Posts
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
3.26.2009
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
3.07.2009
Obera
So. We're here, we're working hard, and we're...a lot of things. Here's a list:
1. bug-bitten
2. entirely sick of Dulce de Leche
3. never clean
4. sleeping in tents
5. using dry compost toilets
6. phoneless (possibly for good)
7. covered in fine, red clay (Think Virginia)
8. enjoying ourselves
9. cooking beautiful, healthy vegetarian meals 3 times a day
10. learning a lot about farming and sustainability
11. getting used to the heat
12. learning to love small, skin-burrowing insects
13. realizing there are SO many types of butterflies
14. building stone foundations, chicken houses, yoga shalas, and readying garden beds
15. content, but still excited about Buenos Aires
So things are going well. It's swelteringly hot most of the time, there are few truly comfortable places to sit, and of course no air conditioning (or electricity beyond charging ipods and running a single light). But we are getting used to it and we are enjoying ourselves because this is the way life probably should be, and we know it.
We miss home pretty intensely, I yearn particularly for working in the garden with Mom, blazing trails in the backyard with Dad, building forts with Will and then excluding him because he's my younger brother (just kidding, but that did happen a lot, didn't it? sorry!), and generally using my two hands on a piece of land for the sake of improving it and myself. I also find myself simultaneously missing the easy access to friends I had at school and at home via phone and car. This is possibly the hardest adjustment to make while traveling: you simply have to make do with what you have. Thank goodness I'm traveling with someone I love, because I can see the long road getting very lonely without a companion to share it all with.
Which brings us to a question I never really EVER want to address: what to do when we STOP traveling? I still have no clue. The days stretch on and turn into weeks and it seems like I should be hopping on a plane home any moment, but we've actually only been gone for 8 weeks, with about 12 more to go. So why should I be thinking about what to do after I get home? Maybe its a form of self-torture, because I have just so few ideas. I think maybe traveling forever is the only option...then I may never have to answer it at all!
I can feel msyelf start to ramble, so I think I'll sign off. We come into town on Saturdays, so that will be the next time I'll have to use the internet... Until then,
Love you all,
Sam
1. bug-bitten
2. entirely sick of Dulce de Leche
3. never clean
4. sleeping in tents
5. using dry compost toilets
6. phoneless (possibly for good)
7. covered in fine, red clay (Think Virginia)
8. enjoying ourselves
9. cooking beautiful, healthy vegetarian meals 3 times a day
10. learning a lot about farming and sustainability
11. getting used to the heat
12. learning to love small, skin-burrowing insects
13. realizing there are SO many types of butterflies
14. building stone foundations, chicken houses, yoga shalas, and readying garden beds
15. content, but still excited about Buenos Aires
So things are going well. It's swelteringly hot most of the time, there are few truly comfortable places to sit, and of course no air conditioning (or electricity beyond charging ipods and running a single light). But we are getting used to it and we are enjoying ourselves because this is the way life probably should be, and we know it.
We miss home pretty intensely, I yearn particularly for working in the garden with Mom, blazing trails in the backyard with Dad, building forts with Will and then excluding him because he's my younger brother (just kidding, but that did happen a lot, didn't it? sorry!), and generally using my two hands on a piece of land for the sake of improving it and myself. I also find myself simultaneously missing the easy access to friends I had at school and at home via phone and car. This is possibly the hardest adjustment to make while traveling: you simply have to make do with what you have. Thank goodness I'm traveling with someone I love, because I can see the long road getting very lonely without a companion to share it all with.
Which brings us to a question I never really EVER want to address: what to do when we STOP traveling? I still have no clue. The days stretch on and turn into weeks and it seems like I should be hopping on a plane home any moment, but we've actually only been gone for 8 weeks, with about 12 more to go. So why should I be thinking about what to do after I get home? Maybe its a form of self-torture, because I have just so few ideas. I think maybe traveling forever is the only option...then I may never have to answer it at all!
I can feel msyelf start to ramble, so I think I'll sign off. We come into town on Saturdays, so that will be the next time I'll have to use the internet... Until then,
Love you all,
Sam
3.02.2009
i'm posting, i promise!
Well I'm finally getting around to blogging... not that there has been a dearth of topics to write about, rather a dearth of time & motivation. Here were are, in an Argentinian town called Obera. This is probably the least touristy place we've visited; we' re only using it as a point from which to access the farm where we'll be living and voluteering for about two weeks. After volunteering in Arequipa (which I miss dreadfully), we traveled through northern Chile for a week, which didn't leave a particularly warm and glowing impression on me. It was certainly interesting to explore a new place, but I would much rather have been in Peru or Argentina. The first shock in Chile was how expensive food and hostels were in relation to Peru. We bought a very nice (although somewhat small) and reasonably priced tent in Iquique which, within a few nights, paid for itself. We spent more time camping than staying in hostels in Chile.
The second town we visited was San Pedro de Atacama. If anyone is considering stopping by, I strongly urge you to reconsider. It is a place completely and utterly devoted to tourism/ripping people off. Sam and I would have stayed for only one night if not for the fact that departure buses fill up immediately. We hit up the bus station within hours of arriving and the earliest we were able to leave was three days later. Even stranger than having to wait days for a bus, there are only two usable ATMs in the entire town and often neither one of them contains cash. Furthermore, the bus companies only accept cash payment in Chilean pesos. Sam and I were lucky that we came with plenty of money, but a friend we met there didn't fare so well. She was very desperate to leave San Pedro but didn't have the requisite cash and, for days, the ATMs were empty. She finally lucked out when other friends lent her the money, without which she might have been stuck there for weeks (which isn't unheard of). At first, I wondered how a tourist town could possibly thrive without a constant stream of cash for the tourists. Then it struck me in a slightly conspiracy theory-esque way... in San Pedro, the only restaurants and hotels that accept credit cards are the most expensive. If unable to procure Chilean money and stuck in that miserable town, one's only option is to spring for the ritzy, credit-card accepting accommodations, which in turns brings more money to the town. Additionally, if you can't come up with the cash to snag a bus, you're stuck paying those high prices until you can find an escape route. The only positive experience in San Pedro was spending time with two Argentinians we had met earlier in Chile. They were also very economically oriented and we ended up cooking amazing dinners with them every night. One day, we went cave-exploring with them outside of town and enjoyed a moonlight walk back.
Once we entered Argentina, we spent a few nights in Salta, a city in which I wish I could spend more time. We took an incredible stair hike up a mountain, where a beautiful view and a delicious stout were waiting for us. We befriended a delightful Brit named Debs -- she accompanied us on the hike, out to dinner, and later to a museum. I'm keeping a list of the people we hope to visit after this trip, and it's starting to seem as though we'll have each of the Western European countries covered by the end.
After Salta, we had an uneventful two days in Resistencia. The town was fairly uninteresting so we decided to see Friday the 13th in a lovely air-conditioned movie theater. It reminded me of Florida... movies and air-conditioning. After, we traveled to Puerto Iguazú and experienced the breathtakingly glorious Igauzú Falls (we'll post pictures as soon as possible... in the meantime, definitely check it out on google images). We met a large group of Israelis at our hostel and spent a few hours chatting with them. They didn't seem too keen on Obama. Talking politics with Israelis can be difficult.
I'm running out of time here so I'll wrap it up. In a few hours, we're meeting Marcello and Kim and traveling to their farm where we'll become acquainted with the whole family (the farm animals, insects, plants, possibly other volunteers). I'm very excited. I think it's just the thing to take the edge off of the homesickness I've been feeling since yesterday. Sam & I aren't sure when we'll next have Internet access, but it'll be no later than two weeks from now.
Hope everyone's enjoying the snow up north! To be honest, I would love a few non-tropical minutes right about now...
Love,
Ally
The second town we visited was San Pedro de Atacama. If anyone is considering stopping by, I strongly urge you to reconsider. It is a place completely and utterly devoted to tourism/ripping people off. Sam and I would have stayed for only one night if not for the fact that departure buses fill up immediately. We hit up the bus station within hours of arriving and the earliest we were able to leave was three days later. Even stranger than having to wait days for a bus, there are only two usable ATMs in the entire town and often neither one of them contains cash. Furthermore, the bus companies only accept cash payment in Chilean pesos. Sam and I were lucky that we came with plenty of money, but a friend we met there didn't fare so well. She was very desperate to leave San Pedro but didn't have the requisite cash and, for days, the ATMs were empty. She finally lucked out when other friends lent her the money, without which she might have been stuck there for weeks (which isn't unheard of). At first, I wondered how a tourist town could possibly thrive without a constant stream of cash for the tourists. Then it struck me in a slightly conspiracy theory-esque way... in San Pedro, the only restaurants and hotels that accept credit cards are the most expensive. If unable to procure Chilean money and stuck in that miserable town, one's only option is to spring for the ritzy, credit-card accepting accommodations, which in turns brings more money to the town. Additionally, if you can't come up with the cash to snag a bus, you're stuck paying those high prices until you can find an escape route. The only positive experience in San Pedro was spending time with two Argentinians we had met earlier in Chile. They were also very economically oriented and we ended up cooking amazing dinners with them every night. One day, we went cave-exploring with them outside of town and enjoyed a moonlight walk back.
Once we entered Argentina, we spent a few nights in Salta, a city in which I wish I could spend more time. We took an incredible stair hike up a mountain, where a beautiful view and a delicious stout were waiting for us. We befriended a delightful Brit named Debs -- she accompanied us on the hike, out to dinner, and later to a museum. I'm keeping a list of the people we hope to visit after this trip, and it's starting to seem as though we'll have each of the Western European countries covered by the end.
After Salta, we had an uneventful two days in Resistencia. The town was fairly uninteresting so we decided to see Friday the 13th in a lovely air-conditioned movie theater. It reminded me of Florida... movies and air-conditioning. After, we traveled to Puerto Iguazú and experienced the breathtakingly glorious Igauzú Falls (we'll post pictures as soon as possible... in the meantime, definitely check it out on google images). We met a large group of Israelis at our hostel and spent a few hours chatting with them. They didn't seem too keen on Obama. Talking politics with Israelis can be difficult.
I'm running out of time here so I'll wrap it up. In a few hours, we're meeting Marcello and Kim and traveling to their farm where we'll become acquainted with the whole family (the farm animals, insects, plants, possibly other volunteers). I'm very excited. I think it's just the thing to take the edge off of the homesickness I've been feeling since yesterday. Sam & I aren't sure when we'll next have Internet access, but it'll be no later than two weeks from now.
Hope everyone's enjoying the snow up north! To be honest, I would love a few non-tropical minutes right about now...
Love,
Ally
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