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Monday, January 21, 2013

The Cycle of a Travel Blog

It's funny to think of the grand ambitions we often have, starting forth with a spark like so many other would be fires only to be extinguished by changing winds. Reading a Facebook post I realized that it has been almost a year since I have written anything of note. Not that this entry would necessarily qualify as anything of note, but still I sit dismayed, as my once cherished travel blog has been left to fade into the oblivion of half started dreams that now float through thousands of miles of cables with no destination, existing both nowhere but everywhere.

But I suppose this is what happens to a travel blog when its owner has no foreign destination...

However, now I stand equipped to resist this obscurity. I fight back with words, filled with a new sense of exploration as my mind drifts to future travels. Leaving for Rio in 2 weeks for Carnival, my mind again begins to drift to my purpose as often happens. I question my reasons for being here when I could just as easily be out there discovering some uncovered corner of the world. Life seems too short to retire the tiny pieces of passion that ignite the great ambitions in your life. But alas, plane tickets are not as cheap as matches and so I sit smoldering in my own wanderlust.

Monday, January 16, 2012

A Month in Buenos Aires

After a month in Buenos Aires. I have begun to settle in to the feel of the city. The subway rides are becoming more routine, the bus routes are becoming more recognizable and I no longer live in fear of missing my stop on the train.

Over the last month however, I have still found myself lacking a daily routine. With my work schedule everchanging and always demanding I have found little time for the things that I love and the things I need: futbol, running, writing and practicing my spanish.

However, not all is lost. Within a week, my work schedule will return to normal and all will be well in my little corner of the universe. In the meantime, I have made many new friends in my time here. Thanks to great roomates, amazing coworkers and the couchsurfers community, I have had no shortage of fun on my weekends. Free entrance to clubs, house parties and soccer games... the lazy mornings that follow our midnight outings into the forray of dancing, sweating bodies.  One day I awake with the sunrise, the next it lulls me to sleep. Such is life in Buenos Aires as I attempt to find routine in a city that is anything but.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Sorry all

Well its been over a month since my last post. And I'd like to apologize. Yes I am very far behind, and unfortunately won't start producing my travel adventures until I settle into my work routine here in Buenos Aires.  Funny enough, I've been asked to maintain the blog at The Wallstreet institute where I work as well, so now I'll be writing twice as much, but will have time to do so once my mornings clear up.

But for now let me fill you in on where I've been and what I've been doing.  After leaving La Paz, I travelled north to beautiful Lake Titticacca... thats just fun to say isn't it. Here Copacabana was beautiful but the most serenely inspiring place I've been in mylast three months of travel was most definitely Isla de Sol, which is a two hour ferry ride from Copacabana and situated on a small island in the middle of this immense, 12,000-foot-high lake, famous for being the highest navigatable lake in the world. The sunset and sunrise can both be witnessed from the top of the island, and are absolutely breathtaking when filtered through the massive peaks that stand in the distance, capped in snow. If I ever figure out how to make actual money with this writing gig, this is where I will spend some time alone with my word play.

After leaving Lake Titticacca... there it is again...hehe... I traveled to Cusco for the 5 day Salkantay trek through the glacier covered mountains to Machu Picchu. Exploring the ancient marvel, and squeezing it for every dime I could I returned to cusco where I learned upon arriving that I had gotten a teaching job in BsAs. With 3 weeks left until I started work I fled to the beach for some ocean time.

Arriving in Mancora, Peru, I spent the next 2 weeks relaxing on the beach and sipping margaritas... wait thats not right... I spent the next to weeks, learning to kitesurf with my buddy Rein Peterson... you can can find him on my facebook if your interested... and having some vodka slushies by the pool.  My team won the Loki Olympics at Loki hostel in Mancora, which was good because I got a free shirt and I've lost a lot of clothes this trip and after 2 weeks of soaking in the sun, I then flew back to BsAs for my new job via the airport in Quayaquil, Ecuador (Where a career U.S. Army Captain offered me his 3 daughters... hehe... I think they were getting on his nerves so I found it prudent to decline.)

Back here in BsAs a week now, I have already found an apartment with a family of columbians (cousins, spouses and brother-in laws mostly) from ages 22-27. I speak spanish and hear spanish everyday... enough so to overload my feeble brain, and only really speak english when I'm at work. I play soccer everyday for 2-3 hours at a park 5 blocks from my house and am looking forward to starting my first lesson at my new job. I may have my first lesson tomorrow, though officially Im not supposed to start until monday (the training went fast). Either way, I sink in to my new work schedule on monday (5-9pm, Monday - Friday) and will soon have my mornings free again to write. So until then, I'm going to horde my pictures and my travels and should start getting them out into internet land by the end of next week. Hope your still with me and all is well in your little corners of the world. Chau for now.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Plunge Down Death Road

By the grace of god my eyelids opened at 6:30am with a half hour to make it to El Solario, the company handling our hurdle down Death Road. Our alarm for some reason never went off, but the mere fact that we woke up on time, of our own accord, boded well for our upcoming adventure. Arriving just in time for the breakfast orientation, we scarf down our grilled cheese sandwiches and drown our drowsy eyes in coffee... now we are ready.

Piling into one of two the 12-person vans,  Andrew and I are delighted to find that there are only 5 in our van, and we have room to stretch out while we shake off the coffee jitters left over from one to many cups of coffee. Twisting our way up the mountains that hold La Paz like a fish bowl, we finally reach La Cumbre, our launch point at 4700 meters (15,400ft). Unloading our bikes, the guides give us instructions while i let my eyes wander to the massive, snow dotted peaks that surround us. The valley only partly-shrouded in the mist from the jungles below is lined with sheer rock cliffs colliding at their pinnacle to create the impressive 6000 meter (19,685ft.) mountain range we would ride through. Gearing up in knee pads, elbow pads,      gloves, a helmet and a wind breaker, we begin the first stage of the road.


Speeding our way down the winding, asphalt road and into the valley, I stay in full tuck making sure to stay in front... I'm not here to look at any butts. Instructed not to use our cameras while riding, I of course sneak my camera out of my pocket for video documentation of the breathtaking scene. As I film, Clouds blow over the mammoth peaks, waterfalls creep down the cliff faces like jungle vines and the valley opens below me.  Under me my bike jolts as I lean into a turn and the air whips my face.  After an hour and a half of hurdling ourselves down the twisting paved road, we stop for lunch. Filling our bellies with bananas and ham sandwiches, we pile into the van to be ferried up the hill portion of the road. It's time to start Death Road itself.

According to some estimates some 200-300 visitors are killed here each year, and just a few years ago our guide informed us of a bus that plunged off the cliff lined roadway killing 51 passengers. Unloading from the van once more, we find our selves on a two meter (6ft) wide dirt road that hangs delicately on the edge of a massive cliff. Inlaid with jagged rocks, it becomes instantly clear why this is called Death Road... one slip on the winding, bumpy, cliff-lined roadway and your dead. Now this is more like it.

As we get our instruction, a bus peels around the corner just 15 meters from us, completely unheard just seconds ago. The sheer rock walls had blocked the sound of the engine and the thick jungle had swallowed its echoes.  Our guide instructs us that unlike the rest of Bolivia which drives on the right, we must descend on the left side of the roadway, closest to the cliffs edge, the reason being that drivers sitting on the left are better able to make sure their tires do not plunge over the 90 degree embankment.

Beginning our descent, I again make sure to take the lead behind our guide so that I can enjoy the scenery with the least amount of dust in my eyes.  Smart me, I'm the only one who forgot my sunglasses. Anyway, I figure the guide knows the best tracks to take I can then get more speed. WEEEE!

Occasionally stopping for video and pictures we race down the narrow mountain pass. Jumping and bumping over rocks and skidding around tight turns, I go only slightly faster than comfortable, constantly aware of the fatality a mistake would produce. As we snake down the uneven terrain, my hands grow sore and numb from constant bumping and breaking, and I shake them out whenever I get the chance.  Eager capture some home video of my own, I dare not during the steep, rocky descent. As another bus whips around the corner ahead of me, I hug the cliff edge, which drops 600 meters into oblivion. Avoiding its massive, metal grill I manage to slide over far enough to avoid it from punting me off the roadway. Blinded by the thick cloud of dust it kicks up, I wipe at my eyes and regain my composure. Blazing around turns, jumping rocks and smashing through waterfalls we descend quickly. Adrenaline pumping, you sometimes forget the immediate danger of the roadway, but the occasional crosses lining the roadway act as solemn reminders of the threat and shake you from your complicity. After 2 hours we finally reach the flat portion of the road, where I am able to take some home video.  Oh wait....Shhhhh! It's not allowed.

Riding through a river a local family has set about washing their cars and clothes and bathing in the cool clear water. Andrew and I follow suit, hopping off our bikes and dunking our heads under the waterfall created by the small river. Hopping back on our bikes we begin or way down again. A girl's tire pops, a common occurrence on the road, so a little further down, the guide stops to wait. The place where the guide has stopped he explains, is a very dangerous part of the road. Pointing to the jungle below, he tells us that this is the spot where the bus carrying 51 passengers plunged off the cliff a few years back. Marked by three crosses, I look ever the edge and see nothing but jungle. As the guide talks, he tells us that the bus still remains at the bottom of the valley, the thick jungle swallowing it whole and preventing its recovery.  Finally reaching the bottom of the road in Yolosi which sits at 1200 meters (3937ft) we take a break, watching a local hang her laundry out to dry in the baking sun. Having descended 3,500 meters (11,482ft) in four hours down the most dangerous road in the world, I was finally able to say, "I Survived Death Road!"

After a small hill climb to the Hostel Don Lucho for lunch, I strip down and dive head first into the cool water of the swimming pool.  There in the swimming pool, set in the valley of a rich, colorful jungle and surrounded by mountains thickly blanketed in green, I relax. After a delicious, home-cooked, buffet lunch. I grab a Duff beer from the fridge and relax in the hammock, finding my own personal heaven in the sound of the breeze through the trees and the exotic bird calls echoing from the canopy.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Time is Fleeting and Bolivia Knows It

O.k. I'll admit, its a corny title. But as I sit here with just a month left to travel before I settle into a new home here in South America, it's the only thing that describes my current sentiment. With my blog seemingly months behind, I cant believe I sit here in La Paz and have only just written about Rosario which I left 20 days ago.

It saddens me to think that each city gets only a day or two recognition and I have but a few days to a week for each city, when in reality, each city seems to be worthy of a lifetime. After hiking with a stray dog for 5 hours to shower under a waterfall and bask in the sun in Cordoba, dancing the night away in a boliche for halloween in Salta, visiting dear friends in Tucuman, going to 16,250 ft to see geysers and lakes of brilliant reds, greens and blues in Uynuni and finally now, tomorrow hanging on the precipice of taking a bike down the most dangerous road in the entire world, where 6 feet of gravel are your only savior from the hundred meter plunge off a cliff, and where cars and buses can whip around the sharp mountain corners at any second... it certainly seems that time is indeed fleeting. With Lake Titticaca still on the agenda here in Bolivia, with Machu Pichu, and sand boarding in Peru, beaches, friends, the lost city and job interviews in Columbia, wine tours in Mendoza and Interviews in BsAs and potentially Panama now...  I do wonder if there is enough time to see it all. And do I have the will power to leave a city that I love every few days only to fall in love again when I arrive at some place new.

Even here in La Paz, where some might be less apt to go, the city can take your breath away. Surrounded by 22,000 ft peaks, with the city laid into the steep hillsides, domiciles take breaks from their climb up the rocky mountainsides only to make way for jagged cliffs where nothing could be built. Beautiful old churches dominate the landscape at the center of the massive city and at night they light up with a million little lights dotting the surrounding mountain range as their backdrop.  Albeit not 5 minutes ago, as I wrote this, I heard gunfire and sirens, the city itself is a beautiful place, the people are friendly, except for obviously the shooters, and culture bubbles on every corner. Bright colors adorn most locals. Seniors carry bags on their back, big enough to fit three or four people, as they make their way up the steep roads, and beautiful handwoven and handcrafted artifacts from the rich indigenous past are everywhere to be seen. You can eat a dinner for the equivalent of about 70 cents American, with salad, soup and a main course, and guards with shotguns sit outside every bank, giving you both a sense a security and danger at the same time.

As I sit here, gunshots and sirens again echo through the valley of the city, but in the security of my hostel, I sit anxiously awaiting my first night out in weeks. This is La Paz, and La Paz is Bolivia and the juxtaposition of ideals seems to adequately describe this part of the world. Where indigenous culture raves against modernization, and coca leaves are sold on every corner while cocaine is prohibited. Where a coca farmer is now the President, Evo Morales, and is well loved by the people as the first indigenous president of Bolivia and the first indigenous sovereign leader of the territory since Tupac Amaru in Incan times, some 500 years ago.  Where one taxi is safe and another is an invitation for a kidnapping. Where Flamingos rest at 15,000 feet on a red lake at the foot of a volcano, and coral reefs provide a home for cacti in the middle of an arid salt flat at 12,000 feet. La Paz and indeed Bolivia seem to thrive in this crossing of the old and the new, and the pure curiosity of it all is something special to witness. What the future will bring I cannot tell you, but as I sit here, awaiting my trip down death road and listening to gunfire, one thing is certain... Time is Fleeting and Bolivia Knows It.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Futbol, Beaches and Grand Theft Autobus

I have to begin by apologizing for skipping many of my favorite memories of the trip. I simply cannot keep up day to day on my blog, so for those of you I don't mention that are reading, know that I have everything written down and I will revisit these stories as my travels slow and I find work here in South America. On that note, I am skipping the rest of my adventures from Buenos Aires for now including: The Twelve Hour Parade, My Solo Ride on the Midnight Train, My Nights of Tango, Sunsets on the Balcony and many others, so that I can share my love of Rosario with everyone at home. (Given that I am already three cities behind I find this to be my only option.)

So without further adieu. Vamos! On to Rosario!

Given the choice of places to live, here in Argentina, Rosario may take the cake: parks, beaches, camping, architecture, history, beautiful young people, and kindness at every turn. I welcome you to read and fall in love with the city alongside me, and as always, I hope you enjoy.

The city of Rosario is located along the Parana River and the coast of the river is lined with lush, green parks giving you a vantage of the river below until the grassy bluffs descend to meet the river bank. As you stroll the parks along the bluff, there is a peacefulness to the city, that as loud Americans we try not to disrupt, a sometimes difficult task for Andrew and I.  People laze in the parks, some bathing in the sun, and some finding refuge in the shadowy protection given by the trees. As we make our way through the city we pass Che Guavera's old childhood home and are reminded of the history present in the city. Rosario, the 3rd largest city in Argentina, boasting 1.3 million people sometimes lets you forget this fact, as you enjoy the more peaceful parts of the city. It has a small town feel that reminds me of my hometown in Seattle, Washington allowing me to sink in to the feel of the city.

As we make our way to the beach, I again find myself reminded of my hometown. Boats float on the peaceful flowing river, and jet skis buzz by as they splash through the cool water in jubilation. Encountering friends, the passengers park on the beach to share Yerba Mate or a beer with their friends. Windsurfers, and Sailboats catch the cool breeze in their sales as they wisk along the surface of the water, and tanned bodies paddle their canoes along the shore. Ok... so not exactly like Seattle, people are tan here, and the swim wear is a little more to the liking of a young twenty-six-year-old. But hey, close enough.

As you survey the sandy, fresh-water beach it is dotted with the beautiful people of Rosario. (Rosario is well reputed to have the most beautiful women in all of Argentina thanks to the six universities totaling over 80,000 students... and in my opinion the beach and warm weather that accompanies the history-rich city doesn't hurt.) As I dig my feet into the warm sand and sip from my Mate, I lean back and close my eyes, soaking in the rays from the sun.


Looking south to the city center, the backdrop to my seat on the sand seems out of a painting. Tall, white buildings reach into the cloudless, blue sky providing a stark contrast to the greenery of the island that sits across the bay. A buoy floats in the distance marking off the swimming area, and as I take a dip into the cool, sediment filled river, I take in the view, not wanting to forget the moment. After a few laps along the buoy line I return to my friends on the beach. Lazing about for another hour before the sun begins to wain, we prepare to make our departure. Andrew and I pack up our belongings. Cleaning my silver, hand engraved Mate, which glistens brightly in the afternoon sun, we make our way to the bus stop.

Where's the driver?
Hopping on the bus with inappropriate change, the bus driver lets us board without paying.  Soon after, we learn that we are headed in the wrong direction and into one of the shadier parts of town. Horse drawn carts packed full of cardboard pass us, and refuse blocks off some of the streets. As passengers enter they stare at the two gringos knowing full well that we are as lost as we appear to be. Reaching the end of the line, the bus driver kicks the last passenger off the bus leaving only Andrew and I, and as he pulls into the gas station he too gets off. Andrew and I are now the only ones on the still running bus. Laughing we look at each other and wonder... do we drive ourselves home? Did we just get a free party bus? hehe. Deciding against jail time, we opt for a photo shoot instead. Five minutes later the bus driver hops back on to continue our 40 minute tour through the ghetto. Passing ice cream shops with security guards, and gun-wielding teenagers that snap my vision from the window to the front of the bus, we return to center of the city, our bellies full of adventure.

Fun at the museum. hehe.
Returning to the hostel we take a walk to the art museum with our Swiss and Swedish friends. Expecting a Salvador Dali exhibit we find ourselves a day late. Instead we wander around taking ridiculous pictures, we listen to our friend play the grand piano in the center of the museum, and we snap a quick photo of the good times at the museum. Why Dali why? Why did you forsake us? Leaving laughing, we grab some six peso steaks at the local supermercado and return to our hostel to feast... and then out come two Argentines, two Israelis and an Australian with a pelota (soccer ball for those at home). Guess I gotta go play some futbol now, dinner must wait.


Our futbol field under the lights of the monument.
Passing the ball around as we walk, we head to the park... who needs hands. Along the way, a talented 12-year-old, selling roses, shows off his skills with our pelota. As we pass through the monument of the flag, justifiably lit up like the Argentine Flag, Lucas and Lucaas, my Argentine brothers, explain that it commemerates the designing of the Argentine flag by General Manuel Belgrano, an important forefather of the country now buried in the crypt below the monument, and that Rosario is rich with history as it was the first place that the flag was raised in all of Argentina. As we make our way to the park, our youthful rose vendor joins us for a game under the lights of the 70 meter monument that we had climbed for a view just a day before.

Our professional futbol team
We played for three hours under the lights of one of the most important monuments in all of Argentina and at the end, tired, our feet hurting from playing barefoot, we take a minute to relax and take a photo of our makeshift futbol team. Two days later, we would find ourself camping, Andrew, Lucas, Lucaas and I just 50 meters from our futbol field, with a view of the monument visible from the door of our tent, and a bottle of rum to keep us warm. Returning home, we kick the ball around with local street cleaners and passers-by, having an open contest to see who can be first to chip it into the circular trash cans that are on each block of the pedestrian street that lead us home. Finally making it back, we cooked our well priced steaks and laughed and drank into the night with our newfound friends. What a city. What a life...

What an Adventure.



Saturday, October 29, 2011

Craziness in the BsAs

Waking up Andrew and I said goodbye to Mauro, our Chilean brother and the first true friend of our travels. Andrew did errands while I hopped the Subte to explore the city. Hoping off at a random stop I found myself in the middle of a giant protest, something that would come to be a common site in Argentina as I traveled. However today the protests were explosive with the presidential elections just days away. Literally they were explosive, with erupting firecrackers shattering through the normal din of the busy city and echoing the boom throughout the main square of the city. A stern wall of Police lined the street armed with riot gear and behind them sat a giant metal beast of a vehicle plated in thick steel and armed with a water cannon. The presence of the police thankfully kept the protests peaceful but the sound of chanting, drums beating and voices over loud speakers reverberated throughout the populated causeways. Tents that I would see for the next several days sat in the narrow park at the middle of the sixteen lane avenue, housing the protesters and allowing them recuperation between shifts.  Returning to the hostel I slept in preparation for our first big night out on the town.

Waking up Andrew and I met Stefanie and Pilar, a Peruvian and Chilean both working in northern Chile. With plans to go out themselves, we joined forces with the beautiful, fun loving girls and dragging our Israeli friend Moti along we left for a night on the town.  For our first stop they took us to Cronika, a busy bar located in Palermo. Palermo a central hub for party-goers was alive with youth and beauty. A drunk teenager danced in the street in his boxers in front of a crowd as he chanted a song reminiscent of a Chilean chant from the previous nights futbol match. Laughing, we crossed the street and hailed a cab.

Catching a cab at 2:30am we headed to Pacha which was reputed to be the number one night club in Buenos Aires. Arriving, we piled out of the cab and after two separate pat downs and 80 pesos, we entered into the roaring club... Vegas has nothing on this place.  With massive columns surrounding the central dance floor and with techno, dub-step and raggaeton blasting from the enormous speakers, the crowded room was a sea of bodies and lights moving in unison to the booming music. Whether it was cultural or substance abuse I still don't know, but the bodies on the floor danced until 8am. As lights flickered to rythem of the music, one could witness in the brief flashes of light bodies pressed together and lips locked in every direction as the party raged.

Emerging from the club, the dim light brought on by dawn was blinding. As the sun peaked up over the horizon, thankfully shaded by the rain clouds that had begun to empty themselves above our heads, we hailed a cab. One passing us to pick up a pretty girl, the next stopped and sopping wet, but thankful for the cool shower, we piled in. Arriving home with just over two hours until checkout we went to sleep dreading our early wake-up call.