Strong and Dirty

I started out my life as a risk averse, timid little girl who didn´t like to get dirty. I liked ballet and barbies and dress-up. How exactly did I blossom into the adventuress that I am? If you only knew how dirty I am. Dirt and grime and sweat and the raw emotion that seeps out of your pores when you are viewing and experiencing the world without make-up.

Over the past week I have: climbed a volcano, gone horseback riding on a ranch, found secret waterfalls, whitewater rafted through rapids, gotten lost by myself in the middle of the woods, played pool with new friends, gotten drunk and giddy on pisco sours, been moved to tears by my waiter, watched the sunset and sunrise over lakes and mountains, showed up at the airport without a ticket, took-off and landed five times, experienced altitude sickness, felt the bliss of watching children dance and play, seen snowcapped volcanoes and salt lakes, seen llamas and flamingos, been scammed by a ticket agent, sat on a chicken bus for twenty hours through the sketchy Peruvian night, used bathrooms that would arise beyond-horror in my mother, had my reservation lost by my hostel, met a spiritual goddess, asked my high heals to show the dance floor who´s boss, and danced salsa for hours with dreamy chicos. And now here I am, tasked with the feat of writing about it all. I am going to have to give it to you in installments folks - my life is that cool.

I was in Pucon, Chile for a few days, which is about 12 hours south of Santiago. The district is visually stunning. There are sparkling lakes, forests, mountains and volcanoes throughout the entire region. I mentioned last time that I climbed a volcano. The views made the day so worth it - but man! - that was freaking hard. The thing that I didn´t realize is that I would not be hiking on normal dirt. Think about this - there was not a single piece of vegetation, or a single insect, on the entire volcano. The ground is not dirt - it is volcanic rock and ash. It is really unstable and kind of crumbles with every step. In addition, the volcano is pretty steep. You rarely have a completely platform piece of rock to step on, and so your mind is working overtime - where do I step in order to create the best balance for myself, and to set up the next step? Also - how do I conserve as much energy as possible - how do I make my steps big enough to maintain a good pace, but small enough that my legs do not get tired too quickly? There was very little conversation during most of the trek. I got so deeply focused on what my body was doing that I was almost meditative - leaving all emotional thoughts, and all thoughts of home, behind. When you focus on nothing but your body, you almost leave your body at times. Then, once you reach a break point and turn around to admire the view, your humanity comes rushing back and you feel so proud about how high you´ve climbed. I got to float in between these two states all day.

One of the most fun parts of the trek was on the way down. The volcano involved a rocky part, and then an icy part, and then another rocky part that was much steeper. We knew that the topmost rocky part would be very challenging to get down, but the reward was the ice - we got to strap these pieces of vinyl to our asses and slide down the mountain! In reality, we didn´t slide as quickly as I had hoped - some leg work was still involved. But, it was a huge relief after tackling the steep and crumbling rocks at the top. When we took off from the summit, someone in our group muttered "Seriously, I am going to die." Our guide smugly responded, "Well, the only certain thing in life is death." Natasha and I, chicas Americanas that we are, cheerfully fire back at exactly the same time: "Don´t forget about taxes!" So classic.

After recovering from the volcano with a day of shopping, eating, and strolling on the lake-beach, Natasha and I had one of the most perfect days of my life. We started with a morning of horseback riding in the Claro region of Pucon. It was just to two of us and our guide - three people on horseback. Our horses were gorgeous - and I rather fancy the fact that mine was named Esperanza - hope! We took off down some country roads and admired the livestock hanging out on both sides. We managed to control our horses whenever there was a moving vehicle headed our way and steared them to the side. At one point, we literally saw a chicken crossing the road. We were so giddy and happy with life that this chicken seemed absolutely hysterical. I love laughing at nothing!

We crossed through a gate and rode up a dirt path that put us on a ridge, crossing through a beautiful ranch. We had incredible views of the mountains, clouds, and one gorgeous, sparkling lake. There were cows grazing throughout the fields. It was so magical. There is something so empowering about being on a horse. I have no interest in being an equestrian, but on Esperanza I felt like a beautiful, sexy cowgirl. Or, more like a cowwoman. Horsewoman. Whatever. It´s called cloud 9.

We tied the horses to some trees and hiked down a steep trail to a beautiful, deserted waterfall. If it hadn´t been cold, I would have been jumping in the water in my birthday suit. The spray of the water was so delightful. Natasha and I looked at each other...I´m with you, girlfriend. It is just so good. I rode back on Esperanza, at this point completely infatuated with her, and marveled at the maternal instincts coming out in Natasha with her horse: "That a girl - good girl! That´s a good girl. C´mon girl." Hahaha! Everything is just divine. We got back to Pucon, ate a quick but delicious lunch, and then took off on our next adventure...rafting!

So we were waiting to get picked up, and felt forgotten at a point...and we were wondering: who, other than us, goes rafting on a cool, kind of wet day? Because at this point it was legitimately raining. Are there going to be enough people in the raft? What are we getting ourselves into? The van came and dropped us off at the starting point, and we quickly realized that we were not even close to alone. There was a huge group already suited up, and this was not a random spazzy group of backpackers - they were all college kids from Syracuse University studying abroad in Santiago. These kids had so much energy! It was totally awesome. I felt like I was on spring break.

One of our guides gave a hysterical safety briefing involving a lot of sexual innuendo and therefore there were a lot of jeers from the peanut gallery. (Example: there was a way that chicos were supposed to hang on to the rescue kayak, and there was a very different way that chicas were supposed to hang on.) We played a game of musical chairs in the mud, but with our oars, and at this point we are positively giddy. We break into three "teams" and the riff raff begins - splash war combat! Oh my lord. Life is supposed to be this fun all of the time!

Our guide Christian taught us the commands that we would need to follow in order to avoid tipping over when barreling through rapids. High side left! I dive into Natasha´s lap on the other side of the raft. High side right! Natasha dives into my lap. Piso! We drop to the floor and pray to God. All of these commands started getting nicknames, like "Piso!" became "Peace Out!", and the later, "I need to Piso" became "I need to pee, sir!" spoken in a British accent. Hilarious. Over the course of the afternoon, people got pulled into the water by pirates from neighboring rafts. There were persistant splash wars, and we got stranded on rocks and were nearly vertical in trying to save ourselves. At one point, we got into the water and tumbled through gentle rapids sans raft (after which I got to latch onto Rodrigo, the kayak man, in chica position). There was also a short cliff jump towards the end of the trip - woohoo! We were shivering and soaked to the bone, but seriously, I will live in the river if I get to feel that kind of high every day. Life is supposed to be this fun. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Being wet and cold for so long caught up with Natasha, and she was feeling a little under the weather on Monday, so I decided to explore Huerquehue National Park on my own. I boarded a bus with a trail map and a liter of water. It was kind of drizzly, but moody and majestic for exploring the forest. The bus dropped me off at 2PM, and there was only one option for returning to Pucon - the 5:30PM bus. OK - three and a half hours. I can do this. The Los Lagos trail is supposed to take three and a half hours - no problem.

The thing that I didn´t realize is that it would take 45 minutes to get to the trailhead where the three and a half hour trail would begin. And, I did not have five hours. OK - still no problem. The trail sort of looks like an 8, and the forest ranger implied that I could just do the bottom loop of the 8 - I could make a little o. Is this making sense? This made perfect sense to me.

The trails are muddy, but I have great new Goretex trail runners - I am all set. The lakes are sparkling blue and green. The air is so fresh! Oh dear, the trail is getting muddier, but that´s ok. Oh! I am not the only person on this trail. I hear someone! OH AHHH!! OK - this is not a person - I have come face to butt with a huge cow. I have never seen a cow THIS up close before. Ahhh, my cow has friends. There are now six or seven cows, and three are in my direct path. Shit. (And literally, there is cow shit everywhere.) Do cows care if you walk by them? Will they get freaked out and charge at me? Or are they just nonchalant about me happening upon them? Why are there cows in the middle of this national park? Oh dear. There is mud and cow shit everywhere. I have a few stones to work with so that I do not end up ankle deep in cow shit. The problem is that the cows are kind of stepping on my stones. Patience Katie, patience. When there is a will there is a way. Somehow, I grace past these cows unnoticed. I am so badass.

The trail continues to get more and more gorgeous, but I am carefully watching the clock, and I am a little nervous. I find brief diversions in two secret waterfalls that I get to own for a few precious minutes. But now, back on task. Where the heck is the loop? Ah, ok - I have reached the Lago Verde, which is a good sign according to my map. I should be looping around here. Ah, here is where the trail must continue. I walk, and I walk. And the trail gets narrower. And then narrower. Now I am getting pricked. I rip my pants. My adrenaline is pumping and I am getting scared. I am lost in the forest in the middle of nowhere, Chile, and I am going to miss my bus, and then I will have no way to get back to Pucon. I am running out of water and I am starving, being an idiot for thinking that I wasn´t going to need any lunch after a few hours of uphill trekking. Shit!!! Do I have time to retrace the path I just travelled and go back the same way? Not if I go at the same pace - it is 4:10PM. I will have to haul ass down this mountain. Go Katie, go!

I am superwoman. I am running so fast down this mountain, through the mud. I laugh in the face of wild cows! The hunger and the thirst goes away - this is survival. It is amazing what my body can do when it doesn´t have a choice. I feel so strong.

I will tell you about getting mushy over my waiter and melting over Chilean children next time. I am leaving you with the image of Katie as superwoman - I made the damn bus with four minutes to spare.

Much love from one very strong and happy Katie. Besos!

Bellavistas

"You probably should not leave the hotel after 9:00 PM - you know, because of the riot tonight." Huh? These were practically the first words Natasha and I heard after arriving in Santiago, Chile. Excuse me? I didn´t sign up for any riots. South America can be kind of crazy. Riot? I didn´t plan on spending my two days in Santiago holed up in my hotel.

Luckily, we did some research and found out that we would probably be spared if we avoided the center of town, which luckily, turned out to be a place we would be avoiding at night anyway. Also, luckily, Natasha brought a can of mase with her from New York - god love those New Yorkers - so that if worse came to worst, we could stand up and fight! Haha that´s funny. Well, here I am writing this blog entry, so you know that everything turned out fine. It´s always a fun journey getting to the point where you can say "I´m fine," though.

For instance - we learned quickly that the two of us, in the words of my cousin Vinny, "stick out like a sore thumb around heah." Yeah, we don´t blend. I was used to blending with the cariocas and paulistas and portenos, brunette that I am, but now I am walking around with a gorgeous, tan, curvy, dirty blonde. Natasha somehow doesn´t look like she could be from anywhere in this world but...New York. And if there´s anything that attracts more attention on the street in South America than a chica, it´s two chicas. And if there´s anything that attracts more attention on the street in South America than two chicas, it´s two American chicas. We have found that the fact that we talk to each other as we are walking is a bad thing. We were walking down a crowded street at around midnight, with people hanging out and drinking at sidewalk tables, and it was like our conversation stopped all fifty others happening around us. American words are like magnets to the Latin man´s ear. It is completely ridiculous.

So yes, our night out in the Bellavista district of Santiago did attract some unwanted attention. This attention included a crazy drunk homeless man trying to steal Natasha´s bracelets in the middle of a crowd, at which point I screamed, at which point everyone around us started hysterically laughing. Hey, at least we are amusing the locals, right? It was also really fun. We found this awesome cafe that was packed with people sitting around little tables, drinking cerveza and listening to a middle aged guy wail his heart out on the guitar. The cafe had all of these cozy nooks and crannies, and the walls were covered with art, graffitti, and political statements - amnesty international posters, quotes, pictures of Che Guevara and the like. The entire cafe was singing along with the guy on the guitar, who must have been playing Chilean folks favorites that everyone had grown up with. He was singing their versions of "Sweet Caroline" and "American Pie," although the music contained some kind of tangible political fervor. We tried to hum along and walked that sweet line of marveling at and participating in the moment. I love the feeling when I cross over from marveling to participating, and I begin to feel and understand so much more than before.

The next day we walked to the top of a city hill called Santa Lucia. It is a green oasis in the middle of the city, like Central Park, only the park goes straight up. We wandered through gardens and past fountains and walked up and up until we reached what looked like a fortress. We climbed slippery stone steps to the top at soaked up the view of all of Santiago. In a word - bellavista! Imagine a sprawling, modern city, full of sky scraping apartment blocks...only the apartment blocks aren´t really scraping any sky. Instead, they are positioned in front of the looming, enormous Andes Mountains that tower much higher into the sky. It´s like the Andes are saying "nice try." They are just so so high. I still can´t believe that we rode over them in a double-decker bus a few days earlier. I am not even writing about that accomplishment because I was so freaked out and nauseous from the elevation that I closed the window curtain and barely watched!

After a fun dinner party with our new Chilean friend Fernanda, Peruvian friend Natalie, and a bunch of others, we got a good night´s sleep and took an afternoon bus to the city of Valparaiso. Valparaiso is about an hour and a half from Santiago, directly west. It sits in the hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean. There are beautiful beaches that cradle this port city to the north and south. Valparaiso has this melancholy air that makes you feel like it is haunted by the ghosts of sailors and sea captains. It is hilly - its aesthetic is a lot like San Francisco from afar and Berkeley up close. But its soul feels like the way that Venice, Italy has been described to me: romantic but tragic, nostalgic but timeless. There are a lot of quiet cafes, lazy cats, lonely churches, and humble houses in the shades of pink, baby blue, gray...the primary colors have faded away. However, there is a spirit of reincarnation; the streets actually burst with color, thanks to incredible street art and graffiti. Some of the murals are breathtaking. There is an artsy, bohemian vibe that gives the place a little bit of a cool-factor, but not really because it is completely undiscovered.

OK, not completely undiscovered. We were there during the off-season - autumn. Ah, the air was so crisp and brisk, and our walks were so pleasant. Our bed and breakfast, located in Cerro Bellavista (which is well named), was adorably charming. There were some fantastic restaurants to enjoy as well. The fish and seafood was incredible! (Chilean sea bass, anyone?) To get between neighborhoods, which are all perched on hills surrounding the bay, you usually have to go down to the center of town (El Plan) and then back up again. We wandered up and down narrow stairways, but also took advantage of a Valparaisan institution - the ascensores. The ascensores are old funicular lifts that were built - I don´t know, a long time ago - to move pedestrians from downtown up to the hills (cerros), and back down. The look like little wooden shacks that move diagonally, up and down the hills, on railroad tracks. There are 15 lifts operating in the city. Every time you ride one, you get to sit or stand next to a local person...carrying flowers, or fresh fish from the market. I have been completely charmed by this place.

We hit the road again on Tuesday night and headed south for twelve hours into the Chilean lake district. We are staying in a town called Pucon, which is happily situated on Lake Villarrica at the base of the Villarrica Volcano. There are more lakes, and more volcanoes, and national parks, and rivers and waterfalls, and grazing pastures, and hot springs...literally surrounding us on all sides. The adorable town is filled with tour operators providing every kind of adventure excursion you can imagine. Yesterday, I climbed the closest volcano - Villarrica - that I can now quietly muse over from my bedroom window. The volcano is snowcapped and is essentially made out of ash and crumbling rock. There is a constant flow of smoke from the top, and I could actually hear the lava crackling from the edge of the crater. The view from the top is nothing short of breathtaking. I know that God is laughing: "Silly humans - you aren´t supposed to be at the top of active volcanoes! Your body is going to ache tomorrow. But I love your perseverance. Now you get to see what I see." The fact that I climbed this thing, and made it down in time to enjoy a cold beer before sunset, is no small feat. I am so proud and thankful that my body can do that. Seriously. I have so much to be thankful for.

More on trekking/hot springs/rafting/horseback riding adventures later. Three weeks to go. Loving every minute! Love you all. Katie

Bliss

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Artisan Market at the Hill of 7 Colors, Salta

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The rocks mean I was there!

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On the streets of BsAs

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Originally uploaded by kdelguercio

Bugs, Falls, Hugs, Wine

Semana Santa (aka Semana Salta aka Semana Katie finds her groove) had a bit of a blip in the middle of it which I didn´t feel like mentioning last time. This blip involved taking a stair run at my hotel in Salta, five minutes into which I was stung by a giant three inch-long wasp-type creature on my scalp. Ouch. I sort of felt the venom circulating down the left side of my head and settling behind my ear. I think that a less inspired version of myself would have said, "Katie, perhaps today is not for running," but no. Katie was feeling super inspired, thanks to Etta James and Bruce Springsteen. So Katie continued onward, down a giant suburban hill, and then along a random street with a bunch of gas stations, and then down a somewhat shabby city street with a bunch of pawn shops. OK, I think to myself, you have broken a sweat, you accomplished something on this adventure - now turn that ass around. As I run back up the giant suburban hill, I decide to check out this little monument that is sitting in the middle of the street. In order to do so, I have to step over a little bit of water running down the pavement. No big deal.

Well - it turns out that this harmless little stream had been doing its thing for awhile, thanks to a drain pipe up above that had no gutter to feed. The water was actually the slimiest algae I have ever encountered. Delicioso. Not only did I totally wipe out, but I then proceeded to slide down the algae river, ipod and all. I managed to create the EXACT same nasty bruise on my left hip that I got last month in Brazil, but more tragically, I landed with all of my weight on my poor shoulder beforehand. This ouch makes the wasp ouch seem like potato pie. Oh my goodness I am so alone and so dirty and so pathetic. And in so much pain! And there is no money on my cell phone to call anyone to cry to! And the guy at the front desk of my hotel cannot seem to understand the concept of ice in a plastic bag! And I cannot get my damn workout clothes off because they are half wet and tight and spandexy and my arm doesn´t work, and so I limp into the shower fully clothed! Wet t-shirt contest, Katie versus Katie, woohoo! Aaaahhh!

Oh lord. I really am learning how to take care of myself, dammit. Between feeling like I had been used as a boxing bag and having the wasp venom seep into my lymph nodes, giving me flu like symptoms, I was not in good shape. But, as I learn again and again, everything that hurts goes away. And, conveniently, most things that feel good don´t seem to go away. My heart and my will can hold onto those things. These two lessons, learned side by side, on my own, make me feel very strong and very proud. I am so glad I am doing this.

I am so glad that I had my time alone. I have learned so much, and the neat thing is that I am still figuring out what I have learned. Things occur to me all of the time that shed new light on experiences and victories of yesterday, last week, etc. And with all of this in the bag, I am proud to announce that I finally have...some company! My friend Natasha, from college, flew into Santiago and met me in Mendoza, Argentina last week. Mendoza is Argentina´s Napa Valley. What a perfect place for a reunion of two girlfriends. After squeezing Natasha for about two minutes while the guy from the front desk looked on, smiling, we decided to embark on a quest to find the most delicious wine and the most delicious food in all the land. Let´s get drunk, girlfriend. Hell yeah.

This is not the United States, where everything is just open and available all of the time, and so we needed to do a little bit of planning. You can´t just show up at the wineries, and there are no tasting rooms in town, which is where we are staying - about 20 kilometers away from the closest vineyard. You have to make appointments and schedule them such that you have enough time to get from winery to winery. Also, the wineries are kind of far away from each other in relative terms, so walking is not advisable. Also: "you two chicas stick out like a sore thumb around here," and so...walking is not advisable. "Even just down the road, to the next winery? This is farm country for goodness sake...it looks like Napa Valley!" The answer was, "We recommend that you hire a fancy chauffeur to take you around for the day." Hell no - we are backpackers, remember? So we decide to try to do it by taxi and take off with our trusty taxi phone number.

Well, the timing was always a little off, and the taxi drivers were always a little flakey, but we managed to taste the most delicious wine in all the land. Some highlights were Achaval Ferrer, Catena Zapata, and Vistalba by Carlos Pulenta. The tours were extremely interesting because all of the fine wineries use very different techniques, and there are so many variables that you can change to achieve different effects in your wines. The facilities we visited were absolutely beautiful. Our favorite was Vistalba, where the underground tasting room featured one wall that was entirely absent, leaving the room exposed to the soil - and so we had a perfect, cross-section view of the minerals and rocks that the vines thrive in. At Achaval Ferrer, we got to taste wine in mid-process, right from a flowing wine stream. The cornerstone varietal of the region is the Malbec, which is generally the perfect accompaniment to steak. Speaking of which, never before had I gorged myself on that much rich, delicious food in one four day period. Not even in Italy. Ah, Natasha and I...we enjoy the finer things!

On day three, we were feeling especially ambitious after morning wine tasting, followed by finishing off a bottle of wine at lunch, followed by more wine tasting. Dare we try to get to one more vineyard before closing time? Yes! Norton is just down the road! Who needs a taxi?! I was born and raised in the briar patch! Let´s go. So off we go, past the guard at the vineyard gate of Ruca Malen. He looks at us, raises his brow, and is basically like: "where the hell are you girls going?" We laugh, wave, and cross the street. Wheeeeee!

Wait..."Tash....hahahahaha!...I think I´m drunk!" "Hahahaha me too!" "Hahahaha this is so fun!" "Hahahaha I know!"....oh dear, we are two wasted American girls on the side of the country highway. This is hilarious. Everything is absolutely completely freaking hilarious. The first sixteen wheeler goes by...honk! "Woohoo! Liiiinnnndddo Chicccaaaasss!" This is still hilarious! The second sixteen wheeler goes by...honk honk! "Chicas bonitas!!!" Oh dear, we are crazy, but this is still so charming! So hilarious! So classic!.....The fifth sixteen wheeler goes by...the fifteenth sixteen wheeler goes by...oh my lord. I am drunk on the side of the road in Argentina. I am hot. I am tired. I don´t see the damn traffic light that means we are even halfway there. What did we get ourselves into? One and a half hours later, after chapters of nonsensical girl talk, stepping through bushes and hurdling over one very daunting stream, we managed to get to Norton in time for the guard at the gate of that vineyard to raise his brow, laugh at us, and call us a taxi.

As much as I love myself, I don´t think that the above saga would have been so funny alone. It is so great to have a(nother) friend. And so here begins the next chapter...the wild and wacky adventures of Katie and Natasha. More later! Smiles all around and much love to you all, Katie

Holy Week

There was this amazing thing that I witnessed in Buenos Aires last week that I forgot to mention before. I was spending one of many days wandering around the city, seeing what came up. I was walking down a side street in the Microcentro or Congresso area that was teeming with activity at mid day, with entirely too many pedestrians, cars, buses, bikes, and the like. There was this guy riding his bicycle through the street, approaching my direction as I walked the opposite way down the sidewalk. All of a sudden I heard an incredibly loud POP - I didn´t know what it was, but it seriously could have been a firecracker or gunshot even. The sound startled me and everyone around me. I then realized what happened - the bike rider´s tire blew out. He stumbles off of the bike and is screaming expletives in Spanish, and all of a sudden this scene becomes the funniest one that I have witnessed since the beginning of my travels. There is literally - I kid you not - a bike shop immediately to the right of both me and the bike rider. Literally. He was able to walk ten feet into the bike shop and buy a new tire. I couldn´t stop laughing about how upset this guy got - it was like God played a practical joke with the side note, "Relax dude, the universe takes care of you. Have a little faith next time."

Ah, ok. The metaphor. I have been so busy running around cities partying like a maniac that I happened to forget about a pivotal reason for this trip: spiritual balance. As I ran myself ragged and played the superficial party circuit, I started feeling lonely. And then the lonelier I got, the harder I partied, until finally I got angry. (Angry at who? I don´t know. I think that I blamed Buenos Aires for a moment, but that is not true or fair.) Shaky and unbalanced - not the goal. So why the heck am I lonely? Obviously, the people I love most in this world are not around. That´s a pretty obvious reason to be lonely.

Wait..."the people I love most in the world are not around." Well - what about...me?

OK, so here´s when this blog starts to sound like a spiritual journal/testament/memoir, and I am sorry if you are reading and feel like you didn´t sign up for this. But it is the direction that I need to go at this point. I cringe at the idea of seeming or sounding cliche, but you know what? That is a huge part of my problem. I care way too much about the ways that other people see me, and I don´t think enough about how I see me. So - you ask - why be all exhibitionist about this? And the only way I can respond is to say that I experience self-realization through writing, and I write better when I know that other people are reading. So, I guess I am being a little selfish. I am sort of using all of you to get the most out of this freaking process. Even if there are just a few of you out there, it makes a difference to me. Thank you for listening.

So here I go. So what about me? Why am I not good enough company for myself? Why am I not my own damn bike shop? I have the tools to make myself whole. I´m right here!

I am beginning to realize that I want a sturdier, steadier sense of self. I want to feel lucky when I´m the only one in the room.

I have not made the act of listening to myself, finding my heart, and valuing that truth a daily priority. I am starting to realize that I regarded that kind of self-attention and self-love as superficial and needless. My upbringing revered the selfless acts of Jesus, but more in the name of "selflessness" than in "Jesus." My culture values self-reliance, and my intellect cannot stand hypocrisy, and so honestly I have distanced myself from organized religion. I have never felt like I needed a strong sense of my own spirituality because I have always posited that the act is more important than belief or faith...and that it is too easy to slip into hypocrisy if the moral act does not come first. And so, when living my life, "How does this other person feel? How do I impact them? How can I make them feel good, or happy, or as little discomfort as possible?" has become my religion. I am in no way perfect - I do not always act accordingly. But, in a word, thoughtfulness has been what I strive for every day.

The problem is that thoughtfulness has not always started from a healthy or noble place for me. As bubbly as I may seem sometimes, I am shy and observant at the core. I´m not a psychologist, and I don´t feel like trying to be one today, so I will just say that, "for some reason," I have never been confident that people will love me if I don´t guide them through it, one step at a time. Constantly, always: "How does this person feel? How might they interpret what I just did or said? What can I do for them that might make them want me around?" I always try to steer the ship.

Well, when your self-worth is supported by this kind of model, you are bound to run into problems when none of the people who you love are around. I am realizing that I missed a critical point when I proclaimed that "I am traveling for the people I am meeting and human moments I am experiencing, not because of any grand vistas or pieces of architecture." How can you experience relationships and human moments with contentment if you don´t know yourself and love yourself? I am not a crumbling mess, but my sense of self is not blessed with God´s grace at this moment. I know that I can grow. I know that I do not have complete peace and poise.

In the Catholic Church, this past week is what we call "Holy Week." A week to pray for salvation and God´s grace - the holy spirit. This week has been my Holy Week too, and the beginning of something great - I promise myself. Why have I lost my Yoga since beginning traveling, and why have I never really bought into Yogic meditation before? I don´t know, but I feel a calling to find out. Simply stated, Yoga is about finding God inside of you. It is about finding balance, peace and bliss in the total self-realization of your own divinity. I have started this journey, for real, this week. I have been in lovely surroundings to begin this journey. (You are probably saying, "Get on with it already! This is a travel blog, isn´t it?") And - guess what - those surroundings include grand vistas and pieces of architecture!

I have had the lovely pleasure of exploring the wild west of Argentina - a place that is geographically stunning, culturally rich and spiritually vibrating just about everywhere. Being here during Holy Week has made the experience even more special. I visited the states of Tucuman, Salta and Jujuy. A way to describe this region is to combine New Mexico with Montana or Wyoming, and then to throw in a touch of Napa Valley. The Native Indian cultures are alive and thriving. There are artists and weavers selling handicrafts everywhere - gorgeous handwoven fabrics, handmade pottery, handcarvings, etc. Most of the people here practice Catholicism, and so their native cultures are complemented by fervent Christian religious practices. The practices that I have witnessed include reenactments of the Passion in mass procession through the streets, the creation of large shrines made from tree branches and flowers, and the carving of enormous clay sculptures of the crucifix and stations of the cross. There are shrines to various saints with candles burning non-stop along many of the main roads that I travelled this week. Every town I visited contained a church, if not a Cathedral, many of which are architectural treasures.

The landscape is so vast and so varied. First, you will see nothing but seven foot tall cacti for as far as the eye can see. All of a sudden, the scene changes to riverbeds and rolling hills with horses and cows grazing leisurely. Next, giant rock formations in every imaginable color appear - bright red, blue, green, orange, even purple. You see a few llamas hanging out by the side of the road. Next - I swear - miles and miles of vineyards start rolling by. Goats are crossing the road. Mountains are in the background, and moody clouds set the scene. It is so majestic. I have no idea how so much geographical diversity was jammed into this corner of the world.

Seeing all of this beauty and bearing witness to beautiful culture and heartfelt religion is inspiring. I have been blessed to create a lot of time for self-reflection in the midst of it all. I have enjoyed the peace and silence as so much beauty passed by my bus window. I have also enjoyed much of my favorite music. It is amazing how music can change my mood, and then a lyric makes me smile, and before I know it I have been smiling for hours - I get to know that feeling and I hold on to it, even when I am alone, without that stimulation. I discovered something so amazing this week. Do you know that you can take just about any love song and pretend that you are the singer, and that you are singing about - yours truly? Yes. You can sing love songs to yourself. This discovery might seem trite, but it was new for me, and it has allowed me to create so much happiness for myself.

At last...my love has come along...my lonely days are over! And life is like a song!

I have been around the world...looking for that woman girl...who knows love can endure - and you know it will!

I believe in the love that you gave me! I believe in the faith that can save me! I believe in the hope and I pray that someday it may raise me!

It will be no surprise to hear who I decide to listen to when I really want to feel inspired. Well, there is only one Boss, after all. (And any man who knows how lovely the girls from Jersey are obviously has some things figured out.)

It ain´t no sin to be glad you´re alive.

I gotta know how it feels.

I´ll love you with all the madness in my soul.

Well there it is. Bad Scooter´s in the jungle, searchin for her groove, man. Everybody better move over, that´s all. I´m all alone, I´m on my own, and I can´t go home. Not yet.

I´ve Been Busy!

Ah, I have been so absent. Well it´s not like I haven´t been busy! There is much to report from the past week - much that has made me happy, but also much that has left me completely exhausted and depleted. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting to travel alone. I sort of underestimated this fact in Brazil. Brazil was the honeymoon. It also has a magical mystical air about it, fit for, well, a honeymoon. I was surrounded by friends of friends in Brazil that quickly became my own friends - and for the time being, my family. Buenos Aires is a completely different animal. Buenos Aires is big and pulsing...and because it is so cheap for foreigners, it has become an expat mecca, full of sophisticated types with money to spend. Now - I am sort of a sophisticated type with money to spent - admittedly. And there are many fabulous shops, parks, cafes, restaurants and more to enjoy. It´s just that, if you know me, you know how I love to love...and it gets exhausting to navigate a landscape like this one when you don´t have someone to share it with.

So - I have eaten fantastic food. Phenomenal. The steak, as I have said before - is clearly making me realize that there is something very wrong with American livestock. It is just so damn good. (Filet Mignon also costs $12 at the finest grill restaurant, by the way.) I have strolled through elegant cemeteries, paying homage to the likes of Evita and people much richer than her. I have taken jogs in pretty parks, around glistening lakes, watching locals read and play soccer and make-out with each other. I have visited the Evita Museum and the Malba (modern art museum), which has a gorgeous collection. I have strolled tree lined streets, watching how the rich live. I have made a few purchases in the designer boutiques that are completely impractical to carry for the next month and a half. I have also strolled through a dozen malls, soaking up the eye candy that ranges from tattooed misfits to anorexic glamouratti to ridiculous fake-hipsters wearing t-shirts saying things like "I´m so bored." Hilarious. I also, I am proud to say, figured out how to get my laundry done - and I found a travel agent to help me coordinate a number of logistical details about the coming weeks.

However - I have also met a lot of people who are not the greatest set that this city has to offer. I am sure of it. I was eating a burrito the other night and met two American dudes who couldn´t wait to "get some good pictures" in Buenos Aires - so they were planning on going to the ZOO. (?) In addition to the Americans who are everywhere, I blame myself for relying too heavily on snobby online networking that can have the tendency to produce somewhat snobby people. And, I have relied too heavily on their guidance. I have had a lot of overpriced tourist cocktails at fake euro style dance clubs thanks to these suggestions. Some of these folks are expats, and others are of the "My family owns all of the [fill in the blank] in Argentina" variety. On Wednesday, I went to a nightclub that bears the same name as a very well known Los Angeles nightclub, and wish I could have predicted that the entire place would be filled with 19 year old field hockey and rugby players from Yale. (Why?!) I have unfortunately lost that magical lovin feeling, and the creepy men on every corner don´t help. I wish that I had had more confidence in my own ability to open up Time Out and figure out the best cumbia or salsa joint myself. This is Latin America for goodness sake - I want some heat! But then there´s always the fact that I´m in Latin America, and I´m by myself, and should I really be doing anything alone at night?

On the other hand, with the exception of getting taken for a little bit of a joyride by a taxi driver who wanted a higher fare, nothing bad has happened. At all. Knock on wood. And, some really great things have happened that I should mention. First, I met someone who will undoubtedly become a friend when I return to New York - my friend Meagan´s friend David. David is studying Spanish in Buenos Aires to help him in his future medical career. He is not here for long, but he welcomed me with open arms to join him and his new friends whenever I liked. David is smart and honest and fun and my kind of friend. It was so fantastic to meet him.

Also - I signed myself up for some private tango lessons. Nothing has made me happier since coming to this city. I had this amazing teacher named Julieta. She is in her fifties, and she still wears full make-up and bustiers and fishnet stockings. This chica´s got flare! She has this huge gummy smile with braces, and she hugs you and welcomes you into her gorgeous pre-war style high-ceilinged apartment where she has a private studio...and then she puts on the music and says "We walk." And you quickly learn that Julieta has kind of demanding criteria for an acceptable step! And the Russian ballet teacher in her comes out...but you totally love it because you have your game face on, and only two hours to get some business accomplished. And before you know it Julieta is screaming "ESO! ESO! EXACTAMENTE!" and you are finally doing something right, and then "NO NO NO, that is horrible" and oh god, what the hell am I doing wrong, and then "SI SI SI! NOW, ESO! - that is different, no?!" and you think you understand what you fixed, but you´re not sure...and then again and again until your feet and angles are throbbing but your heart is flying. I learned ochos (twisty steps, like figure eights), both forward and backwards, and three kinds of hooks, and how to climb over the man´s leg, and how to grapevine around him in circles, and how to know when he wants to stop, and change directions, and when to cross, and how to add flare if he gives me the time...OH! Tango is so amazing. I went back for a second lesson and feel somewhat functional now. But the point is that I am going to be friggin good at this dance by the time I return. No doubt in my mind.

After tango, I went to the Plaza de Mayo on Thursday at 3:30 in the afternoon to see the Madres protest. Between 1976 and 1983, Argentina suffered under a military dictatorship that kidnapped and tortured dissenters in what is now called "The Dirty War." It is estimated that as many as 30,000 people disappeared during this time. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo formed an organization whereby they fight for the right to be reunited with their children, and also for other human rights struggles. The women wear white head scarves to symbolize doves of peace - and many of them have the names of their children and grandchildren embroidered on these scarves. These women congregate on the Plaza de Mayo every single Thursday afternoon - and have been doing so for over thirty years. They had such fervor on Thursday - and it is almost incomprehensible that they have had that kind of fervor every Thursday since before I was born. Unbelievably inspiring - and heartbreaking. Some of them were close to tears. A parent´s love for their child is hard to reckon with, and they are absolutely unwavering. The Madres are a fixture in Buenos Aires, and I am so glad and honored that I got to witness their protest.

Also, I forgot to mention that I had a great time last weekend in Uruguay! I stayed with a friend of a friend named Maru - what a doll! - and her roommate Valentina and her friend Mariana´s two dogs. (I fancied one of these dogs in particular because she was named Nonie, like my grandmother.) Montevideo was very surprising. It is a gorgeous city - cobblestoned streets, lots of leafy trees, restaurants and bars on the corners...there isn´t very much historical architecture, per se, but it seemed like a lovely place to live. The city is right on the beach, and so there are many city beaches to go to, in addition for Uruguay´s gorgeous beaches up the coast. Uruguay seemed very developed and very first-world - at times I almost felt like I was in Florida. This illusion came crashing down when Maru´s best friend, who was on vacation in Miami, had her house get broken into while she was away - the weekend that I was visiting. The robbers even cooked in the kitchen, and then splattered food all over the furniture. This news was so sad to hear. I really don´t know how I would psychologically manage a trauma like that. Aside from the robbery, the weekend was very fun, filled with shopping, partying, and beach time. Punta del Este, Uruguay´s premiere seaside resort, is gorgeous, and must be incredibly fun during high season. There was a little bit of boy-drama that Maru had to endure...but a funny anecdote to go with it. We went to three bookstores looking for a copy of the Sex and the City-inspired young women´s bible - He´s Just Not That Into You. After trying to explain what we wanted to clerks who repeated very loudly, "QUE? HE-NOT-INTO-YOU???" we died laughing and ran off to the movies to watch a chick flick.

Well - that´s all for now folks. Stay tuned. Love you all. Many besos, Katie

Men and Women

Hombres y Mujeres. There is so much to say about this topic. Let`s face the facts - I am a twenty-something single female. I am almost always alone, wandering through the streets, restaurants, bars and nightclubs of South America. The men here aren`t exactly shy. To say that I attract attention from the opposite sex is a bit of an understatement. Attention is a look, a glance, a smile. No no no. I am talking about being caught in the eye of a tornado of machismo and repressed testosterone. I will literally be in my scruffiest, dirtiest clothes on my way to the kiosk to buy a phone card at 11AM, and my unshowered, unmakeuped, hungover, sorry ass state will illicit honks and catcalls from the side of the road. Obviously, it is flattering to get the right kind of male attention at the right time. But I have to say, there is a lot to be frustrated and annoyed about. And since, I have been told, my blog implies that I am experiencing nothing but sunshine and happiness, I guess that it`s time to get real for a moment. (This is a good moment to get real, actually - I am unwillingly stuck in a bus station for five hours.) I am not saying, by the way, that I am anything but constantly happy and infatuated by life. It is the thinking and reflection and search for truth that makes me constantly happy, even when the truth of the matter is uncomfortable or problematic.

So - I spent the past week in Buenos Aires, and then the past weekend in Montevideo, Uruguay. I have both observed and participated in countless social situations. I have been hit on over a hundred times. I have been grabbed by the arm or waist after politely trying to excuse myself from undesirable suitors - more times than I can count. I am not used to being touched, in any way, without at least having a friendly rapport with someone. Where I come from, it is impolite to even bump into someone, accidentally, without saying "excuse me." There is no such social guideline here - personal space doesn`t really exist. People touch you and bump into you constantly. Last Wednesday, I was having a conversation with my new friend Z, a well-educated, successful, thirty-something professional. We were talking about personal space, and he remembered that when he first met me, a week earlier, I sort of flinched when he put his hand on my arm. He explained that it is habit, sort-of, for a man to touch the woman with whom he is talking. This reflex must represent some sort of ownership-claiming - I don`t know - but it`s really annoying because it usually comes way before the female has expressed any interest or choice in the matter.

I was getting a LOT of attention from the after-work crowd at a bar last Wednesday night. I showed up at 10PM, which is the "get the party started" hour where I come from...but 10PM is happy hour in Buenos Aires, a city where they stay out until 6AM on worknights. Most of the people at this bar were still in suits, whereas I was wearing a brightly colored party dress and heals. I think that the outfit choice was a mistake. Z and I also discussed American girls´ clothing, which involved his amazement in Las Vegas (for Halloween) that not every girl dressed like a sexy Little Red Riding Hood was down to go home with him. The point is that I was being eaten alive in there and could not walk five feet without getting stopped and blocked by groups of men who thought that they had a shot at taking me home. The two people who I already knew, including Z, were doing a poor job at saving me from the vultures. The most annoying part is that I was only at this bar alone because I was to meet a guy who had taken me out on a date two days earlier...and so while every man in the place was trying to pick me up, I was also in the process of getting stood up. Aahh!

We have impossible choices as women. Images that we see tell us that beauty brings attention, and that attention is love, or something like that. And we want to feel sexy, and desirable, and of course loved, and so we get dolled up and hit the town only to feel like we are a commodity on the trading floor. There certainly is no love in that. Not many men seem to care about our agency in the matter - they don´t care about being chosen. They care about choosing. It is so frustrating when I can´t get an annoying guy to leave me alone without (a) lying about having a boyfriend, or (b) seeing another guy step in and say that I´m taken. So it is respect for the other guy that counts, not respect for me.

Everyone seems to have disbelief that I don´t have a boyfriend. "You - no boyfriend? Why?" or "You are so beautiful! Why no boyfriend?" What they mean is that they cannot believe that another man has not picked me up already. They cannot believe that another man does not want to be with me. They are missing a critical point: maybe I don´t want to be with just any man who wants to be with me. Ah! Lightbulb! Here´s an even more unbelievable notion: that maybe I don´t want to be exclusively with anyone right now. Complete blasphemy!

There is a dynamic to reckon with in tango that I need to discuss. I am completely infatuated by this dance, like I have said before. Tango is a gorgeous entanglement of shared yearning that is played out between man and woman. However, the dance originates from a place where immigrant men had no economic or political power, and they asserted control with a hypermasculinity that was played out in the brothels. Men completely control the dynamics of the entanglement in tango. It has become beautiful as it evolved over the years, but tango starts from a scary, dismal place for women. I think that my infatuation stems from an inherent complexity about what I, like many of my 21st century sisters, want from men. We want them to remain steady, focused, driven, and in-control over what makes us happy - but not in-control over us. And we want to have the same control over decisions that make them happy - if they let us. Tango lets us express that drive and control - but there is only room for one decision maker. I can completely surrender to the dance, get lost in the music, close my eyes and follow his lead...and then I am completely turned off when he tells me that it is not very "elegant" to flick my leg the way that I just did...or whatever. And then there´s the inevitable comment: "Honey, the man leads in tango." But what ebbs also flows, and before I know it I am lost in the dance again...feeling so desired, so much desire, and so alive.

It is so interesting how men can play different roles at different times. There was a prime example of this situation last Thursday as I was leaving the above-mentioned milonga. I was walking out - down the stairs - and two men who were talking in the doorway stopped their conversation and stared at me as I walked - wide-eyed, gaping stares. It´s really uncomfortable to feel like you are being stared at in such a hungry way - and it happens frequently because I am alone. I walked outside the building, and the two guys walked out after me, crossing the street to stand with their two friends who were trying to hail a taxi. I stood on the closer corner, planning on hailing a taxi as well. When the first taxi came, the men talked amongst themselves and then said something to me in Spanish - to which I responded, per usual, "No hablo Espanol." They laughed and were like, "You should take this cab - it is not safe for you out here alone - and wait, you don´t speak Spanish?! Why the hell are you alone?!" So they switched to being my protectors from being the men I need protection from. This transition always feels very strange.

I can´t tell you how many times I have been asked, incredulously, "Why are you traveling alone?" People think that I am crazy! I always thought that the hardest part of traveling alone was not having companionship - which is also, of course, the whole point. I am building companionship with the people around me out of necessity. To most people, however, the most incredible thing is that I am comfortable, as a woman, alone in South America. I feel like screaming, "OK, then just make it less uncomfortable for me dammit! Stop touching my arm, stop panting like a dog - whatever!"

Please don´t think that I am feeling this kind of frustration all of the time. I am absolutely loving Buenos Aires (and Montevideo). I ate steak four times last week. I am making friends and having wonderful, warm interactions with the people here all of the time. And no - not all of the men are creepy. Of course not. There are plenty around who leave me with nothing but smiles...

I am just dreaming for the day when the streets of this world are safe for all of us, and when there will be a dance as beautiful as tango where we take turns calling the shots.

Love to you all, muchos besos...xxxx, Katie