Posts
Hi all,
Yes, I know we're home. But I thought I'd plug my new WWOOF review forum everywhere I can find a chance!
go to http://wwoof.yuku.com to post your experiences--good and bad--regarding wwoofing. I'm looking for help to get this off the ground, so if you care to help me publicize it, please let me know!
Best,
Sam
7.13.2009
6.09.2009
THANK YOU SAM AND ALLY (The Carol Edition)
This is a post by Carol, my stepmother. Although it is being posted just hours before we come home, it is NEVER too late to reminisce about the amazing time we had with her and my father in Quito.
See you soon, and enjoy:
It has taken me this long to write about my experience with Sam and Ally in Quito, Ecuador because, even though I’m a writer, there aren’t enough letters in the alphabet to describe it. What do I mention first? The beautiful people who are always willing to offer assistance to tourists? The scenery? The city? The writer in me wants to say that Quito is a city than nestles in the mountain tops. But in all actuality, it sprawls. A city of a million and a half people couldn’t “nestle” anywhere. But in spite of its lofty altitude, 9,000 feet, mountain peaks rise above it in all directions. The food? I write a cooking column so I really got off on the food. But it was the experience of being with Sam and Ally that inspired me the most.
See you soon, and enjoy:
It has taken me this long to write about my experience with Sam and Ally in Quito, Ecuador because, even though I’m a writer, there aren’t enough letters in the alphabet to describe it. What do I mention first? The beautiful people who are always willing to offer assistance to tourists? The scenery? The city? The writer in me wants to say that Quito is a city than nestles in the mountain tops. But in all actuality, it sprawls. A city of a million and a half people couldn’t “nestle” anywhere. But in spite of its lofty altitude, 9,000 feet, mountain peaks rise above it in all directions. The food? I write a cooking column so I really got off on the food. But it was the experience of being with Sam and Ally that inspired me the most.
The first page of my scrapbook says, “Eventually you learn that there is no destination to arrive at once and for all, it’s the journey “. I’d like to add to that “and who is traveling beside you”.
The first thing I noticed was the change in Sam—how much he has grown and matured. He has become a man. I know some of the transformation came about because of the hardships he’s endured along the way—lessons that he wouldn’t have learned in a lifetime without this trip or without Ally.
Of all of my experiences, and I enjoyed every one of them, the one I treasure most is getting to know Ally. She is such an inspiration to me. Not only does she have the imagination to dream big things, she has the courage and strength of character to make them happen. In another life, she would have been Amelia Earhart. She knows the importance of living each moment to the fullest and wringing everything it has to offer out of it. In this life, I wouldn’t be surprised if she announced she was moving to Mars to raise pygmy goats. That girl will accomplish anything she sets her mind to. Her amazing sense of humor and ability to have fun in any situation will help her to breeze through life. She knows things that people I know have not learned in sixty years of living, which puts her way ahead of the game. Nothing, (stolen passports, missed flights, hours of traveling on dusty roads in un-air conditioned buses, bot fly larvae under her skin) gets her down.
A grateful heart is a happy heart and Ally has learned to be grateful for the smallest blessings. She doesn’t just embrace life; she tackles it.
I’m so proud of Sam and Ally for taking the time to do something that most of us just sit around and dream about. I’m also a little jealous that I didn’t have the courage to do what they have done when I was their age. Being in Quito with them has shown me that there is a lot of world out there that I haven’t seen yet and it won’t get seen if I sit home in a rocking chair. So thank you, guys, for showing us around, interpreting for us, and teaching us it is never to late to go explore. We’ve made memories that will be tucked away in our hearts forever.
This is a rough translation of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote, but thanks to Sam and Ally, also, for teaching us that “to find adventure, you have to get off the beaten path and make one for others to follow.”
6.03.2009
THANK YOU SAM AND ALLY!
This is a post by Woody Gimbel (Sam's dad) regarding his visit with his wife Carol to Quito, Ecuador. We all had an amazing time.
This is a bit tardy, I know, but the Inca Roads blog would be incomplete without a record of the incredible time Carol and I had in Ecuador, thanks to Sam and Ally.
We arrived at the Quito airport late in the evening, May 7. We were jaded and just a bit confused as we went through the various stages of security. We looked up, and there were Sam and Ally, our translators and guides, watching out for us as we left the baggage claim area. It was a joyous reunion. We had not been together since late January. Lots of hugs.
This is a bit tardy, I know, but the Inca Roads blog would be incomplete without a record of the incredible time Carol and I had in Ecuador, thanks to Sam and Ally.
We arrived at the Quito airport late in the evening, May 7. We were jaded and just a bit confused as we went through the various stages of security. We looked up, and there were Sam and Ally, our translators and guides, watching out for us as we left the baggage claim area. It was a joyous reunion. We had not been together since late January. Lots of hugs.
TAXIS: We sat back and observed Sam and Ally negotiating with the taxi driver, and were amazed at the nuances and intricacies of this endeavor. Throughout our time in Quito they continued to negotiate deals, refusing a cab if the fare were out of line! Even a dollar out of line! At times I was ready to pay the dollar, just to get going, but it was always worth the wait. One more comment on cab drivers in Quito: Based on our anecdotal sampling, it appears that there are two categories of drivers. Those who use the meters, and those who don’t. Those two break down into ethical, and unethical. The unethical meter users circle the block, meander around as they approach the destination, in order to increase the fare. The non-meter users require negotiation in advance. They will honor their agreement if you have exacct change. If not, “no cambio” is their position, and they expect to keep the change. The worst cabbies get out of their cabs with a pugilist stance, and say things in Spanish you wouldn’t want to translate for your mother.
FIRST EVENING: We loved the “Hotel Los Alpes” where we stayed. Once again, Sam and Ally had checked it out for us. We stayed up way too late catching up, exchanging gifts, and just soaking up the excitement of our reunion in Quito. Sam and Ally had a suite, with kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms, and lots of well crafted wood work. Our third floor room also had two bedrooms, lots of storage, and lots of windows for viewing the neighborhood architecture, and in the distance the taller mountains surrounding Quito, including the morning plumes of a nearby volcano.
MARKET: We had a wonderful breakfast at our hotel, took our time, drank café con leche, made with Nestle’s instant coffee, and as much fresh juice as we wanted. This fortified us for our trip to La Mariscal Handicraft Market, where the selection of textiles and jewelry was overwhelming. Carol would have spent our week’s budget in the first hour, but Sam and Ally came to the rescue, teaching us the steps to making a good deal.
The merchants expect to bargain, and are surprised and disappointed when tourists don’t. Accordingly, their first price is just the beginning of the fun. One shows interest, then asks “Cuanto cuesta?” Now the merchant states the first price. Turista says something like “demasiado” which I think is “too much.” The merchant comes down, say from $12 to $10. Sam and Ally were never satisfied completely unless they bargained down to about 50-60% of the starting price. Carol usually couldn’t wait that long, and we had to talk her out of giving tips!
EATING: It seems like we ate all the time, but we actually lost weight while we were there. Never saw one overweight person in Quito! The food was wonderful, but we wouldn’t have had a clue without Sam and Ally to explain and advise. The indigenous fare breakfasts outside our hotel were about $1.40 for a generous meal. Lunches were not much higher, maybe $2.50 for soup (consommé), salad, vegetable, entrée, and rolls.
Dinners were equally reasonable. Some of our favorites were empanadas, fried plantains, cebiche. Cebiche is a method of preparing fish/seafood for eating, without cooking it with heat. Lime juice is squeezed on, say, Chilean Sea Bass or Conch, and after a time it’s “cooked” and delicious. We’ve missed cebiche since we returned, and have settled for herring in wine sauce.
HANGING OUT: Most of all, Carol and I enjoyed hanging out with Sam and Ally.
Starting with the long discussions over breakfast, throught out the day, and into the evening hours. We went on daily treks, to the Plaza and through a cathedral, and encountered the bathroom nazi who extracted a toll for responding to calls of nature. Not all were willing to pay the toll, sparking the latest international incident. Sam, shave your beard, dye your hair, and you’ll elude the bathroom police!
We went to the Mitdad del Mundo, which is supposed to mark the equator, where even the coriolis effect is confused. Fun, but way too touristy.
We went to the top of a mountain via tram, and it was incredible. The oxygen was so thin that some entrepreneurial genius sold oxygen at the top, in four flavors!
We went to Quito’s botanical gardens, and were enjoying the incredible Ecuador’s incredible diversity of plant life, when something totally unexpected happened: I ran into an old friend from college. Chuck Davis was sitting in the part, reading, and struck up a conversation with my wife who was taking pictures of the koi. Chuck looked good for our age, and we spent hours sitting and talking, catching up. He liked Sam and Ally, but then again, he was only around them for a short time! Chuck married an Ecuadorean woman, lives in Quito, and is trying to persuade Carol and me to invest in a home there.
We’re giving it serious thought.
DAY OF GOOD BYE; We had hoped to visit the HCJB short wave, world wide broadcast facility, but alas, they’re in the process of relocating their towers to make way for the new airport, so they were not open to visitors. We had hoped to see the rain forest, and the cloud forest, and even the Galapogos, but we didn’t. That makes a great case for a return visit, and a longer stay. We’re going to brush up on Espanol, and will be using Rosetta Stone’s programs. But we’ll still need our translators and guides, Sam and Ally, or we’ll be lost! We topped off our last evening by going to a somewhat expensive restaurant, and enjoying cebiche and a wide variety of seafood. Wonderful meal, great company.
THE TRIP HOME: Sam and Ally rode with us to the Airport and saw us off. We were sad to be leaving them. We even considered coming back to join them on their Machu Picchu trek. More hugs. Reflect on the Market: Remember, the market was a great experience, lots of gifts to take back home. But if you go to Quito, don’t be surprised if your suitcase full of fabric items you bought at La Mariscal excites the drug-sniffing dog at security. Happened to us: we were stopped from boarding because the shawls and shirts and tablecloths and other things had absorbed so much marijuana smoke in the market that the dog could detect it. We were led through the labyrinthine bowels of the airport. Of course we were allowed to board when the security officer saw the fabrics. They just smiled knowingly. They were apparently accustomed to this. We will never forget out time with Sam and Ally. We’re ready for a reprise.
6.02.2009
Thank you, Mom and Dad...
...for the good genes.
We did it. 4 days total, 3.5 of which were spent hiking 45 kilometers along the Camino Inka, or Inca Trail. We went from 8990ft above sea level at the end of the first day to over 13100ft by noon on the second. That's around 4000 vertical feet in just three hours, and at that altitude, your lungs start to disobey your body. Towards the entrance of the pass from which we descended we were stopping every 10 feet to catch our breath as we pushed onwards. At the end of the trail our legs were screaming, and we had 4 days of sweat, sunblock, and dirt caked all over our body. But we did it, and it was 100% worth it.
This is the part where I have to thank my dad, the marathon runner, and my mom, also a frequenter of the track, for the genes they passed on to me. Thanks to genetics, and absolutely no thanks to 4 months of riding buses, eating cheap food, and drinking exotic alcohol, I had the honor of being the FIRST tourist from the Inca Trail into Machu Picchu the morning of our arrival. We literally ran for an hour and change through the Incan jungle at 4:00 in the morning along cliffs and up original stone stairs to arrive at IntiPunku, the Sun Gate, just minutes before the hordes arriving by buses below started to pour into the ancient city. Thanks to mom and dad, I didn't stop once. Thanks to mom and dad, the bag on my back wasn't tossed idly aside. And finally, thanks to mom and dad, I have tons of great photos to show for it!
So not to toot my own horn, but the trek was an incredible affirmation of what it means to be human. Hiking through unmitigated wilderness with nothing but the sound of streams in the cloud forest, the wind in the upper highlands, and the birds of the jungle to distract you from the immense enormity of the universe above, below, and around you. By the time you've hiked an hour you can feel the presence of Pachamama (the Incan name for mother earth) that resides in this land. From the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Victoria and Salkantay to the sacred waters of the Urubamba river over 5,000 meters below, this territory exudes the harmony with nature most of us profess is essential for the well-being of our planet. By the end of the trip, even though my body would have protested, I did not want to leave the trail. After four days free of TV, computers, ready-on-hand food, water, and shelter, you start to realize that it's actually HEALTHY to be a little uncomfortable, to be alone with yourself, and you begin to detox. Seeing houses, hotels, and restaurants in the nearby city of Aguas Calientes (crappy little town) is a shock to your system after being amongst the spirits of Apus, the Andean mountains.
Perhaps just as impressive was the nature of the tour itself. We were the ONLY two people assigned to our tour guide, an amazing man named Rosel whose first language is Quechua, the language of the Incas, and who believes entirely in the mystical nature of the mountain terrain. He became our friend quickly and provided us with help, encouragement, and advice throughout the entire experience. Even more amazing were the other three trekkers who ate with us, all of whom were over 60. There was Claire, a Belgian who spoke very little english, Guy, another resident of Belgium who at age 67 carried more than us, ate less than we did, never took breaks for tired legs, and by the third day had so much excess energy that he was able to visit an additional, optional archaeological site that we were simply too tired to see. He was accompanied by the no less impressive Eberhardt, an older German engineer whose dry wit and willingness to accept any challenge astounded and slightly confused us. These three were not young of body, but certainly still young at heart. We could not have asked for better company.
So, here we are in Cusco again, waiting for our bus to Arequipa. We come home in a week, people, and we can't wait. The experience on the trail was other-worldly, eye-opening, and inspiring. I know Ally has some things she wants to say about it, but I'll let her tell you in her own words. After that experience, however, we feel we should just be transported via some sort of device directly to New York so that we can enjoy all of your company again. Maybe its hard to look backwards and still look towards the future, but I think at this stage, we're managing it.
To all of you who have followed us on this journey, thank you. Your support has been paramount in our effort to process and verbalize our experience. Thank you, and we cannot wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
We did it. 4 days total, 3.5 of which were spent hiking 45 kilometers along the Camino Inka, or Inca Trail. We went from 8990ft above sea level at the end of the first day to over 13100ft by noon on the second. That's around 4000 vertical feet in just three hours, and at that altitude, your lungs start to disobey your body. Towards the entrance of the pass from which we descended we were stopping every 10 feet to catch our breath as we pushed onwards. At the end of the trail our legs were screaming, and we had 4 days of sweat, sunblock, and dirt caked all over our body. But we did it, and it was 100% worth it.
This is the part where I have to thank my dad, the marathon runner, and my mom, also a frequenter of the track, for the genes they passed on to me. Thanks to genetics, and absolutely no thanks to 4 months of riding buses, eating cheap food, and drinking exotic alcohol, I had the honor of being the FIRST tourist from the Inca Trail into Machu Picchu the morning of our arrival. We literally ran for an hour and change through the Incan jungle at 4:00 in the morning along cliffs and up original stone stairs to arrive at IntiPunku, the Sun Gate, just minutes before the hordes arriving by buses below started to pour into the ancient city. Thanks to mom and dad, I didn't stop once. Thanks to mom and dad, the bag on my back wasn't tossed idly aside. And finally, thanks to mom and dad, I have tons of great photos to show for it!
So not to toot my own horn, but the trek was an incredible affirmation of what it means to be human. Hiking through unmitigated wilderness with nothing but the sound of streams in the cloud forest, the wind in the upper highlands, and the birds of the jungle to distract you from the immense enormity of the universe above, below, and around you. By the time you've hiked an hour you can feel the presence of Pachamama (the Incan name for mother earth) that resides in this land. From the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Victoria and Salkantay to the sacred waters of the Urubamba river over 5,000 meters below, this territory exudes the harmony with nature most of us profess is essential for the well-being of our planet. By the end of the trip, even though my body would have protested, I did not want to leave the trail. After four days free of TV, computers, ready-on-hand food, water, and shelter, you start to realize that it's actually HEALTHY to be a little uncomfortable, to be alone with yourself, and you begin to detox. Seeing houses, hotels, and restaurants in the nearby city of Aguas Calientes (crappy little town) is a shock to your system after being amongst the spirits of Apus, the Andean mountains.
Perhaps just as impressive was the nature of the tour itself. We were the ONLY two people assigned to our tour guide, an amazing man named Rosel whose first language is Quechua, the language of the Incas, and who believes entirely in the mystical nature of the mountain terrain. He became our friend quickly and provided us with help, encouragement, and advice throughout the entire experience. Even more amazing were the other three trekkers who ate with us, all of whom were over 60. There was Claire, a Belgian who spoke very little english, Guy, another resident of Belgium who at age 67 carried more than us, ate less than we did, never took breaks for tired legs, and by the third day had so much excess energy that he was able to visit an additional, optional archaeological site that we were simply too tired to see. He was accompanied by the no less impressive Eberhardt, an older German engineer whose dry wit and willingness to accept any challenge astounded and slightly confused us. These three were not young of body, but certainly still young at heart. We could not have asked for better company.
So, here we are in Cusco again, waiting for our bus to Arequipa. We come home in a week, people, and we can't wait. The experience on the trail was other-worldly, eye-opening, and inspiring. I know Ally has some things she wants to say about it, but I'll let her tell you in her own words. After that experience, however, we feel we should just be transported via some sort of device directly to New York so that we can enjoy all of your company again. Maybe its hard to look backwards and still look towards the future, but I think at this stage, we're managing it.
To all of you who have followed us on this journey, thank you. Your support has been paramount in our effort to process and verbalize our experience. Thank you, and we cannot wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
5.19.2009
Peru! Finally!
Well, we made it. We made our final border crossing, and we're now safely and happily stationed in a small, cheap hostel in Nazca, Peru. The truth is, coming over the border felt a lot like we were coming home. We started in Lima in January, and arriving back at the same hostel in the Miraflores district felt comforting and almost brought me to tears after the long, uncomfortable, at times scary trip through Ecuador.
And that's just the thing. Your first experiences make such an impact on the way you view things from then on. For us, we encountered genuine hospitality, friendliness, and a spirit of community in Peru that we have yet to find elsewhere. People here are unassuming, humble, and recognize that people are people, no more and no less, no matter how rich, white, or foreign. Tourists are treated like anyone else, and while that could be frustrating to some, we enjoy blending in, even if it is just in a superficial way.
Leaving Ecuador, we were worried that the rest of our bus experiences would be slow, fraught with safety concerns and staffed by rude, insensitive, penny-pinching drivers and money-takers. We were bemoaning the long (like 80 hours in all!!!) trip down south to Cusco, concerned about the number of taxis we'd have to take, the number of restaurants we would be taken advantage by, and so forth. In short, we were on guard. Waking up on the bus as it pulled into Piura, a little nothing-town stopover between Ecuador and Lima, we realized immediately that things were different, and completely as we remembered them; the taxi driver inquired about our travels, laughed with us, and charged a reasonable rate. Our soft-spoken hostel owner allowed us to change rooms, gave us directions to the center, and commisserated the lack of a computer in his establishment. Sitting down to a vegetarian meal at a local cafe, it hit us. We really have been all over the continent, and we really do feel like we have a place down here if and when we can find a way to come back. Peru is absolutely amazing, and we continually rediscover ourselves and our passion for travel while we're here.
That being said, we're ready to come home. We've seen three seasons here in a variety of climates, checked some big things off our life lists, met hundreds of amazing people from all over the world, many of whom we will be staying in contact with, and discovered places we'd like to live in the future, if only for a time. Even more importantly, we've learned to adapt to what life throws at us. Not every moment has been perfect, not by far. But by and large, the heart of the travel experience lies in the ability to feel the frustration of a bad experience, be it a long unairconditioned bus ride or the death threat of a crazy argentinian hippie, and realize that life is beautiful, enormously varied, and always teaching us new things, whether we are enjoying the lessons or not. No, we haven't suddenly become Stoics, and we are looking forward to the creature comforts of the States, but I think that it helps to rememberthat if the world were different, we would all survive and find ways to be happy. That, my friends, is an encouraging thought, especially in light of our long and so far fruitless job search (ANY TIPS???)
And with that I will leave you for now, perhaps until we get to Cusco. Stay tuned for a post by my dad (Woody) reporting on his visit to Quito! We enjoyed it greatly, but I'll let him talk about it first.
Love you all,
Sam
P.S. photos being uploaded as we speak!
And that's just the thing. Your first experiences make such an impact on the way you view things from then on. For us, we encountered genuine hospitality, friendliness, and a spirit of community in Peru that we have yet to find elsewhere. People here are unassuming, humble, and recognize that people are people, no more and no less, no matter how rich, white, or foreign. Tourists are treated like anyone else, and while that could be frustrating to some, we enjoy blending in, even if it is just in a superficial way.
Leaving Ecuador, we were worried that the rest of our bus experiences would be slow, fraught with safety concerns and staffed by rude, insensitive, penny-pinching drivers and money-takers. We were bemoaning the long (like 80 hours in all!!!) trip down south to Cusco, concerned about the number of taxis we'd have to take, the number of restaurants we would be taken advantage by, and so forth. In short, we were on guard. Waking up on the bus as it pulled into Piura, a little nothing-town stopover between Ecuador and Lima, we realized immediately that things were different, and completely as we remembered them; the taxi driver inquired about our travels, laughed with us, and charged a reasonable rate. Our soft-spoken hostel owner allowed us to change rooms, gave us directions to the center, and commisserated the lack of a computer in his establishment. Sitting down to a vegetarian meal at a local cafe, it hit us. We really have been all over the continent, and we really do feel like we have a place down here if and when we can find a way to come back. Peru is absolutely amazing, and we continually rediscover ourselves and our passion for travel while we're here.
That being said, we're ready to come home. We've seen three seasons here in a variety of climates, checked some big things off our life lists, met hundreds of amazing people from all over the world, many of whom we will be staying in contact with, and discovered places we'd like to live in the future, if only for a time. Even more importantly, we've learned to adapt to what life throws at us. Not every moment has been perfect, not by far. But by and large, the heart of the travel experience lies in the ability to feel the frustration of a bad experience, be it a long unairconditioned bus ride or the death threat of a crazy argentinian hippie, and realize that life is beautiful, enormously varied, and always teaching us new things, whether we are enjoying the lessons or not. No, we haven't suddenly become Stoics, and we are looking forward to the creature comforts of the States, but I think that it helps to rememberthat if the world were different, we would all survive and find ways to be happy. That, my friends, is an encouraging thought, especially in light of our long and so far fruitless job search (ANY TIPS???)
And with that I will leave you for now, perhaps until we get to Cusco. Stay tuned for a post by my dad (Woody) reporting on his visit to Quito! We enjoyed it greatly, but I'll let him talk about it first.
Love you all,
Sam
P.S. photos being uploaded as we speak!
5.10.2009
Mother's Day
Quito. May 10th.
Today is mother's day, and we haven't forgotten. Both Ally and myself have called our respective mothers and contacted our grandmothers to show our appreciation on this special day (although we do try to show our appreciation every day, of course). But what about the true meaning of Mother's day? It was created in the last 100 or so years in order to provide a formal avenue of supporting and giving thanks to mothers everywhere, but I firmly believe that the spirit is one of recognizing community and those in your life who are always there for you. So of course, that includes you all.
You have followed our path for around 4 months now, curiously or nervously checking the blog to see where we are or make sure we're safe. We've received emails from many of you, comments from even more of you, and good vibes from all of you, all of which let us know we are loved by you. That feeling is immensely uplifting and powerful, and we want to thank all of you for the support you have shown...We truly would not be the same without you.
Travel can be so isolating without a lifeline or a reminder of home, and this blog and the responses we get to our writing have provided that. I can sense the loneliness I would have felt if our posts had gone uncommented or if we had not created this blog in the first place, and I am grateful therefore that every one of you is exactly as you are: supportive, interested, and caring. Again, thank you all for the kind words.
We love you, and we'll see you soon.
Sam
Today is mother's day, and we haven't forgotten. Both Ally and myself have called our respective mothers and contacted our grandmothers to show our appreciation on this special day (although we do try to show our appreciation every day, of course). But what about the true meaning of Mother's day? It was created in the last 100 or so years in order to provide a formal avenue of supporting and giving thanks to mothers everywhere, but I firmly believe that the spirit is one of recognizing community and those in your life who are always there for you. So of course, that includes you all.
You have followed our path for around 4 months now, curiously or nervously checking the blog to see where we are or make sure we're safe. We've received emails from many of you, comments from even more of you, and good vibes from all of you, all of which let us know we are loved by you. That feeling is immensely uplifting and powerful, and we want to thank all of you for the support you have shown...We truly would not be the same without you.
Travel can be so isolating without a lifeline or a reminder of home, and this blog and the responses we get to our writing have provided that. I can sense the loneliness I would have felt if our posts had gone uncommented or if we had not created this blog in the first place, and I am grateful therefore that every one of you is exactly as you are: supportive, interested, and caring. Again, thank you all for the kind words.
We love you, and we'll see you soon.
Sam
5.02.2009
Baños...sucks.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador...and it feels like it needs cleaning.
Which is not to say that the town is particularly dirty, nor is it crime-ridden, culturally repulsive, or frustrating in any particular Ecuadorian or South American way. The problem is, well, us.
And by us, I don't mean Ally and I. We didn't cause this, that's for sure. This situation was created by years and years of corrupting, greed-oozing tourism from the United States, Europe, and actually lots of places in Latin America. The result: a town almost entirely made up of restaurants run by ex-patriates from Europe (very few Americans living here, for some reason) and tour agencies whose entire grasp of the English language is "hello friends, would you like to rent a bike?" Not that there's anything inherently wrong with wanting to make a living if you're a local, but very few of the people running these agencies or restaurants have much more to do with Ecuador than the "100% Ecuador" signs they post or the candid, machismo-drenched photos of white, college-aged girls squatting to pee in the jungle that they find endearing enough to put in the windows of their businesses.
We're tired of the hostels, only one of which has a kitchen (there are at least 30 in the town). We're tired of being charged extra for EVERY little thing. $3 a person for breakfast that should be included. $2 a person to watch a movie in our hostel (no one ever does). $3 every time our cooking supplies get thrown out because we keep them in the kitchen only to find out that we are not allowed. $4 per person for pizza so thin you could see through it at times. $1.50 added tax to said pizza, making this the only city in South America to add any sort of tax to anything. $1 + 1 book at a book exchange full of used books discarded by travelers.
Bullshit.
This reeks of the sort of capitalist, western-whitewashing that we witnessed in San Pedro de Atacama, where all hostels were price-fixed and bargaining was rendered impossible by the fact that there were fewer beds than people in the town. There, we could camp out. Here, we must bide our time in our room that quickly fills with the acrid odor of sulfur every time the toilet is flushed and is thrown into disarray every time the cleaning staff raucously begin their daily chores (5 people for a 30-bed hostel... no wonder they charge for breakfast).
And here's the kicker: the place is gorgeous. Surrounded by beautiful green volcanic peaks, one of which is slightly active and smokes charmingly in the distance, this is as close as you get to paradise, and if you're still not convinced, walk to the 40-odd meter waterfall that dusts the city with mist. After all, it's only a 5-minute walk to the hot springs warmed by geothermal currents which reside just downstream from the falls, and it only costs $1 to get in. You couldn't even pay for lunch-tax with that.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador, about which Lonely Planet and shallow, drunk study-abroad bimbos alike rave, ready and eager to get back to Quito where the food is cheap ($3 indian food to die for), the people don't expect you to spend your perceived millions on their rent-a-wreck bikes, and the air is thin enough that the smell of sulfur dissipates before it reaches your nose.
Whew. glad I got that off my chest.
Love you all,
Sam
Which is not to say that the town is particularly dirty, nor is it crime-ridden, culturally repulsive, or frustrating in any particular Ecuadorian or South American way. The problem is, well, us.
And by us, I don't mean Ally and I. We didn't cause this, that's for sure. This situation was created by years and years of corrupting, greed-oozing tourism from the United States, Europe, and actually lots of places in Latin America. The result: a town almost entirely made up of restaurants run by ex-patriates from Europe (very few Americans living here, for some reason) and tour agencies whose entire grasp of the English language is "hello friends, would you like to rent a bike?" Not that there's anything inherently wrong with wanting to make a living if you're a local, but very few of the people running these agencies or restaurants have much more to do with Ecuador than the "100% Ecuador" signs they post or the candid, machismo-drenched photos of white, college-aged girls squatting to pee in the jungle that they find endearing enough to put in the windows of their businesses.
We're tired of the hostels, only one of which has a kitchen (there are at least 30 in the town). We're tired of being charged extra for EVERY little thing. $3 a person for breakfast that should be included. $2 a person to watch a movie in our hostel (no one ever does). $3 every time our cooking supplies get thrown out because we keep them in the kitchen only to find out that we are not allowed. $4 per person for pizza so thin you could see through it at times. $1.50 added tax to said pizza, making this the only city in South America to add any sort of tax to anything. $1 + 1 book at a book exchange full of used books discarded by travelers.
Bullshit.
This reeks of the sort of capitalist, western-whitewashing that we witnessed in San Pedro de Atacama, where all hostels were price-fixed and bargaining was rendered impossible by the fact that there were fewer beds than people in the town. There, we could camp out. Here, we must bide our time in our room that quickly fills with the acrid odor of sulfur every time the toilet is flushed and is thrown into disarray every time the cleaning staff raucously begin their daily chores (5 people for a 30-bed hostel... no wonder they charge for breakfast).
And here's the kicker: the place is gorgeous. Surrounded by beautiful green volcanic peaks, one of which is slightly active and smokes charmingly in the distance, this is as close as you get to paradise, and if you're still not convinced, walk to the 40-odd meter waterfall that dusts the city with mist. After all, it's only a 5-minute walk to the hot springs warmed by geothermal currents which reside just downstream from the falls, and it only costs $1 to get in. You couldn't even pay for lunch-tax with that.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador, about which Lonely Planet and shallow, drunk study-abroad bimbos alike rave, ready and eager to get back to Quito where the food is cheap ($3 indian food to die for), the people don't expect you to spend your perceived millions on their rent-a-wreck bikes, and the air is thin enough that the smell of sulfur dissipates before it reaches your nose.
Whew. glad I got that off my chest.
Love you all,
Sam
4.24.2009
Oh right, we have a blog!
Well folks, we apologize for our long radio silence. We've been moving fast and haven't had a whole lot of time to do much other than sit on buses for hour after hour...such is life!
Since we talked to you last, we've successfully made it from Santiago to Bogotá via plane--which we were inevitably comparing to the bus services we've had thus far (it took the cake, by far: BLANKETS?? WE CAN CHOOSE THE MOVIE?? BATHROOM WITH RUNNING WATER????). We spent 8 days in Bogotá, most of which was enjoyed (very, very much) in the company of Bob Barlow, visiting lots of fun coffee houses and museums.
Bogotá is such a city of extremes: the clouds roll over the cerros to the east, bringing in torrential rains every day, usually after whole days of sunshine and beautiful breezes. The police presence is intense in La Candelaria, the neighborhood in which most of the colonial buildings are located, but almost nonexistent in the rest of the city. Poverty runs rampant, and yet there is a tailor who creates bulletproof designer clothing for the upper-crust citizens of this huge city in the clouds. The tamales are extremely cheap, and the coffee is extremely good--the first time we've been able to say that in South America.
And then off to another extreme: Cali. That is to say, extremely boring and extremely unsafe. We stayed for three days at an extremely uninteresting hostel with extremely loud individuals who seemed extremely...materialistic? blasé? Not sure what to say...
Cali was followed by Popayan, a cute little colonial town nestled in the mountains. Gorgeous, relaxing, and ultimately a 3-day stay doing not much other than watching movies and eating great Mexican food (random, but important).
And now we're in Ecuador! Quito, to be exact, in a reconaissance mission preceding the arrival of my father and his wife on the 7th of May. In the next couple weeks we're going to visit the cloud forest, the Amazon, volcanoes, and sleep in hammocks. I could not be happier.
Nor could I be happier about This. I think I've found what I want to do, at least in this next chapter of my life. This year: apply. Next two years: learn, make contacts, and figure out what I want to do with my degree. Immediately after graduating: start a business, bringing green energy to the masses, write a book about it, and invent new technologies.
...perhaps lofty goals, perhaps not. Either way, new dreams to add to my collection, and ones that put a smile on my face.
We only have 7 weeks until we come back to the States, and while I am definitely enjoying the trip as much as (if not more than) when it began, I am excited to come home! Can't wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
Since we talked to you last, we've successfully made it from Santiago to Bogotá via plane--which we were inevitably comparing to the bus services we've had thus far (it took the cake, by far: BLANKETS?? WE CAN CHOOSE THE MOVIE?? BATHROOM WITH RUNNING WATER????). We spent 8 days in Bogotá, most of which was enjoyed (very, very much) in the company of Bob Barlow, visiting lots of fun coffee houses and museums.
Bogotá is such a city of extremes: the clouds roll over the cerros to the east, bringing in torrential rains every day, usually after whole days of sunshine and beautiful breezes. The police presence is intense in La Candelaria, the neighborhood in which most of the colonial buildings are located, but almost nonexistent in the rest of the city. Poverty runs rampant, and yet there is a tailor who creates bulletproof designer clothing for the upper-crust citizens of this huge city in the clouds. The tamales are extremely cheap, and the coffee is extremely good--the first time we've been able to say that in South America.
And then off to another extreme: Cali. That is to say, extremely boring and extremely unsafe. We stayed for three days at an extremely uninteresting hostel with extremely loud individuals who seemed extremely...materialistic? blasé? Not sure what to say...
Cali was followed by Popayan, a cute little colonial town nestled in the mountains. Gorgeous, relaxing, and ultimately a 3-day stay doing not much other than watching movies and eating great Mexican food (random, but important).
And now we're in Ecuador! Quito, to be exact, in a reconaissance mission preceding the arrival of my father and his wife on the 7th of May. In the next couple weeks we're going to visit the cloud forest, the Amazon, volcanoes, and sleep in hammocks. I could not be happier.
Nor could I be happier about This. I think I've found what I want to do, at least in this next chapter of my life. This year: apply. Next two years: learn, make contacts, and figure out what I want to do with my degree. Immediately after graduating: start a business, bringing green energy to the masses, write a book about it, and invent new technologies.
...perhaps lofty goals, perhaps not. Either way, new dreams to add to my collection, and ones that put a smile on my face.
We only have 7 weeks until we come back to the States, and while I am definitely enjoying the trip as much as (if not more than) when it began, I am excited to come home! Can't wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
4.17.2009
The Bob Report, Part II
(Bob here, back in the U.S.A., with one last entry. Again, muchas gracias to Sam and Ally for everything. I had a great time in Bogota, thanks mainly to their generosity, their grasp of Spanish, their love of Rummy 500, their appreciation for all that is strange and wonderful, and their understanding that everything in the universe is somehow connected to "Curb Your Enthusiasm.")
Funny things go through your head when your camera gets stolen. First, as in any loss, there's a bit of denial: Fourteen hours after it went missing, I looked for my camera in bags I'd already searched quite thoroughly earlier in the day. The next morning, I still harbored at least some sense that it might turn up. But this would have been impossible: My camera was stolen from the unzipped pocket of my jacket, somewhere between La Candelaria and El Centro, sometime just before or after noon on Tuesday.
I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing: What idiot walks around Bogota with his jacket pocket unzipped? We ask a good question. Making matters worse is that as a faithful reader of this blog, I know better. At least Ally and Sam were three months into their journey when they lost their stuff; it took me only three days to get ripped off.
Of course, afterward, I was quite vigilant, in the same way that people observe the speed limit religiously for at least a few hours after being ticketed for speeding. I became an owl, swiveling my head nearly 360 degrees with every step, my eyes peeled for any hint of suspicious activity. To foil would-be robbers, I began to think like a robber. I noticed people whose fat wallets bulged in their back pockets. I thought, hey, I could be a thief if I wanted to. It might even be karmically justifiable. I mean, come on, Bogota got my camera – now it's my turn.
This lasted for a few minutes, followed by a philosophical shift: No, Bogota owed me nothing. It had already given me a lot. And now, it had taken my camera. Fine. We're even, Bogota.
* * *
On Tuesday night, six travelers sat sipping tea in the kitchen of the Anandamayi Hostel. Warmed by the fragrant wood-fired stove, we shared stories of our experiences on the road. Everybody else was younger than me, and everybody else was in the middle of a much longer journey than mine, ranging from five to 12 months in contrast to my six days. One thing we all had in common: We had all been robbed at some point during our travels, often in ways that seemed to defy the laws of physics. (I felt stupid for not having noticed a hand in my jacket pocket, until someone told of valuable items disappearing from the deepest recesses of a backpack while she was wearing it.)
These things happen. They're not fun. But – and this is the important thing – they're not deal-breakers. Not one of the tea drinkers at the hostel had any inclination to cut their journeys short. As a group, they had dealt with deadly spiders, vicious monkeys, poisonous snakes and crocodile-infested waters. They had battled every type of gastric distress known to man or woman. They had hosted human botfly larvae. They had shivered in cold hostels and sweated in hot tents. And still, they pressed on. Still they sat on sweltering buses for 30 hours. Still they scaled scaled one language barrier after another. Still they argued with crooked cabbies. Still they traveled to places their home countries warned them not to go.
With a limited number of international travel miles under my belt, I do not kid myself that I am one of them. But for the first time in my life, I would consider following in their footsteps.
* * *
So, what happens when your camera is stolen on the streets of Bogota? You become more careful. You mourn for the pictures you lost. Then you go get some coffee and you continue to marvel at the strange, beautiful, ugly, safe, dangerous, boring, exciting, unbelievably rich world we live in.
Love and yerba mate,
Bob
Funny things go through your head when your camera gets stolen. First, as in any loss, there's a bit of denial: Fourteen hours after it went missing, I looked for my camera in bags I'd already searched quite thoroughly earlier in the day. The next morning, I still harbored at least some sense that it might turn up. But this would have been impossible: My camera was stolen from the unzipped pocket of my jacket, somewhere between La Candelaria and El Centro, sometime just before or after noon on Tuesday.
I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing: What idiot walks around Bogota with his jacket pocket unzipped? We ask a good question. Making matters worse is that as a faithful reader of this blog, I know better. At least Ally and Sam were three months into their journey when they lost their stuff; it took me only three days to get ripped off.
Of course, afterward, I was quite vigilant, in the same way that people observe the speed limit religiously for at least a few hours after being ticketed for speeding. I became an owl, swiveling my head nearly 360 degrees with every step, my eyes peeled for any hint of suspicious activity. To foil would-be robbers, I began to think like a robber. I noticed people whose fat wallets bulged in their back pockets. I thought, hey, I could be a thief if I wanted to. It might even be karmically justifiable. I mean, come on, Bogota got my camera – now it's my turn.
This lasted for a few minutes, followed by a philosophical shift: No, Bogota owed me nothing. It had already given me a lot. And now, it had taken my camera. Fine. We're even, Bogota.
* * *
On Tuesday night, six travelers sat sipping tea in the kitchen of the Anandamayi Hostel. Warmed by the fragrant wood-fired stove, we shared stories of our experiences on the road. Everybody else was younger than me, and everybody else was in the middle of a much longer journey than mine, ranging from five to 12 months in contrast to my six days. One thing we all had in common: We had all been robbed at some point during our travels, often in ways that seemed to defy the laws of physics. (I felt stupid for not having noticed a hand in my jacket pocket, until someone told of valuable items disappearing from the deepest recesses of a backpack while she was wearing it.)
These things happen. They're not fun. But – and this is the important thing – they're not deal-breakers. Not one of the tea drinkers at the hostel had any inclination to cut their journeys short. As a group, they had dealt with deadly spiders, vicious monkeys, poisonous snakes and crocodile-infested waters. They had battled every type of gastric distress known to man or woman. They had hosted human botfly larvae. They had shivered in cold hostels and sweated in hot tents. And still, they pressed on. Still they sat on sweltering buses for 30 hours. Still they scaled scaled one language barrier after another. Still they argued with crooked cabbies. Still they traveled to places their home countries warned them not to go.
With a limited number of international travel miles under my belt, I do not kid myself that I am one of them. But for the first time in my life, I would consider following in their footsteps.
* * *
So, what happens when your camera is stolen on the streets of Bogota? You become more careful. You mourn for the pictures you lost. Then you go get some coffee and you continue to marvel at the strange, beautiful, ugly, safe, dangerous, boring, exciting, unbelievably rich world we live in.
Love and yerba mate,
Bob
4.13.2009
The Bob Report from Bogota
(Bob here, reporting from Bogota. Muchas gracias to Ally and Sam for allowing me some space on the blog.)
Here in La Candelaria, it´s all steep hills and cobblestone streets and plaster-covered buildings from Bogota´s colonial past. Above us loom blue-green mountains, reaching almost vertically to the clouds.
The air is brisk this morning. (We´re close to the Equator, but also close to the sky.) We walk toward El Centro, Bogota´s bustling commercial section, stopping to share breakfast along the way -- a piping hot tamale of corn meal, chicken, bacon and chickpeas; sweet hot soup with cheese; a cup of hot chocolate; limonade.
On foot again, we pass through the Plaza Bolivar, crowded with booths selling religious items on this day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, families strolling, and laughing children chasing pigeons.
In El Centro, we find a little bit of everything: street vendors loudly hawking mollasses flavored marshmallows, cell phone minutes and sparkling trinkets; costumed street performers who stand like statues until someone drops a coin into their box, at which point they come to startling life; a barefoot man who walks on a mound of broken glass bottles (and then, as if this is not good enough, jumps up and down on the shards); and more police officers and soldiers than you can shake a Spanish phrasebook at.
* * *
What I know so far about Bogota is this:
I like its thin air. I like its friendly people. No hay muchas turistas -- I like that.
I like the street sounds. I like that I have not had a bite of food I did not love in the three days I´ve been here.
I like the way the mist swirls around the mountain tops. I like the brand names I´ve never seen before. I like the hostel I´m staying in with Ally and Sam, and the people who come and go here.
I like drinking tea and listening to the rain. I like our room in this 400-year-old building, which has not one but two courtyards filled with flowering plants. I like the way the cops and soldiers, all boys and girls in their early 20s, will smile at you.
There are a lot of things about Bogota I do not know. I know I have seen only the tip of the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg. But so far, I like what I see.
* * *
And now, just a few words about Sam and Ally. They´re great, healthy, full of smiles and still infectiously happy about their ongoing journey. They´re ideal sightseeing companions and excellent co-chefs -- and they´re a big part of what I love so much about Bogota!
Best wishes to all the cool readers of this blog, and thanks, again, to Ally and Sam for sharing their bandwidth.
Love,
Bob
Here in La Candelaria, it´s all steep hills and cobblestone streets and plaster-covered buildings from Bogota´s colonial past. Above us loom blue-green mountains, reaching almost vertically to the clouds.
The air is brisk this morning. (We´re close to the Equator, but also close to the sky.) We walk toward El Centro, Bogota´s bustling commercial section, stopping to share breakfast along the way -- a piping hot tamale of corn meal, chicken, bacon and chickpeas; sweet hot soup with cheese; a cup of hot chocolate; limonade.
On foot again, we pass through the Plaza Bolivar, crowded with booths selling religious items on this day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, families strolling, and laughing children chasing pigeons.
In El Centro, we find a little bit of everything: street vendors loudly hawking mollasses flavored marshmallows, cell phone minutes and sparkling trinkets; costumed street performers who stand like statues until someone drops a coin into their box, at which point they come to startling life; a barefoot man who walks on a mound of broken glass bottles (and then, as if this is not good enough, jumps up and down on the shards); and more police officers and soldiers than you can shake a Spanish phrasebook at.
* * *
What I know so far about Bogota is this:
I like its thin air. I like its friendly people. No hay muchas turistas -- I like that.
I like the street sounds. I like that I have not had a bite of food I did not love in the three days I´ve been here.
I like the way the mist swirls around the mountain tops. I like the brand names I´ve never seen before. I like the hostel I´m staying in with Ally and Sam, and the people who come and go here.
I like drinking tea and listening to the rain. I like our room in this 400-year-old building, which has not one but two courtyards filled with flowering plants. I like the way the cops and soldiers, all boys and girls in their early 20s, will smile at you.
There are a lot of things about Bogota I do not know. I know I have seen only the tip of the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg. But so far, I like what I see.
* * *
And now, just a few words about Sam and Ally. They´re great, healthy, full of smiles and still infectiously happy about their ongoing journey. They´re ideal sightseeing companions and excellent co-chefs -- and they´re a big part of what I love so much about Bogota!
Best wishes to all the cool readers of this blog, and thanks, again, to Ally and Sam for sharing their bandwidth.
Love,
Bob
4.06.2009
Losing Things (my mind?)
So here we are. In Buenos Aires. Again. Hmm... how did we get here? Trust me, I'll get to it.
But first, let's talk about travel. Inevitably, somewhere on the road, you will lose something. Maybe it will amount to nothing, like the 3 toothbrushes I've forgotten in various places in 3 different countries, or perhaps it's worth a little more, like the $30 quick-dry towel (i highly recommend these!) that we left on a bus in Puerto Iguazu. Watching Ally chase after the bus while I watched the stuff was heart-wrenching, and the steadily graying towel we borrowed from a hotel is not much of a replacement.
The point is, it WILL happen. The sheer amount of stuff you bring with you actually stirs the most basic stuff of the universe and creates a new Murphy's Law: As soon as you need something, you will find out you've left it in the last city you were in. So far, the total has been relatively low (knock on EVERY piece of wood I can find). We still have the essentials, although I'm down half a pair of pants (don't ask), we have both lost or broken sunglasses, we no longer have our bag o' soap and shampoo, and I'm pretty sure having ants eat half our tent counts as losing it.
It occurs to me though that this steady loss must be dealt with in a constructive manner, in large part because it occurs mentally as well. We've lost our innocence and our bright-eyed outlook on the world of travel; sometimes, the road can be too long. Sometimes, you just want to be in a comfortable place, in a familiar bed, with familiar food. And sometimes you don't realize how much that all means to you until you've been traveling for awhile. Perhaps this is a passing phase of the trip, but it leaves us both with less energy and almost constantly slightly enervated at the thought of visiting so many more cities. The novelty we felt at every moment of the trip has definitely left us to visit with other, fresher travelers, which simply means we yearn to stay for a long time in just one place, preferrably Buenos Aires.
But we've also lost things that have a direct positive effect on us: we've certainly lost unhealthy weight, and our new svelte selves have more energy and more control over our appetites. We've also parted with a large part of our culutural assumptions, making room for the infinite possibilities we have encountered in each new place we visit. Finally, we've lost many aversions: to bugs, long bus rides, blood sausage (sam only), speaking in languages we don't fully understand. In all, we can look back on our trip, even at this point, and say that our losses have been great gains in many ways.
And most recently, we've lost our passports, credit cards, cash, driver's licenses, and so forth. Yes, we've been robbed. Don't worry, no one was hurt, it was totally non-confrontational and we only found out about it after the fact. Thus, we trucked it back from Mendoza to Buenos Aires to get replacement passports at the embassy (took all of 1.5 hours, kudos, State Dept!) and have a bus back to Santiago tomorrow for our flight to Colombia. Ally promises me that she'll be going into more detail about the situation, but suffice it to say, we haven't lost our love for the Argentinian people.
And we feel like through this blog, we have not lost touch with any of you.
Love you all,
Sam
But first, let's talk about travel. Inevitably, somewhere on the road, you will lose something. Maybe it will amount to nothing, like the 3 toothbrushes I've forgotten in various places in 3 different countries, or perhaps it's worth a little more, like the $30 quick-dry towel (i highly recommend these!) that we left on a bus in Puerto Iguazu. Watching Ally chase after the bus while I watched the stuff was heart-wrenching, and the steadily graying towel we borrowed from a hotel is not much of a replacement.
The point is, it WILL happen. The sheer amount of stuff you bring with you actually stirs the most basic stuff of the universe and creates a new Murphy's Law: As soon as you need something, you will find out you've left it in the last city you were in. So far, the total has been relatively low (knock on EVERY piece of wood I can find). We still have the essentials, although I'm down half a pair of pants (don't ask), we have both lost or broken sunglasses, we no longer have our bag o' soap and shampoo, and I'm pretty sure having ants eat half our tent counts as losing it.
It occurs to me though that this steady loss must be dealt with in a constructive manner, in large part because it occurs mentally as well. We've lost our innocence and our bright-eyed outlook on the world of travel; sometimes, the road can be too long. Sometimes, you just want to be in a comfortable place, in a familiar bed, with familiar food. And sometimes you don't realize how much that all means to you until you've been traveling for awhile. Perhaps this is a passing phase of the trip, but it leaves us both with less energy and almost constantly slightly enervated at the thought of visiting so many more cities. The novelty we felt at every moment of the trip has definitely left us to visit with other, fresher travelers, which simply means we yearn to stay for a long time in just one place, preferrably Buenos Aires.
But we've also lost things that have a direct positive effect on us: we've certainly lost unhealthy weight, and our new svelte selves have more energy and more control over our appetites. We've also parted with a large part of our culutural assumptions, making room for the infinite possibilities we have encountered in each new place we visit. Finally, we've lost many aversions: to bugs, long bus rides, blood sausage (sam only), speaking in languages we don't fully understand. In all, we can look back on our trip, even at this point, and say that our losses have been great gains in many ways.
And most recently, we've lost our passports, credit cards, cash, driver's licenses, and so forth. Yes, we've been robbed. Don't worry, no one was hurt, it was totally non-confrontational and we only found out about it after the fact. Thus, we trucked it back from Mendoza to Buenos Aires to get replacement passports at the embassy (took all of 1.5 hours, kudos, State Dept!) and have a bus back to Santiago tomorrow for our flight to Colombia. Ally promises me that she'll be going into more detail about the situation, but suffice it to say, we haven't lost our love for the Argentinian people.
And we feel like through this blog, we have not lost touch with any of you.
Love you all,
Sam
3.26.2009
Less useful than an airplane's horn
Wow, let's all give Ally a big hand for that absolutely amazing, disgusting retelling of that story. If you haven't read it, it's a must before you continue with this one!
So we're in Bariloche. For those of you not in the know (which included us until very recently) it is a town in northern Patagonia close to the Chilean border. The town is pretty unremarkable except for the artesanal chocolate and beer produced here (we've tried both, I think I like the chocolate better...it's definitely cheaper) but is nestled within a ring of beautiful, snow-capped peaks. Gentle breezes flow off lake Nahuel Huapi (nah-well woppy) and seem to whisper "relax," a request we have been taking very seriously.
Yesterday we reached the halfway point of our trip, and it is definitely more than symbolic. The hurried pace of the last 2.5 months (11 weeks) has started to take its toll, and we're a tuckered out. That's not to say that we will be slowing down much over the coming half, but Ally and I both feel the need to relax when and where we can, and Bariloche is a perfect candidate. We have been waking up every day at almost noon, walking into town, eating lunch, spending hours at the lake's beautiful blue waters napping and soaking up Vitamin D, maybe grabbing some food to cook back in our hostel, and then settling down for a movie on the hostel's DIGITAL CABLE!!! (first we've seen in South America). Otherwise, nothin' doing. But we're ok with that! The show must and will go on, once we're feeling up to it.
To be honest, we're pretty sure that our stint in Buenos Aires is at least partly to blame for our feelings of fatigue. First, some background: Argentinians, and more specifically Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) are night owls. They don't eat dinner until perhaps 10 or 11 at night and parties don't start until 2, which is to say that doors open at 2, people usually start showing up at 3 or later. We were confused about the subway's lack of service at night, but found that it is not unusual for people to stay out partying until the lines open up again at 5:00AM (9:00AM on sundays) the next morning. So, even though we only spent one night out of 10 in this manner, adjusting to late dinners after entire days out seeing the sights left us exhausted and drained.
Perhaps it is a testament to the draw of Buenos Aires that we were able to continue as long as we did. The city feels like New York City, with the vibe changing abruptly from manhattan to brooklyn as you enter the different neighborhoods. We were impressed by the modern vibe and the REAL COFFEE, which we have found nowhere else in South America. The true jewel of Buenos Aires are its people, though, a fact we learned from our incredibly generous hosts.
We stayed with our friend Ariel, who we met traveling in Chile and found incredibly open and humorous in intelligent and very crude (read: Argentinian) ways. He offered his sister's room to us for 9 nights without any thought of payment, something we could not thank him enough for. His mother, Daniela, took time out of her busy schedule to drive us around the city, straying 30 kilometers (divide by 1.6, ye of the mile standard) away from their house to show us the edges of Buenos Aires we wouldn't have seen otherwise. Besides this, she was constantly cooking for us, making sure we had clean clothes and that Ariel was showing us enough of the city. Ariel and his sister were incredibly accomodating as well, allowing us to partake in an Asado, an Argentinian tradition of cooking as much meat as possible and then trying to eat it all.
OK, perhaps it's not that extreme, and it was certainly delicious, as is all beef in Argentina (free range, grass fed!), and prepared on the parilla, a grill-like installation found in most houses. We also enjoyed most of the nightlife in B.A. in the company of Ariel, and we met many people who I think I would certainly consider friends at this point. All in all, we left B.A. wishing we could spend more time there and feeling that when we do return, we will have people who will be excited to see us.
...and that's why we're tired. But we have so much more to do, and I am certainly excited despite the feeling of enervation that leaves us in bed until 12:00 noon every morning regardless of when we fell asleep. Tomorrow we head to El Bolson, a cute little hippie town formed in the 1970s where lots of good beer is made. Then it's off to Mendoza where we will sample some of the world's best wine. Wow, we sound like drunks, don't we?
This is by no means a full update, simply what I could get out in one sitting. As always, stay tuned!
Love,
Sam
So we're in Bariloche. For those of you not in the know (which included us until very recently) it is a town in northern Patagonia close to the Chilean border. The town is pretty unremarkable except for the artesanal chocolate and beer produced here (we've tried both, I think I like the chocolate better...it's definitely cheaper) but is nestled within a ring of beautiful, snow-capped peaks. Gentle breezes flow off lake Nahuel Huapi (nah-well woppy) and seem to whisper "relax," a request we have been taking very seriously.
Yesterday we reached the halfway point of our trip, and it is definitely more than symbolic. The hurried pace of the last 2.5 months (11 weeks) has started to take its toll, and we're a tuckered out. That's not to say that we will be slowing down much over the coming half, but Ally and I both feel the need to relax when and where we can, and Bariloche is a perfect candidate. We have been waking up every day at almost noon, walking into town, eating lunch, spending hours at the lake's beautiful blue waters napping and soaking up Vitamin D, maybe grabbing some food to cook back in our hostel, and then settling down for a movie on the hostel's DIGITAL CABLE!!! (first we've seen in South America). Otherwise, nothin' doing. But we're ok with that! The show must and will go on, once we're feeling up to it.
To be honest, we're pretty sure that our stint in Buenos Aires is at least partly to blame for our feelings of fatigue. First, some background: Argentinians, and more specifically Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) are night owls. They don't eat dinner until perhaps 10 or 11 at night and parties don't start until 2, which is to say that doors open at 2, people usually start showing up at 3 or later. We were confused about the subway's lack of service at night, but found that it is not unusual for people to stay out partying until the lines open up again at 5:00AM (9:00AM on sundays) the next morning. So, even though we only spent one night out of 10 in this manner, adjusting to late dinners after entire days out seeing the sights left us exhausted and drained.
Perhaps it is a testament to the draw of Buenos Aires that we were able to continue as long as we did. The city feels like New York City, with the vibe changing abruptly from manhattan to brooklyn as you enter the different neighborhoods. We were impressed by the modern vibe and the REAL COFFEE, which we have found nowhere else in South America. The true jewel of Buenos Aires are its people, though, a fact we learned from our incredibly generous hosts.
We stayed with our friend Ariel, who we met traveling in Chile and found incredibly open and humorous in intelligent and very crude (read: Argentinian) ways. He offered his sister's room to us for 9 nights without any thought of payment, something we could not thank him enough for. His mother, Daniela, took time out of her busy schedule to drive us around the city, straying 30 kilometers (divide by 1.6, ye of the mile standard) away from their house to show us the edges of Buenos Aires we wouldn't have seen otherwise. Besides this, she was constantly cooking for us, making sure we had clean clothes and that Ariel was showing us enough of the city. Ariel and his sister were incredibly accomodating as well, allowing us to partake in an Asado, an Argentinian tradition of cooking as much meat as possible and then trying to eat it all.
OK, perhaps it's not that extreme, and it was certainly delicious, as is all beef in Argentina (free range, grass fed!), and prepared on the parilla, a grill-like installation found in most houses. We also enjoyed most of the nightlife in B.A. in the company of Ariel, and we met many people who I think I would certainly consider friends at this point. All in all, we left B.A. wishing we could spend more time there and feeling that when we do return, we will have people who will be excited to see us.
...and that's why we're tired. But we have so much more to do, and I am certainly excited despite the feeling of enervation that leaves us in bed until 12:00 noon every morning regardless of when we fell asleep. Tomorrow we head to El Bolson, a cute little hippie town formed in the 1970s where lots of good beer is made. Then it's off to Mendoza where we will sample some of the world's best wine. Wow, we sound like drunks, don't we?
This is by no means a full update, simply what I could get out in one sitting. As always, stay tuned!
Love,
Sam
Grossest. Story. Ever.
WARNING.
I'm going to issue an immediate disclaimer: If you're slightly to extremely squeamish, this may not be the story for you...
While working at the farm in Misiones, I experienced my fair share of discomforts. There were plenty of bug attacks, large and terrifying spiders living between our fly and tent, vain attempts at keeping ourselves clean by bathing in the river, a night of constant waking when I heard a low growl outside our tent and Sam convinced me that it was something in the Jaguar family, etc. By the time we left, I felt as though I had gained quite a bit in the way of strength and acceptance with respect to my relationship with the environment and bugs. Nothing quite prepared me, though, for what I experienced about two weeks later.
I arrived in Buenos Aires, my body dotted with bug bites from the farm. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of the volunter experience, my skin reacted very strongly to certain bug bites, creating a large, irritated pink spot surrounding the bite. This would generally subside within a few days. As a result, I wasn't surprised when I noticed an inflamed spot on my right inner arm, close to the wrist. I wrote it off as a standard bug bite and messed with it in the usual ways, like trying to squeeze out the pus (gross, I know... but just wait). Sam urged me to leave it alone, and as it became larger, he told me that I had probably made it worse with my poking and prodding, but that it was still likely nothing more than a bite.
The day we left Buenos Aires for Bariloche, I felt a stinging on my foot. I ripped off my sock and identified the source of the pain, which was another mosquit0 bite on my ankle bone. I tried not to worry about the fact that my body was becoming rather bumpy in various locations (just the two, though) and proceeded to pack. Now this is where it becomes pretty unsavory... on the bus, Sam noticed that the bite on my arm didn't seem to be healing at all. We inspected the bump and saw the smallest of movements right where I had been bitten. Immediately, I felt my foot sting again and we saw something similar down there. It struck us then and there: HUMAN BOTFLY. A friend of ours at the farm had experienced the same thing, but the owners assured us that it was such an anomaly, and it certainly wasn't the season for this occurrence. Basically, the human botfly (endemic to certain jungle/tropical areas around the world) captures and lays eggs on a mosquito then releases it. When that mosquito bites a person, an egg enters the wound and becomes the botfly larvae: a tiny white worm that lives under the skin for a period until it's strong enough to leave the nest, and it just pops itself out and goes on with its life, without a word of thanks to its poor host. This period takes about 8 weeks, and while it's an incredibly disgusting thought, it's actually not really painful, other than occasional stinging. And if one were to let the botfly do its thing, the worm would eventually exit the body, having secreted antibiotics pretty much assuring that no infection would occur.
The thing is, most people don't really want to wait around for 8 weeks with a worm in the skin. I certainly didn't. So I frantically researched tactics and found a whole online community of people sharing their lovely botfly experiences. It turns out the easiest way to deal with one is to duct tape the wound, thereby asphyxiating the worm within about 24 hours. In order to survive, it needs to breathe through the opening in the skin. In fact, when I noticed some movement on the bus, that's exactly what I was witnessing. As soon as Sam and I arrived in Bariloche, we taped over the two bites and waited... and waited. The next day, we removed the tape from my ankle and, lo and behold, a bit of worm was sticking out. Sam set to squeezing the area (as you're supposed to do), and the entire thing just popped out. GROSS. The wound looked like a tiny black hole. At this point, it's already healed almost completely. The arm was a little more disgusting, as the worm was slightly farther along in its progress. But we still shot it out and I'm finally worm-free... hopefully forever!
This is one of those experience that, had someone prophesized it, I wouldn't have believed that a. it would happen, and b. if it were to happen, I wouldn't freak out. But I haven't freaked out! I mean, when Sam removed the tape, I refused to look until he declared without question that the worms were indeed dead and ready for removal. But I've survived, physically and emotionally intact. Oh, I should add that I named the worms: Mildred and Gertrude, may they rest in peace. I'm linking two photos.
This is one of the dead worms, post-removal, resting on a surgical glove: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1153.jpg
The second is a photo of my arm after the worm was squeezed out. Another warning, pretty disgusting: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1150.jpg
So now all is well! I'm pleased to have retired from hosting parasitic creatures under my skin. But seriously, as appalling and upsetting as all of this may sound, in the end, it was very bearable and made for a pretty amazing story. The most painful part of the entire experience was taking the duct tape off of my skin. Hope I haven't grossed you out too much. I promise to ensure that I'm bug-free when I return to the US! Luckily, I won't be engaging in any more visits (during this trip, at least) to botfly regions.
Love,
Ally (and the ghosts of Mildred & Gertrude)
I'm going to issue an immediate disclaimer: If you're slightly to extremely squeamish, this may not be the story for you...
While working at the farm in Misiones, I experienced my fair share of discomforts. There were plenty of bug attacks, large and terrifying spiders living between our fly and tent, vain attempts at keeping ourselves clean by bathing in the river, a night of constant waking when I heard a low growl outside our tent and Sam convinced me that it was something in the Jaguar family, etc. By the time we left, I felt as though I had gained quite a bit in the way of strength and acceptance with respect to my relationship with the environment and bugs. Nothing quite prepared me, though, for what I experienced about two weeks later.
I arrived in Buenos Aires, my body dotted with bug bites from the farm. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of the volunter experience, my skin reacted very strongly to certain bug bites, creating a large, irritated pink spot surrounding the bite. This would generally subside within a few days. As a result, I wasn't surprised when I noticed an inflamed spot on my right inner arm, close to the wrist. I wrote it off as a standard bug bite and messed with it in the usual ways, like trying to squeeze out the pus (gross, I know... but just wait). Sam urged me to leave it alone, and as it became larger, he told me that I had probably made it worse with my poking and prodding, but that it was still likely nothing more than a bite.
The day we left Buenos Aires for Bariloche, I felt a stinging on my foot. I ripped off my sock and identified the source of the pain, which was another mosquit0 bite on my ankle bone. I tried not to worry about the fact that my body was becoming rather bumpy in various locations (just the two, though) and proceeded to pack. Now this is where it becomes pretty unsavory... on the bus, Sam noticed that the bite on my arm didn't seem to be healing at all. We inspected the bump and saw the smallest of movements right where I had been bitten. Immediately, I felt my foot sting again and we saw something similar down there. It struck us then and there: HUMAN BOTFLY. A friend of ours at the farm had experienced the same thing, but the owners assured us that it was such an anomaly, and it certainly wasn't the season for this occurrence. Basically, the human botfly (endemic to certain jungle/tropical areas around the world) captures and lays eggs on a mosquito then releases it. When that mosquito bites a person, an egg enters the wound and becomes the botfly larvae: a tiny white worm that lives under the skin for a period until it's strong enough to leave the nest, and it just pops itself out and goes on with its life, without a word of thanks to its poor host. This period takes about 8 weeks, and while it's an incredibly disgusting thought, it's actually not really painful, other than occasional stinging. And if one were to let the botfly do its thing, the worm would eventually exit the body, having secreted antibiotics pretty much assuring that no infection would occur.
The thing is, most people don't really want to wait around for 8 weeks with a worm in the skin. I certainly didn't. So I frantically researched tactics and found a whole online community of people sharing their lovely botfly experiences. It turns out the easiest way to deal with one is to duct tape the wound, thereby asphyxiating the worm within about 24 hours. In order to survive, it needs to breathe through the opening in the skin. In fact, when I noticed some movement on the bus, that's exactly what I was witnessing. As soon as Sam and I arrived in Bariloche, we taped over the two bites and waited... and waited. The next day, we removed the tape from my ankle and, lo and behold, a bit of worm was sticking out. Sam set to squeezing the area (as you're supposed to do), and the entire thing just popped out. GROSS. The wound looked like a tiny black hole. At this point, it's already healed almost completely. The arm was a little more disgusting, as the worm was slightly farther along in its progress. But we still shot it out and I'm finally worm-free... hopefully forever!
This is one of those experience that, had someone prophesized it, I wouldn't have believed that a. it would happen, and b. if it were to happen, I wouldn't freak out. But I haven't freaked out! I mean, when Sam removed the tape, I refused to look until he declared without question that the worms were indeed dead and ready for removal. But I've survived, physically and emotionally intact. Oh, I should add that I named the worms: Mildred and Gertrude, may they rest in peace. I'm linking two photos.
This is one of the dead worms, post-removal, resting on a surgical glove: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1153.jpg
The second is a photo of my arm after the worm was squeezed out. Another warning, pretty disgusting: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1150.jpg
So now all is well! I'm pleased to have retired from hosting parasitic creatures under my skin. But seriously, as appalling and upsetting as all of this may sound, in the end, it was very bearable and made for a pretty amazing story. The most painful part of the entire experience was taking the duct tape off of my skin. Hope I haven't grossed you out too much. I promise to ensure that I'm bug-free when I return to the US! Luckily, I won't be engaging in any more visits (during this trip, at least) to botfly regions.
Love,
Ally (and the ghosts of Mildred & Gertrude)
PHOTOSPHOTOSPHOTOS
Just uploaded a 1-month (maybe more?) backlog of photos. Check 'em out!
...and yes, we're aware some of them are upside downç
Stay tuned for posts from both of us!!!!!
...and yes, we're aware some of them are upside downç
Stay tuned for posts from both of us!!!!!
3.17.2009
Time passes slowly
Wow. It's been awhile. And I promise this will be a long post to make up for the long gap, so bear with me!
Where to start... There's a reason we've waited so long since the last time we posted, and I'm not entirely sure how to explain why. Ok, here goes:
We got kicked off the farm, and we're still not exactly sure how it all happened. Things seemed fine with everyone except Marcelo, the co-owner of the farm and husband to Kim, the woman we had organized everything with. She was kind, open-minded, and into health and improving the farm, and had (until recently, stay tuned) treated us with respect and engaged in good dialogues about our ideas for the farm. Marcelo was the opposite. On the first trip from town he treated us to a tirade about how the United States is awful, there is no hope for the future, and the country should basically be plowed under, its inhabitants--or at least leaders--killed, and so forth and so on...
Sure, everyone has strong opinions, right? So we kept our mouths shut and tried to bring as much positivity to the experience, which was, on the whole, positive. The only difficult moments were Marcelo's periodic rants about government conspiracies, books being incorrect, food being cooked incorrectly, and so forth. And then there were a couple situations in which he threw food we had made into the compost, refused to contribute to communal meals, and kicked out a volunteer (not us, another American) for lying about his age...he said he was 23, he was actually 19...
None of these things really signify a negative relationship, but put together we felt very much the subject of incosiderate behavior and selfishness--Marcelo just doesn't seem to understand that his beliefs are opinions, not fact or natural law.
So anyway, on that fateful Thursday last, Marcelo decided to make Dulce de Leche (delicious milk and sugar condiment that takes 3 hours to cook) on the one stove burner about 15 minutes before we were to make dinner. So I asked, as anyone would, "how long is that going to take?" to which he responded "3 hours". Long story short, I told him I thought he was being insensitive, and he told me to leave the farm. He finally calmed down, apologized for flying off the handle, and restated the fact that it was his house, we would follow his rules, we could make dinner in 3 hours.
So we went and packed up our things. Marcelo charged up the path, handed us our money, and said, "you have 10 minutes to leave, don't say anything else, get out." So we did. But not before:
1. Marcelo threatened to kill me.
2. The other volunteers helped us pack up and walked us 2km to the top of the hill in a sign of solidarity.
So we thought we were rid of this entirely ridiculous situation. I am entirely able to forgive temporary insanity, and I made my peace with the situation. We left the farm and Obera, taking a Cama Total Bus (read: full-service, complete with wine, champagne, and personal televisions) to Buenos Aires, where we're staying at the moment.
B.A. is amazing! We've been enjoying the very New York-y feel and seeing tons of museums and parks and being treated to amazing hospitality in the house of Ariel, a guy we met while traveling in Chile. His mother and sister and friends are so incredibly welcoming, and as a result we've been able to save a ton of money. In his company we've eaten Asado, the ancient Argentinian art of eating a lot of really delicious cow parts, watched lots of Seinfeld (thats how many Argentinians learn English) and gone out for the best pizza outside New York. All in all, it's been great, we're here until Sunday, and we can't even begin to guess what's in store for us each day we wake up.
...Especially as witnessed by the continual reminders we get about the ridiculous situation in Obera. We received an email from Kim, the wife, basically absolving Marcelo of blame for having physically threatened Ally and I and placing the burden on us for having introduced "negative energy" into their home. Somehow by leaving trash behind at our campsite (courtesy of Marcelo's 10 minute deadline, which was SLIGHTLY preoccupying) and discussing suggestions for the farm with other volunteers we had waived our right to feel outraged and upset by Marcelo's actions.
So it's been a mixed bag of amazing experiences in Buenos Aires and nights before bed spent reviewing every action I took while at the farm to try and see if Kim had any reason to say what she did. I feel a mixture of anger, sadness, embarrassment, and frustration, and most of all I just want the situation to be over. I'm ashamed to have been so excited and positive about the experience in the last blog post and to have so misjudged it. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles, huh?
But don't let this put you off trying out WWOOFing, ok? Not all hosts will threaten to kill you, I promise!
...oh, and we'll upload photos as soon as possible, perhaps even tonight! (an empty promise, I know...)
Love you all, and don't worry, we're both safe!
Sam
Where to start... There's a reason we've waited so long since the last time we posted, and I'm not entirely sure how to explain why. Ok, here goes:
We got kicked off the farm, and we're still not exactly sure how it all happened. Things seemed fine with everyone except Marcelo, the co-owner of the farm and husband to Kim, the woman we had organized everything with. She was kind, open-minded, and into health and improving the farm, and had (until recently, stay tuned) treated us with respect and engaged in good dialogues about our ideas for the farm. Marcelo was the opposite. On the first trip from town he treated us to a tirade about how the United States is awful, there is no hope for the future, and the country should basically be plowed under, its inhabitants--or at least leaders--killed, and so forth and so on...
Sure, everyone has strong opinions, right? So we kept our mouths shut and tried to bring as much positivity to the experience, which was, on the whole, positive. The only difficult moments were Marcelo's periodic rants about government conspiracies, books being incorrect, food being cooked incorrectly, and so forth. And then there were a couple situations in which he threw food we had made into the compost, refused to contribute to communal meals, and kicked out a volunteer (not us, another American) for lying about his age...he said he was 23, he was actually 19...
None of these things really signify a negative relationship, but put together we felt very much the subject of incosiderate behavior and selfishness--Marcelo just doesn't seem to understand that his beliefs are opinions, not fact or natural law.
So anyway, on that fateful Thursday last, Marcelo decided to make Dulce de Leche (delicious milk and sugar condiment that takes 3 hours to cook) on the one stove burner about 15 minutes before we were to make dinner. So I asked, as anyone would, "how long is that going to take?" to which he responded "3 hours". Long story short, I told him I thought he was being insensitive, and he told me to leave the farm. He finally calmed down, apologized for flying off the handle, and restated the fact that it was his house, we would follow his rules, we could make dinner in 3 hours.
"But we're putting into the house," said Sam. (we paid 300 pesos, about 100 dollars, to stay for 2 weeks to offset food costs, were doing 3 hours of work a day and making food for everyone--everyone was contributing to the well-being of the farm and of the household)
"GET OUT, LEAVE, HOW DARE YOU, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE," screamed Marcelo, lunging towards Sam. He stood within 5 inches of Sam's face, bellowing at the top of his lungs and gesturing towards the gate. "YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE," he continued. Sam could feel Marcelo's hot breath on his face and realized he had pushed some button, however invisible, to set Marcelo off.
"Ok, Marcelo, Marcelo? Marcelo! Please, calm down, we can talk about this," said Sam, holding his hands up in front of him, palms toward Marcelo, in a gesture meant to calm him down.
Marcelo replied, "LEAVE, before I have a BAD REACTION,"
So we went and packed up our things. Marcelo charged up the path, handed us our money, and said, "you have 10 minutes to leave, don't say anything else, get out." So we did. But not before:
1. Marcelo threatened to kill me.
2. The other volunteers helped us pack up and walked us 2km to the top of the hill in a sign of solidarity.
So we thought we were rid of this entirely ridiculous situation. I am entirely able to forgive temporary insanity, and I made my peace with the situation. We left the farm and Obera, taking a Cama Total Bus (read: full-service, complete with wine, champagne, and personal televisions) to Buenos Aires, where we're staying at the moment.
B.A. is amazing! We've been enjoying the very New York-y feel and seeing tons of museums and parks and being treated to amazing hospitality in the house of Ariel, a guy we met while traveling in Chile. His mother and sister and friends are so incredibly welcoming, and as a result we've been able to save a ton of money. In his company we've eaten Asado, the ancient Argentinian art of eating a lot of really delicious cow parts, watched lots of Seinfeld (thats how many Argentinians learn English) and gone out for the best pizza outside New York. All in all, it's been great, we're here until Sunday, and we can't even begin to guess what's in store for us each day we wake up.
...Especially as witnessed by the continual reminders we get about the ridiculous situation in Obera. We received an email from Kim, the wife, basically absolving Marcelo of blame for having physically threatened Ally and I and placing the burden on us for having introduced "negative energy" into their home. Somehow by leaving trash behind at our campsite (courtesy of Marcelo's 10 minute deadline, which was SLIGHTLY preoccupying) and discussing suggestions for the farm with other volunteers we had waived our right to feel outraged and upset by Marcelo's actions.
So it's been a mixed bag of amazing experiences in Buenos Aires and nights before bed spent reviewing every action I took while at the farm to try and see if Kim had any reason to say what she did. I feel a mixture of anger, sadness, embarrassment, and frustration, and most of all I just want the situation to be over. I'm ashamed to have been so excited and positive about the experience in the last blog post and to have so misjudged it. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles, huh?
But don't let this put you off trying out WWOOFing, ok? Not all hosts will threaten to kill you, I promise!
...oh, and we'll upload photos as soon as possible, perhaps even tonight! (an empty promise, I know...)
Love you all, and don't worry, we're both safe!
Sam
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