios were hugging, eyes welled-up, telling each other how much we loved each other, man. It was a mess. But an endearing mess. I felt loved. And very drunk. The hours after this are a blur. Drinks were spilled, shirts were changed, and at some point I found myself sitting at a restaurant in the middle of the night, drinking more.
I think around this point I was found to be sleeping at the table and we called it a night at 1am only to come home and break out more wine and more toasts. Some how I managed to find my bed around 4am. At least I think it was 4am. The next day I would leave Tarija and my second family on a bus bound for Bolivia`s salt flats. My liver needed the break.
For pictures of my New Years in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
There was nobody gathered around a Christmas tree eagerly awaiting presents. That was also a first. There were no presents to hand out. The smallest cousin got his Wii the night before and that was it for presents. On the actual day of Christmas the idea was just to spend time with the family. And we did this at a public pool. Another first.
The first thing I did on Christmas day was call home to wish my family a merry Christmas. That was about the only thing I did that day that seemed tied to the holiday.
The pool outing was interesting. We all piled into two trucks and drove to this large, German-run pool complete with basketball courts and a bar. It was a little chilly and about to storm, so my coworker and I made a b-line to the bar as the uncles went straight into the pool. We watched them play and carry on from the comfort of the bar. Until the thunderstorm started. And then we were all huddled into the small bar. So after an hour at the pool, it was back to the house.
The following days were fairly routine. Random relatives would drop in each day to say hello and pay their respects to Papito. We would generally sleep in as late as possible - usually until one of the cousins couldn´t wait any longer for the nicer shower in our bathroom and come through waking us up. Afternoons we would eat a big lunch and later we would go to the Puente, a large covered area by a bridge where locals sold various foods cooked on-site and other locals gorged themselves on these empanadas, ahmintas, and home-made sweet drinks. At night the cousins who were old enough (and one who wasn´t) went out to dip into Tarija`s night life. Tarija`s night life is apparently at it`s peak this time a year, when kids from all over the country are in town visiting family. It`s remarkable; sort of like American families who know other families only by the time they spend with them at the beach or other annual vacation spots. All the kids know each other from the two weeks a year they see each other out at the bars and clubs in Tarija. But Tarija isn`t really a backpackers destination. So, being one of the only gringos in the city, I stood out at the bars and clubs. I am sure people will remember me, too, when I go back next year. At the end of the night, usually around 5am or later, we would stumble to our beds and sleep as late as possible the next morning.
This routine was occasionally broken up. We would go out to a big dinner at a restaurant. And one day we visited one of Tarija`s vineyards - Tarija is home to the highest vineyards in the world. Another full day of drinking wine.
But all this eating and drinking finally took its toll on me on the eve of New Year`s eve. After another trip to the Puente, my stomach started to cramp something awful. I had been waiting for this. So far I had been fairly lucky with my eating adventures in S America. In fact, I had started to believe I was immune to all the dangers that come with eating foods my weak American stomach isn`t used to. But now my stomach was in bad shape (I blamed the fried cornmeal from the Puente - I had serious doubts about the hygiene of the woman cooking them in the big black, crusty pan) and I wasn`t excited about having pissbutt the day before big parties were supposed to go down.
All day New Years eve I was trying various combinations of pills hoping to relieve my stomach of its burden and better my chances of having a decent New Years out. Who celebrates New Years in a different country without drinking? Not this gringo. Pepto wasn`t working; the white, toxic drink tio gave me to down (with a pinched nose) wasn`t working; even the drugs proccured from a drive-thru pharmacy were only stopping the pains for a few minutes at a time. I relunctantly avoided the asado-cooked meats offered up for lunch that day and the glasses of wine that accompanied them. I spent most of the day lying on the bed watching whatever movies I could find in English (and some that weren`t). As each hour ticked down I prayed for my stomach to grant me this one night. I promised it could be as upset as it wanted to be on January 2nd. But tonight was my night.
It didn`t listen. And so I decided to ignore it.
The family toasted away on the patio and I took no part in these toasts. But when it came time for the cousins to pile into the car for the formal party we had all bought tickets for earlier in the week, I clinched my stomach and made my way gingerly to the car. My coworker and I discovered a few days after we bought the tickets to this event that it was a formal one. Neither of us had anything remotely resembling something formal. His cousin, all decked out in her formal dress, didn`t make us feel any more confident in our jeans and button-up club shirts. But we went anyway.
And when we arrived and saw all the guys in attendance wearing suits, we pretended not to care and went for the free drinks. An hour later, when the heavens opened up and let forth the mighty roar of a heavy downpour, we smiled at each other and watched as the fancy shmucks all dolled up for their party got drenched or clung to each other as they pressed to the edges of the meager tents set up outside. The last laugh was on me, though, when I got stuck talking to one of the more boring of these shmucks for hours while everyone darted off to the dance floor. And there was no ditching him. For two hours I listened to him drag on about how great American music was (using some interesting examples to illustrate his point) and how good he was at mimicking their sounds with his band. When he excused himself to head to the bathroom I darted in the opposite direction to find my coworker and curse him for stranding me (I had been waiting for this moment, wondering how long a guy downing mug after mug of beer and glass after glass of whiskey could possibly hold it for so long).
As the party wound down, and I got slightly more eniberated with each drink I could find, the sun started to breach the horizon. I was ready for sleep. The cousins weren`t. Apprently there was an after party in the main plaza. It took very little convincing to get me to go. My coworker wasn`t biting. He went straight to bed. And, at 7am, instead of going to sleep, I followed the cousins to the city`s plaza where everyone who was at the party, and still dressed in their formals, were drinking beers (etc) from boxes by their feet.
It was here I learned about the strong feelings of distaste for one another that each half of Bolivia felt for the other. Well, mostly how much people from Tarija don`t like people from La Paz. The people of Tarija, in general, are not fans of the president and blame the people of La Paz for putting him in office. They don`t stop to consider that these people visiting Tarija are mostly white and don`t like Evo Morales either. Or the large amounts of alcohol in their systems at this point didn`t let them stop to think that point through. And these huge amounts of alcohol only fueled this dislike. Fights broke out every where. Over something as simple as a different accent.
Some how I managed to avoid all these confrontations. In fact, the only incident I encountered was a guy offering me his pink tie when I mentioned how much I liked it. For the rest of the morning I felt a bit more formal. Even as I got progressively more drunk. As the time coasted toward noon, the visitors from La Paz started heading home, and the locals of Tarija broke out into song. The sight of the man bent over himself on a park bench with a puddle of vomit in front of him was enough to convince me it was time to call it quits. And home we went.
Only to be told we needed to get ready for Papito`s birthday party. I made the effort to at least shower the previous party off of me before getting back into the car to be shuttled to another tio`s house for the big BBQ. My stomach had long since ceased to be in pain. Or it was so full of booze that it was numb to the pain. So when crusified pig was offered up, I dove in. When more wine was offered, I dove in. And my buzz continued. My sensitivity grew. I told my coworker how much I appreciated being with his family during the holidays. It was a hushed, serious moment. But one that was overheard by the tios. They pressed me to make a formal annoucement telling the entire family what I had just told my coworker. They weren`t taking no for an answer. And so I suddenly found myself standing in front of the entire family, seventh glass of wine in hand, telling them how much I appreciated each of them. They didn`t understand a word, so my coworker stood beside me and translated. There were toasts. There were hugs and kisses and offers to host me next year. Eventually me, my coworker and the tios were hugging, eyes welled-up, telling each other how much we loved each other, man. It was a mess. But an endearing mess. I felt loved. And very drunk. The hours after this are a blur. Drinks were spilled, shirts were changed, and at some point I found myself sitting at a restaurant in the middle of the night, drinking more.
I think around this point I was found to be sleeping at the table and we called it a night at 1am only to come home and break out more wine and more toasts. Some how I managed to find my bed around 4am. At least I think it was 4am. The next day I would leave Tarija and my second family on a bus bound for Bolivia`s salt flats. My liver needed the break.
For pictures of my New Years in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Random Thoughts on My Short Time in Brazil
Portugues is an odd sounding language that I never seemed to get. It`s hard to describe what it sounds like. Some people speak it and sound like Milla Jovovich`s character in The 5th Element. Others sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. It`s sort of like a sexy mix of German and Spanish.
The buses in Brazil were so much better than Bolivia. More comfortable, smelled better, functioning tvs (and no reggaeton), bathrooms, and paved roads. But the cost is several times more.
I am finally finished with the high-altitudes portion of my trip. Thankfully.
I have entered the high-costs portion of my trip. Brazil was ridiculously expensive. The dollar trades at 1.78 to 1 but everything in Brazil is twice as expensive. So I didn´t end up saving any money. I have no idea how the people, who live on a minimum wage of $400 a month, survive with those prices.
I rode a horse. It was a bit scary. He liked to break into a gallop fairly often and I almost fell off three times. I am not that comfortable with horses. Nor did I think to wear thick pants for the ride. My legs were completely chafed the next day. And my arse felt like I had been in an American prison over-night.
Birds in the Pantanal sound like screaming kids. It`s annoying during the day and terrifying in the middle of the night when you are half awake.
My guide in the Pantanal described all the mosquitos there as a sort of water torture that weeds out the weak. I was slapping myself silly for five days.
I watched a dog hump a large pig there. Think about the results of that...
There are lots of obese people in Southern Brazil. I think it`s because of the heat. I just wanted to sit around and not do anything either.
Do you know the mother who ignores her screaming child as it bounces around public places annoying everyone? Both mother and child were on my bus out of the Pantanal.
Apparently giving a thumbs up in Brazil is the equivilant of saying "thanks".
The buses in Brazil were so much better than Bolivia. More comfortable, smelled better, functioning tvs (and no reggaeton), bathrooms, and paved roads. But the cost is several times more.
I am finally finished with the high-altitudes portion of my trip. Thankfully.
I have entered the high-costs portion of my trip. Brazil was ridiculously expensive. The dollar trades at 1.78 to 1 but everything in Brazil is twice as expensive. So I didn´t end up saving any money. I have no idea how the people, who live on a minimum wage of $400 a month, survive with those prices.
I rode a horse. It was a bit scary. He liked to break into a gallop fairly often and I almost fell off three times. I am not that comfortable with horses. Nor did I think to wear thick pants for the ride. My legs were completely chafed the next day. And my arse felt like I had been in an American prison over-night.
Birds in the Pantanal sound like screaming kids. It`s annoying during the day and terrifying in the middle of the night when you are half awake.
My guide in the Pantanal described all the mosquitos there as a sort of water torture that weeds out the weak. I was slapping myself silly for five days.
I watched a dog hump a large pig there. Think about the results of that...
There are lots of obese people in Southern Brazil. I think it`s because of the heat. I just wanted to sit around and not do anything either.
Do you know the mother who ignores her screaming child as it bounces around public places annoying everyone? Both mother and child were on my bus out of the Pantanal.
Apparently giving a thumbs up in Brazil is the equivilant of saying "thanks".
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