northampton, ma

Having a hard time figuring out what to write. I know that I should write something since one day I will look back on this blog and want to know what my mindset was upon going back home. This blog has been as much a place to store memories as it was entertainment to both myself and friends back at home. So I will say it: regret and sadness. Regret that the realities of life pull me back home, sadness that this trip cannot continue for the forseeable future. This trip would be the first where upon going home I do not feel any sort of relief or gladness to be returning. Every previous time I had that semi-excited feeling to be returning, sort of like when you are a kid and the end of August is near and you for some reason are actually looking forward to be going back to school. My attitude towards returning is one of simple ambivalence: I know it won't be as bad as I am imagining now, but then again it won't be all that great either.

This trip has firmly convinced me that travel is the meaning of my short term future, and that my life must be structured to allow me the freedom of leaving home on a yearly basis. So many places out there demand me to visit, Southeast Asia, Japan, Turkey and Syria and Jordan, Brasil and Colombia. Hell I haven't even satisfied my desires to see the countries that I have already visited on this trip. Patagonia in Argentina and Chile, the Amazon in Bolivia, and the high Andes in Peru are places I was unable to visit on this go-round, leaving me the strong desire to return in short order. The dream of flying to Buenos Aires, bussing to Patagonia and then travelling overland all the way back to California is an especially strong temptation at the moment.

I have seen and done amazing things. Mountainous sand dunes to play in on Peru's coast. Nearly untouristed center of the Andes between Lima and Cusco. 1000 feet above Machu Picchu on the tip of a jagged mountain. Descending the deepest canyon in the world. The crystalline waters of Lake Titicaca, and the moonscape of Isla del Sol. The breathtaking beauty of the yungas. The inequalities of La Paz. The Mine of Moria that is Potosí. The otherwordly place that is the Salar de Uyuni, where ground is pure white and sky the darkest blue. Roadtripping around Salta and debauchery in Buenos Aires. Snowboarding in Bariloche, starting at the rooftop of the Andes and cruising down to apres ski at the lodge bar. Seeing the Volcano Villarrica glow red at night from my hostel window in Pucon.

And other things: shaving my beard into a handlebar mustache on a lark, pretending I was mute in Arequipa so a drug dealer would leave me alone, playing countless games of poker and pool, walked through terraced coca plantations, turning a simple song by the Pixies into the themesong of my trip, actually getting to read for pleasure, drinking the incredibly awful mixture that is Bailey's and lemon juice, nearly breaking my ankle outside a pub, a robbery in a Lima taxicab, learning how annoying eating out for 3 straight months gets, realizing that paved roads make the world go-round, and never once again taking for granted a good hot shower.

I should probably also mention the names of the people that I have shared my trip with: Yanet, Mark and Celine, Eliza, Sam and Adrian, Matt and Emma, Kelly and Tanya, Rachel, Silje and Mara, Jeff and Tom and Sabrina, Star, Nir and Andy, and last but not least, Tullia and Mary and Katie.

It's been a blast. It's also been mentally stimulating in a different manner. At home I study the Third World, and here I got to witness it first hand. One cannot completely grasp the situation in the developing world simply from articles or essays or a professor's lecture. There is a missing piece there, and that is first-hand visual experience. La Paz and Lima really opened up my eyes (pardon the cliche) in this regards. Argentina did as well, but in a different way. The problems of Lima and La Paz hit you square in the face, you've but to look around to figure out the state of the people in these nations. Argentina has been a different beast entirely. On the surface it looks as regal and as well-monied as many European countries. Buenos Aires could pass for Lisbon or Budapest. But since the economic crisis and the devaluation of the local currency, the country has been one with a first world facade and a third world infrastructure. That such a rich nation could meet such a disastrous end is an eye opener, indicative of the inequities of the global economic order and the difficulties which face the countries in the southern hemisphere.

Wish me luck if you are reading this: I have a 10 hour bus ride tonight to Santiago, followed by flights to Buenos Aires and Lima tomorrow, then flights to San Jose, San Salvador and San Francisco on Saturday, and then a 2 hour car ride back home to Sacramento in the wee hours of Sunday. In short I leave tonight at 9 pm for my return home, and will not arrive at home until about 2:30 am on the 4th. Not the quickest way to get home, but definitely the cheapest.

South American "business sense" tends not to make much sense to most Westerners. Businesses down here tend to be incredibly inefficient, bureaucratic, and don't operate with much of a capitalistic mindset. They also have incredibly bad skills with their client.

Now keep this in mind, and then remember that the majority of Argentinians come from Italian and Spanish stock, two countries famed for their inefficiency and bureaucracy. So, in short, Argentinians are really happy to tell their customers "no," and generally do so after said customer had to wait 30 to 45 minutes to get his answer.

Now keep that in mind as I recount the story of The Lost Lift Ticket (aka ski pass). I'm down here at Bariloche, and yesterday went up to Cerro Catedral, the main ski resort in the area. Bought a ski pass for the day, which was a piece of stretch nylon string looped through the hole of a magnetic card, which you insert into a card reader, which then beeps and lets you through a turnstyle onto the ski lift. I had to actually tie this thing onto my pants (Jesus, what year is this? when is the last time anyone had to tie a ski pass to their person?), and wondered as I did so whether the knot would stick. Well of course it didn't. First run of the day I notice that it had come off. And the adventure begins.

Remember the card is magnetic, meaning the system is computerized. So I figured it should be no big deal, I had the receipt and so I could get my old card deactivated and they'd issue me a new one. I was directed to the administration office, and there I began The Big Wait. 30 minutes in the first line, whereupon reaching the front of the line, the lady behind the counter kindly informed me that I had in fact got in the wrong line, the right one being the one three lines down. Of course there was no signs posted or anything to tell me what The Right Line was, so I had wasted a lovely 30 minutes.

I then wait another 30 minutes to get to the front of The Right Line, and I am greeted by Bureaucratic Puke, to whom I recount my story. She proceeds to tell me there's nothing she can do for me. Why? She could deactivate the card, yes. But issuing me a new one was "not possible". Apparently I had to come back the next day (today) and she would punch my ticket number into her computer, which would bring up a screen and tell her if the ticket had been used after I claimed to have lost it. This brings up the obvious question: if the card is deactivated, how is anyone else going to use it? She didn't have an answer for that one, other than "not possible". So 1 hour of waiting to talk to this lady and 30 minutes of arguing that went nowhere. She proudly mentioned that Cerro Catedral has "the best system in Argentina" (wow, something to brag about there, having the best system in your third world country must mean a lot) and proceeded to inform me that in the United States the ski passes get "wet and ruined" and "break" all the time, thus of course proving how her resort had a superior way of doing things (I had not, by the way, mentioned that the resorts in America have better ski pass systems, or that the resorts are better in any way, or even mentioned that I am American).

It was obvious that this incredible waste of a human life had never been to the US, since if she had she would know that our passes are tearproof, waterproof, and have some incredible spaceage adhesive that is impossible to pry loose. One of her other gems was her remark that it's impossible for the nylon string (that ties the ski pass to you) to break, upon which my friend showed her his pass, which featured a beautifully frayed string that he had to double knot to keep from undoing. She didn't have much response to this show, since any response would have to include "Ok, you're right about that one," which is something that you will never hear in this country when it's a customer dealing with a "customer service" representative.

So I went back this morning to see if things would be sorted out. Bureaucrat Puke #2 punches in my ticket number into the computer, and shows me the screen. The screen reads that my ticket had been punched into the card reader six times: at 11:48am initially and then about every 30 minutes thereafter until 2:47pm. This makes amazing sense since I bought the pass at 9 am, was on my first (and only) lift at 9:20am, and the card was deactivated at 12 noon. I asked the Puke, "Why would I buy this pass at 9 am and then wait 3 hours to use it? Why, if it was deactivated at noon, would someone still be able to use it almost three hours later?" Obviously this makes no logical sense and begs the question that the computer fucked up and was showing bad data. Bureaucrat Puke had a beautifully simple reply (no doubt representative of his mind's generel functioning ability) and said "but the computer says it was used six times!" "but the computer says it was used all day". I wanted to bash that computer right into his Dapper Dan addicted dome, leave a good dent there in his head, and then ask what the computer said. I figured maybe his head works like the classic old TV that needs a good whack to get it working again.

I kept calm though (serenity now, serenity now!) and restrained from any sort of violence, or even an argument of any length, realizing that I had just spent 2 hours of my life dealing with people that probably have the same IQ now as I did when I was ten years old, and that I would be better off just getting the hell out of that room full of "service" which had an amazing ability to putrify your brain with a combination of amazement and frustration (and the constant question, can these people really be this stupid? or are they just lying fucks who don't give a shit about their customers and are really good at pretending to be really stupid?).

Defeated I walked out of the office, bought a new ski pass, rode for 4 hours in glorious powder and sunshine, and had an all around fantastic day.

August is here (insert frown here). This of course means I have but one month left in my trip, which is scary and unhappy for poor ole me. The real life will return soonly - and it will be painful surely! At this landmark in my trip I try to reminisce about how it all started, and have this sensation in my head that the events of May and June and July happened a very, very long time ago. Odd what travel does to time: speeds it up in advance and reverse, meaning the present is accelerated since you are having fun, and past memories tend to fly away, like a roadsign you pass at 100 mph and watch fade away in your rearview mirror. In short, it seems like I have been out here forever or a day, depending on how you look at it.

Life in Buenos Aires has a daily continuity to it's ryhthms for our merry gang of three (which now comprises of myself, Sam, and Silje, the Norweigan gal who was last with us in La Paz). We tend to get up late, do more or less nothing during the day (shopping, movies, aimlessly wandering about), then go out for a great dinner (Vietnemese, steak, sushi [twice], and pizza have been our fare .. tonight is Mexican) and afterwards for drinks. We've managed to ruin two of the last seven days by recovering from the previous night's drinking, on one day I went to bed with the sun up and woke up with the sun down. All this wonderful debauchery has been just what the doctor ordered, after spending the three prior weeks zooming and zipping about from place to place, seeing incredible sights, but doing little in the way of pure relaxation.

In other words, Buenos Aires has been the perfect destination for my state of mind. There really are two travelling mindstates, for me anyway: drinking and doing. They sit on opposite poles of the spectrum. The "doing" mindstate is the one that gets you out of bed and off on the road, to go to a museum or a famous plaza or experience a bit of culture or history. The "drinking" mindstate is the one that thinks all of those ideas sound like too much work, that the real ticket is heading off to the pub. Doing too much of one inevitably leads to doing the other. It seems paradoxical that going out and drinking gets your mind prepared and ready to do touristy things again, but I swear it's the truth! Eventually you are lying there in bed, in another haze, and you come to the realization that you are sick of staying up all night, and the desire to see, use, and experience the day overtakes you. So you start doing things. But then you get sick of doing things all day and just want relax and be lazy, which leads to more drinking and less doing. As that wacko in Happy Gilmore said, "It's circular".

I mentioned something in the last posting about how the business sense in Argentina much closer resembles ours at home than that of the Bolivians or Peruvians. But today provided me with a clear and precise example of just how skewed and unprofitable their sense of business can be, even here in Buenos Aires.

I was in the Levi's store at the mall, trying to find some jeans (stupid me thought I could go 3.5 months without a pair of jeans, bad idea considering how messed up your clothes get on such a long trip, jeans are durable thus jeans are good - remember that next time Matt!). So I am about 6 feet tall, or 180ish centimeters. Your average Argentinian is about 5 foot 7 inches. So in theory I should go into this Levi's store and generally find jeans that are too small and short for me, right? Au contraire, my logically thinking friend. I tend to wear size 32 length jeans and expected to find mostly size 30's. Instead every single pair of jeans in this store, and we are talking about 50 or more pairs of jeans, were size 34 and up. Literally every style, every color, size 34 and up. Nothing at all to fit me, and I am pratically Gulliver in the land of Lilliputians.

Sometimes you just want to wring people's necks in the hope that your hands might squeeze some sense into the people here. Argentinian's are short, and yet you only have jeans that fit your average Viking? What fucking sense does that make? I asked the guy at the counter about it and he just shrugged and looked at me like I was asking a dumb question. Maybe I was. Maybe the people here just accept that nothing works the way it in theory ought to. Maybe I should open up a jeans store right next door to the Levi's store, offer size 28 and 30 and 32 jeans, and laugh my way to the bank.

I was reading in the guidebook yesterday that Argentina is only made up of 2% indigenous peoples (as compared to around 60% in Bolivia) and 15% mestizos (mixed indigenous and European descent). That means the other 83% of this country are full European - and it shows. As an ex-resident of Italy the Italian influence here is readily apparent. Here you see Fiat cars all over the roads, Ferrero chocolates in stores, gnocchi on every single menu (although they call it ñoqui), and bidets in every bathroom. Argentinians generally do not go out to a restaurant before 10pm and some slip Italian words in with their Spanish. Helado, or ice cream, is huge here, whereas in Peru and Bolivia and Chile there was hardly a heladeria to be seen. To top it off, the most popular alcoholic drink in Argentina is the one and only Fernet Branca of Milan.

As an Italophile I find all these occurrences and discoveries rather fun - and I am only in the far north of the country yet, where the majority of the mestizos live. In Buenos Aires (where I depart for tomorrow) the Italian population is huge, promising all sorts of good Italian cooking to go with my steaks and empanadas.

Coming from Bolivia (and Peru) this country is a modern marvel. Some say that many Argentines consider themselves still Europeans and not South Americans - and you can see why when you compare their daily lives to that of their northern neighbors. In Argentina you find hot water in your showers (hostel workers react in surprise if you ask of the availability of hot water, whereas in Peru and Bolivia it is the norm to ask, and the norm to be told "lo siento, no"), toilets that can have toilet paper flushed down them (in the other countries the pipes are too narrow and paper clogs them up, so you toss your paper in a bin), a "business sense" similar to ours in America (in the sense that transactions which logically make sense to us also make sense to the Argentines - you'd be amazed at how often stores/stands in Peru and Bolivia would not let you buy things from them), ATMs in every town (even the small out-of-the-way ones - something that you will never find in Bolivia), and police at road checkpoints who aren't carrying machine guns.

Not to down on Peru or Bolivia - I thoroughly enjoyed experiencing each of these countries. Obviously for different reasons. Argentina being much more modern is both good and bad: good in that I just spent two months in really poor countries, rendering very pleasant the amenities here; and bad in the sense that in Argentina you do not find a rich cultural tradition that is unique to this world. Meaning you find no ruins, new languages (i.e. Quechua or Aymara), or a sense of visiting a time outside of your own. Argentina is a simply great change of pace, keeping my vacation interesting at this late date, and letting me wind down and relax after my months of moving all about.

The idea is a week or more in Buenos Aires, followed by two weeks of snowboarding, then a week of wine and relaxation in Mendoza. That boils down to only three places visited in one month, which at this moment sounds quite all right.

This story is probably one of the best of my trip so far, and one of the best experiences too. Which is very nice to say since the day before it, the day described in the last story of San Pedro, was so effing miserable.

That day in San Pedro (the day we decided to get the hell out of town and into Argentina) we went to the bus office and tried to book a ticket to the lovely Argentinian city of Salta (from where I am writing currently). The day was this last Saturday, two days ago. We go to the counter, hope in our eyes and Argentina in our hearts, and get told that not only is the Sunday bus to Salta full, but so is the Tuesday bus. In fact, the next bus with avaiable seats to Salta, Argentina is on Friday. 6 days away. Only three buses go on the route per week, and the next two were full. We were basically being denied exit from this hell, and were piiiiiisssssssed. Our one way out was blocked, and none of us wanted to go on a 24 hour bus to Santiago. It was Argentina or bust.

Luck was with us: a fellow traveler in the office had a friend who organized a taxi for the journey into Argentina for a mere $40 per person. We followed the person's advice, went to the tour company the friend had used, and asked them if we could arrange such a car. To our dismay we were quoted a price, per person, of $400 for the journey. Fuck me man. No bus. No taxi. But wait! The man at the tour agency said there was a third way: go tomorrow morning at 7:30 am to the border station. There the truckers sleep for the night, and in the morning they go through the customs and border process, and then head straight out to Argentina. No problem hitching a ride with them! Cruise into Argentina in a 18 wheeler (aka bigrig, aka lorry, aka what a scary proposition). Easy as pie! No problem amigo!

And the three of us were game. We ended up adding a 60 year old Spaniard to our group, who had to be in Buenos Aires in five days for his flight back to Madrid, and thus was willing to do anything to get out of Chile. We all knew it was a pretty dodgy prospect (would we get a ride? would the Chilean border officials approve of such hitchhiking or kick us out of the trucks or arrest us? would the truckers turn into murderous theives and rob us of all our belongings?). Yet being in San Pedro was so freaking miserable that we would basically do anything to get out of this town and into Argentina.

So the next morning, yesterday, we all woke up, dragged ourselves out of bed, and caught a ride to the border station. Somehow our resolve of the previous day was still there, a night's sleep hadn't chickened ourselves out of doing what was necessary. We arrived, adn started asking the truckers there if they would take us with them. There were about 12 trucks, we approached about five or six different ones and got shot down each time. About two hours later our persistence had paid off, a group of Peruvian truckers were willing to take us with them. There were three trucks, and four of us, so two of us would go in one truck, and two of us would go seperately in the others.

We didn't like the idea of going alone, at least 75% of the reason for me that we were actually doing this crazy mission was the fact that there was four of us and so if we all got in one truck, or at least went in twos, we would have some measure of safety. Instead two of us had to go alone. To be honest, the truckers themselves all seemed on the level: they were middle aged, all worked for the same company, had shiny new trucks, and were travelling as a group. Nevertheless, I still had some fear at the prospect of entrusting my life to a total stranger (pretty logical, huh?).

The moment came that we had to decide how to split ourselves up into the trucks. The Spaniard, Julian, would go on his own. His Spanish was fluent, he was older, and we had just met him the day before, so basically it was an easy decision for the three of us friends to make. Then it was down to Sam, Tanya, and myself. We decided Sam would go solo since he had pepper spray. If shit hit the fan, at least he had something to fight back with. So Tanya and myself went together in the third truck.

And it was absolutely brilliant. My doubts about the hitchhiking idea were erased once we hopped up into the cab: our trucker immediately put on some CC&R (that's Creedence Clearwater for the uncivilized) and started telling us about how his daughter was learning English and how he had lived in Japan for a year. In short, the truckers turned out to be great people, the trip across the Andes was amazing, the views were great looking out the giant truck windows and sitting up so high. The trucks were carrying no loads (they were on their way to get filled with cargo) and so we zipped right through the mountains.

We really couldn't have asked for a better experience, I was all smiles for hours, sitting there listening to classic American rock (like being on a roadtrip at home!) and knowing that I was having one of those unique experiences that only come while travelling. Hitchhiking across countrise in a big ole truck, who the hell does something like that? Answer: we do and did! The truckers were so cool that they wouldn't even accept money in return for taking us with them, I guess they just wanted some conversation and company on the road. Free trip to Chile, $35 saved.

Things worked out beautifully, and happiness has returned again to our gang, now down to three, but three very happy individuals in the welcoming arms of Argentina.

It's funny how long trips evolve as time unfolds. Prior to your trip you develop a plan, an idea of where you want to go and in what order. You don't necessarily assign specific number of days to each place, it's a long trip afterall so you have some flexibility. So for me, the idea was a couple months in Peru, a month in Bolivia, and two weeks split between northern Argentina and Chile. So far I have spent a month in Peru and Bolivia, with 1.5 months left to go. The plan has changed.

As quickly as it changed I am sure it can change back or change anew, but I have a particular weakness for the sport of snowboarding. And apparently, from what I have been hearing, Argentina has lots of nice mountains to fill my urge to ride. So it appears my new direction will be taking me further into Argentina than I had originally planned. Not such a bad thing: Argentina is basically a first world country with third world prices. Famous for its women and steaks, mountains and lakes, I don't see much problem subtracting a month off of Peru (hey, I already spent a month there, right?) and spending it down in Argentina instead.

So, Buenos Aires (rumored to be perfection in a city), Bariloche (the Aspen of Argentina), Cordoba (birthplace of Che Guevara), and Mendoza (capital of South America wine country) await.