I am back in the United States and can be reached on my American cell phone number.
My email address is kdelguercio@mac.com
Saturday, May 3, 2008
The Grand Finale
Machu Picchu. Even with all of the hype, and all of the publicity, and all of the work that it took to get there, I was overcome with wonder and delight when Machu Picchu and I were introduced on Friday morning, April 18th. The trek through the Sacred Valley of the Incas was obviously a bit of a production, and got a bit messy as I described in my last entry. I am so glad that I called the game when I did. As I was recovering from extreme nausea in a warm bed in Cusco, half of the rest of my group got so very sick on the trail. These folks were apparently getting up 10-15 times per night with stomach problems, could not bring themselves to eat any food, experienced extreme dehydration, and somehow traveled 15-25 kilometers per day. The poor guy with the worst of it actually had to ride a horse for most of the trip because he was so sick. I am lucky that I became ill on the first night, and not later in the trip when it would have been more difficult to get me to a hotel. The guides had neither walkie talkies nor satellite phones, and actually, not even a first aid kit. Not even funny.
Why did so many people get sick, you ask? I have a feeling that the cook and assistant guide lacked proper training in food safety practices on the trail. Think about it - there was cow manure and horse manure everywhere. The manure contaminates the stream water, which we then use for drinking and cooking. Natasha and I brought water purification tablets for our drinking water, but the guides did not purify any of the water that they used for cooking. When we drank tea, I do not think that the water was actually brought to a boil. When the guides washed dishes, they barely used any soap, and that water had definitely not been boiled. At one point, one of my fellow trekkers asked for a basin to use for washing out some clothes. To her horror, the same basin was later used for storing silverware. Absolutely disgusting.
I was quite satisfied with my decision to skip days two and three when I heard the horror stories on the night of day four. I took a nice train ride through the valley and met the group in Aguas Calientes, which is the small town at the base of Machu Picchu. Thankfully, Natasha was spared from stomach horror. She didn´t smell like roses, I´ll tell you that much, but I ushered her into the shower and she came out shiny and new. We had a lovely dinner with our new friends and prepared for an early morning hike up the mountain.
Over dinner, I started feeling it. What is that heaviness in my chest? I seriously cannot be getting sick again. Sure enough, breathing got hard overnight, and by wake-up time at 4:15AM, I was officially under upper respiratory attack. Shit. I refused to miss this morning hike. You do not take a bus up to the sacred city of the Inca King. That is ridiculous. I am not a freaking wuss. I will do this hike dammit! Natasha looked at me with such pity - you poor poor girl. Upon persuasion from Dr. Natasha and Mommy Kelly (the group Mom), I decided to start a course of Cipro. My immune system was obviously being pillaged - enough screwing around. With one soggy tissue in hand, I started to climb.
I feel so badly for people who suffer from asthma, because feeling short of breath is so uncomfortable and also kind of scary. Remember folks that there is a lot less oxygen in the air to begin with - Machu Picchu is 7875 feet above sea level. I am so used to feeling able bodied and fit - able to keep up with anyone my age in an outdoor capacity - and so this hike was so frustrating. It was a super steep stair climb that lasted for an hour and fifteen minutes. (And by the way, actual stairs are much harder than the Stair Master.) It was a good thing that there was a beacon of light waiting for me at the top, both figuratively and literally. Not only was Machu Picchu up there, but the sunrise was up there too. I pushed on an on, and with the comic relief of a British kid named Simon, plus Dr. Natasha, plus I think I can I think I can, one thing led to another, and there is was. The sun peaked over the mountain, I turned the corner, and the most perfectly situated human heaven was right there. It is like the Incas climbed up every mountain in Peru and found the most perfectly beautiful place to live.
It is so mindblowing to think about the work that it must have taken to envision and then create such a place. All of the walls and windows and fountains and alleys of the city were made out of enormous granite rocks. Simple questions cross my mind...like how the heck did they carry those things around? They are enormous! How did they carve them to fit perfectly together, like the pieces of a puzzle? And when they were moving these huge rocks around...how did they make sure that nobody fell off the mountain? Because, the cliffs are that real.
Somehow the Incas figured out how to farm up there as well - they used terracing techniques to create all sorts of different microclimates and then grew various agricultural products. There were separate neighborhoods - a place where common people lived, a place where elite people lived, a place where the Inca king lived, a town square, and various religious spaces. The Incas were excellent astronomers, and their constructions often indicated their interest in and understanding of the cosmos. For example, the Temple of the Sun contains two windows that are perfectly aligned with the sun at the exact moments of the summer and winter solstices. How did the Incas perform such precise measurements? Trial and error?
There is something incredible about being in a place that showcases the very best of both artistic expression and brute strength. A feeling of sheer wonder and amazement is accompanied by an appreciation for the broad spectrum of human talent. Perhaps we feel this kind of wonder when standing in front of the Taj Mahal or within the Sistine Chapel. However, there is something particularly striking about being in the city of Machu Picchu that adds another dimension to our wonder. Not only are we seeing the very best of what human beings can create - we are also standing in the midst of the very best of what God can create.
This forest, this scene, this moment was just a zany roll of the cosmic dice as if the Gothic builders had heaved the stone blocks and flying buttresses and gold leaf into the air and it had all come down as Chartres. In fact, if there were a God, He would spend His tough days visiting the man-made cathedrals and mosques and temples, where people believed in Him and asked favors and prayed for victories over the other guys who called Him by other names. And then He would come here into his green cathedral. He would crack open a beer, walk around in His boxers, put His hands on His hips and mutter, "How about that" at the miracle of all this being thrown together out of the dust of the Big Bang. He would shake His head at the wild stroke of luck.
-Brian Alexander, Green Cathedrals: A Wayward Traveler in the Rain Forest
What a wild stroke of luck. Somehow, the jaw dropping beauty doesn't feel like an accident. It feels like somebody made some really good decisions!
Natasha and I enjoyed a splendidly pleasant afternoon talking around a shady picnic table with our other group-mates. We had a long afternoon of waiting for our evening train, but passed the time by continuing to become close friends with Nicole from Sweden, who we had actually met in Valparaiso, Chile. Fate took over and reunited us with her in Cusco, and we have been fast friends ever since. Nicole left Sweden when she was sixteen to travel around Australia because she did not know what she wanted to concentrate in during high school. She returned from her trip with a newfound interest in globalization, which she studied for the next three years. The Swedish educational system considers this study of globalization to be her high school degree! Now she is taking more time to travel before thinking about attending university. She is incredibly inspiring because she is such an adept listener - to herself - and she carefully makes decisions about how to spend her time so that each minute of her life is as pleasing as possible.
Our last day in Cusco was cozy as I recovered from my cold...a really fun impromptu movie night in the living room of our hostel was a highlight. We obviously had learned a lesson or two from our previous overnight bus experience, and so made a very well-researched decision when deciding how to transport ourselves to our next destination. We decided to spend our last few days in the dry, hot desert south of Lima. The main attraction in the area is an archeological site called the Nazca Lines; a close second is the town of Huacachina, where you can ride four-wheel-drive vehicles over huge sand dunes. The craziest part of the adventure always seems to be the bus ride: our seats were comfortable and all, but seriously, this was the absolute windiest road I have ever been on. We descended thousands of meters down the sides of mountains and made constant hairpin turns for hours on end. Hours. Natasha's rock solid immune system finally cracked when we got on the bus. I almost broke bones when I stood up to make my way to the bathroom, and the bus literally threw me onto the lap of my sleeping neighbor. Sheesh.
By morning I felt like I had ridden the Alice in Wonderland teacups for the past 14 hours. We got off the bus in Nazca and had to figure out how to get 30 kilometers away to the Nazca Lines observation tower, and then another few hundred kilometers beyond to our hotel by the sand dunes. We braved a local bus, which was not that bad, but of course we missed our stop. A taxi helped us backtrack. We then climbed the three story observation tower, which was literally on the side of the road in the middle of the desert. The Nazca Lines were pretty cool - giant drawings of animals, possibly constellations, etched into the desert floor - but definitely only worth it for a few minutes. Then we sobered up and realized we were hot, sick, dirty and tired in the middle of nowhere, needing to hail down the next local bus heading north. Seriously. I am in disbelief about some of this stuff only two weeks later!
Natasha and I got to our hotel safely and had a relaxing final two days. We ate an entire, enormous rotisserie chicken by ourselves. We were loving the Columbian music blasting out of every window. We had a blast on the sand dunes - whee!!! Our driver took us on a one hour ride, up and down the dunes in an open top buggy, and then we got to sandboard down the sand a few times. Great great fun. After that, we had a very hungry four hour bus ride to Lima (hungry because we were completely out of cash), and then I boarded an easy redeye straight to LAX.
That's it. It's that simple. Over? Really? I don't believe it.
I don't know about this "over" business. Nothing feels "over" to me. I hope that's ok. I still feel like I'm traveling. My own city feels strange and changed. My relationships have not stood still. I have many many unanswered questions and I have no idea what is next.
I am so lucky to have the resources that enable me to say "I have no idea what is next." Since I am still on a quest, in every regard, I think that I am going to continue travel blogging. I have a lot to discover, and writing helps me find my way.
More reflections coming soon. For now, I can only express my utmost gratitude for every angel who watched over me, and for every beautiful moment of glee that I shared with so many incredible strangers. All of these people and moments feel like precious gifts, and they warm my heart with saudades. Most importantly, I know who to thank for every single gift - myself.
I am overcome with longing, and yet words cannot express my happiness and contentment.
Besos and beijos, Katie
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Superwoman, huh?
I have to laugh at myself. So tough, so strong, huh? I am supposed to be camping in the woods right now and instead I am recovering from one of the worst cases of altitude sickness and the flu that has ever been documented. (I do feel strong enough to make that assertion.) I need to get you all caught up. Let´s back up to Chile.
First, I have to mention the most darling little restaurant ever, which you must visit if you are ever in the Chilean Lake District. It is called La Cocina de la Abuela - The Kitchen of the Grandmother. It is the quaintest, classiest of places that Natasha and I just happened to walk by one evening. There was nobody inside, but after the warmest welcome from our waiter, we couldn´t walk away. We shrugged at each other and thought - why not? There was one other gentleman behind the bar who warmly welcomed us, and one woman who peered at us with a smile from the kitchen - the Abuela!
We began our meal with a pisco sour - the deliciously dangerous alcoholic concoction of the land - and then the waiter offered us a brilliant bottle of wine. Just before, Natasha caught the owner behind the bar whispering to the waiter, Enzo, teaching him how to say "May I recommend..." in English. So darling. We had a delicious meal, perfectly prepared by the grandmother. I had pumpkin apple soup and grilled salmon. Throughout dinner, we were praying that other customers would arrive - this place was just so darling, and these people deserve success! Alas, it is slow season in Pucon, and nobody came. Natasha and I continued to get mushy about it - and the pisco sours plus half a bottle of wine each did not help the estrogen overflow. Then, to make us fall in love with them harder, the owner took a picture of us with his digital camera and displayed it on the computer screen at the bar. He asked us to sign his guest book and include our email addresses so that he could send it to us. The guest book went back several years and was just filled with warm remarks about other wonderful meals that people have enjoyed at this lovely restaurant. We felt like we had been welcomed into their family for an evening! Here is what we received in our inboxes the next day:
Dear friends Katie & Natasha: Here you may find one picture when you visited La cocina de la abuela of Pucon, Chile, on april 06, 2008. Thanks a lot for visit us and for your friendship. Thanks a lot for your warm words in our Guest Book, you are great. You are invited to come back, visit our web site www.lacocinadelaabuela.cl and recommend us, if you could. We'll stay waiting for your news. Your friends of La cocina de la abuela. Sincerely Victor & Kika
Yes, Victor and Kika - you most certainly have our recommendation! We cannot wait to go back there someday. It came time to leave Pucon, and here is where our lovely fairytale plot thickens. We needed a way to get to Cusco, Peru that did not take four days on a bus. We also did not want to spend the money to fly internationally - and flying out of Santiago would involve an 11 hour bus ride anyway. We thought that our best option would be to fly into the northernmost Chilean city - Arica - check out Lauca National Park, which is relatively nearby - and then bus it into Peru from there. Problem: the most well-known airline in Chile is super expensive. Next problem: the number two airline in Chile is still kind of expensive, and their website doesn´t work. Next problem: no other airfare websites will let us complete this purchase either. Another freaking problem: the one travel agent in town is never open, and when he finally is open, he claims that the airline will not accept credit cards, and that we have to pay him in cash. Hell no. Ergh. What the heck do we do?
We decided to take our chances and literally showed up at the Temuco airport without tickets. We got there and the airline counter wasn´t even open for another two hours. We were losing precious bus time if this plan didn´t work out. There was no internet cafe in the airport, which was a problem because we needed to book accommodation in Arica if we were indeed to be arriving there that evening. Then, there was the necessity to figure out a way to get to Lauca National Park the following day. We asked the airport police officer to pray for us in Spanish, which must have helped because we were indeed able to purchase tickets - and with credit cards no less! The catch - the journey involved two flights. No problem, I´ve done layovers before! Haha, no there´s more: the first flight involved two legs, and the second flight involved three legs. Let me put it differently - we would be taking off and landing five different times that day, over the course of 8 hours. We would be in six different Chilean cities that are each hundreds of miles away from each other. Put differently: this flight is like a damn bus that hops up the country, making stops along the way. Seriously? My lord. My ears were so confused and clogged by the end of the day that I could barely hear Natasha say, "OK - so where are we sleeping?"
We ended up sleeping in a darling hostel owned by a Kiwi expat who was helpful in the morning with regards to getting our asses to Lauca. We signed onto a one and a half day private tour with our own tour guide - Carlos. The several hour drive there was so neat - huge mountains made of sand, ancient etchings, weird magnetic fields that pulled the car when put in neutral, and enormous candelabra cacti. We passed through a tiny village of 20 people where they still practice a pre-Columbian farming technique called terracing. There are stone walls built into the side of the hill that create broad, wide steps. The farmers grow things on each step and irrigate from the top, and the water flows down the terraces somehow. They grow corn and celery and oregano, and many other things. Carlos picked off little pieces of oregano for us, and my mouth immediately started watering as I was transported to the pizzerias of New Jersey. So far away, yet so close to home.
We arrived before sunset in the village of Putre, where we would have dinner and sleep before exploring the park the following morning. What a darling place. Women walking around with colorful textiles wrapped into napsacks carrying vegetables, or babies. Men sitting in clusters, talking about the day, or working together to paint the new swingset in the townsquare. Little kids running around, laughing and playing and kicking soccer balls. The sky starts to get a bit orange, and the cell phone rings - I get to talk to my parents. I feel revived and connected to the ones I love. Natasha and I sit on a ledge, and then she points across the square - look at those little girls dancing! We decide to move closer to sit on another ledge that is closer to them. They are about seven years old, and they have a tiny boombox playing the latest in Latin upbeat R&B: best description I can offer. There are six of them, in two rows, and they clearly have a routine - they must be practicing for some kind of performance or talent show. The sky starts to get orangey purple over the mountains, and these little girls are laughing and dancing in total adorable harmony. I am officially melting in delight. What a beautiful life. I am so lucky to be able to witness so many different ways, in so many different places, in which people are pursuing happiness. In the end, these ways don´t look all that different.
Lauca National Park is quite simply stunning. Many say that it is Chile´s most beautiful national park - and Chile is really beautiful, so that is saying a lot. There are miles of open grazing fields with endless amounts of local fauna - alpacas, llamas, vicuñas, guanacos...they all kind of look like the llama, and they are all amazing. There are tons of birds, ducks, and geese. There are many snowcapped volcanoes in the near and far. At times we could see both Bolivia and Peru while standing on Chilean soil. The volcanoes are set behind many reflection lakes and salt lakes. We completed a few short treks, and the elevation put us out of breath. One trek took us onto moss pads as we neared one of the salt lakes. There was a flock of flamingos standing on the water. When we got close, we got to see them fly away. The moment was absolutely breathtaking. Carlos prepared a delicious picnic with the ripest tomato and avocado, and by the way, we managed to carry on conversation with him in Spanglish throughout the entire two days. I am going to be so good at charades by the end of this trip!
On our way out of the park, we stopped for a dip at one of the many natural hot springs in Chile. Essentially, natural spring water runs off of the mountains, and then it is heated in the ground by seismic activity. The heated water ends up spouting up somewhere; the locals pipe the water into little pools at the source, and voila - the springs are so relaxing and healing. And cheap! At around 1PM, we dried off and began one of the longest journeys of my life. We had no idea what we were in store for. We arrived back in Arica at 4:30 PM, when we learned that the standard way of crossing the border into Peru is by collectivo taxi. Basically, a driver takes you and others in a pooled taxi, helps you fill out the paperwork, and then drops you off at a bus station on the other side. Perfect, we thought, because we wanted to buy bus tickets for the following morning. We planned to stay overnight in the city of Tacna, Peru because it is not so safe to travel Peru by night bus - there are many robberies.
We arrived at the bus station and saw a sign in the window upstairs - Bus, Cusco, Arequipa, Puno. Great, because Cusco was the destination. There were two ticket offices. We did some comparisons and found out that the prices were the same. Problem: there was no direct bus to Cusco in the morning. Second problem: the morning bus would get us to Cusco at 3:30AM the following day. Ergh - we are going to be traveling by night in the end, either way. The morning bus would be arriving in the middle of the night: don´t like the sound of that. Other option: leave at 7:00PM this evening, which would get us to Cusco at 3:30PM the following day.
We weighed our options. It is better to arrive during the day, versus in the middle of the night. Let´s just go now. I point to a bus poster that is on the wall for a company called San Martin - the bus is a double decker tourist bus, like the ones we are used to traveling on. They have bathrooms and an attendant. I point to the poster and say "semi cama?", which means a seat that reclines with a footrest. The guy nods and nods. Perfect, let´s do it. The office is pretty nice, with computers and free internet. We check our email while we wait to depart.
The guy helps us with our packs and we walk downstairs into the bus station. We get in a taxi, and I think - great! - they must be dropping us off across the street so that we don´t have to walk! The taxi drives a few blocks and I look at Natasha - um, where are we going? Shit. We pull over to the side of the road where there is a tiny bus stop that looks like a place where you would catch a ride across town. There are tons of locals in traditional type dress piling onto this bus. Not a single tourist in sight. It is dark. We freak out at the ticket office guy. This is NOT San Martin! NOT tourist bus! You lied to us! Take us to San Martin! He mumbles something about this bus being "same" - "semi cama" - and we are like HELL NO this is NOT the same! We are near tears. I think we were in tears. We are hyperventilating. We have nowhere to stay and just dropped all of this money on bus tickets. The guy says something about "No San Martin tonight, only tomorrow, different ticket," and then all of a sudden he doesn´t speak any English anymore. We are so scammed. We are so screwed. If we wait until morning, we are going to get to Cusco in the middle of the night anyway. SHIT.
We look at each other in disbelief. What the hell do we do. We look at each other again and hand our packs over, fatefully, to the bus driver. He tags them and puts them in the midst of everyone else´s luggage - wrapped up cardboard boxes, tied up sacks and plastic bags. Everything around us smells like urine. We stumble onto the bus. It is SO hot and SO crowded. It is SO loud. We make our way to the back of the bus where we are sitting together (thank God) in seats 40 and 41. There are people standing everywhere, with bags in their seats. There are people shoving to get by each other. Everything smells.
We sit down. I have never seen a look of horror like I saw on Natasha´s face.
We aren´t moving. There is an old woman with two braids tied together at the bottom, a meter long, wearing a petticoat. She is shoving her way up and down the aisle and stops to talk to us. She is holding one solitary winter coat and is trying to sell it to us, right then and there. She is trying to sell a winter coat in the middle of the aisle.
The girl across from us is fishing through a bag that contains all sorts of miscellaneous items wrapped in newsprint. She is trying to sell things too - it looks like those are...flashlights? My God. Are we going camping? What is this?!
A guy makes his way up and down the aisle, screaming (singing) and trying to sell candy. He puts it in your lap, regardless of whether you want it, and then makes a second trip to collect money (or to take the candy back). I refuse the kid, and Natasha gives me the look of death: "Katie, what the HELL are you thinking, pissing these people off? Take the damn candy." We are the only gringas on this bus and stick out like sore thumbs. Our luggage below, I remind you, also sticks out like sore thumbs. SHIT. Then, the baby behind us starts crying, and we smell a dirty diaper. I start hysterically laughing at the ridiculosity of this situation. It is too damn funny.
Finally, we start moving. Bright lights stay on. I put on my ipod to drown out the chirping, as the candy kid is still going at it. Shortly thereafter, we stop at some kind of check point. We look out the window. You have got to be kidding. A San Martin bus pulled up beside us. Natasha and I look at each other in disbelief. It is three-quarters empty. We were so scammed. We should have known something was wrong when they would not accept a freaking credit card. Dammit. I tell her - listen, the other bus might not even be going to Cusco. Let´s just tell ourselves that. We pull ahead of the bus, and we both can´t help but look back. There it is, a bright and shining light on the front of that San Martin bus - CUSCO in beaming neon. I die laughing once again. Priceless. Seriously - joke or bad dream?
We stop again, and this time more people get on the bus. Are they going to be standing in the aisle all night? Oh no - this time the new people are selling food. The entire stuffy bus begins to reek. They are selling taco-like things wrapped in foil and are holding USED WATER BOTTLES that contain the salsa. The salsa is being squirted out of the sports nozzles. I am HYSTERICAL laughing, but under my breath because Natasha looks like she is going to strangle me if I make a single peep. She seriously looks like she is going to vomit. The only things missing from this bus are the chickens.
Finally, we take off and the lights go out. Natasha proclaims that there is no way that she is going to sleep. OK, I say - well I am going to try. I put on some mellow rock and all of a sudden I find that I need to turn up the volume - they have put a movie on, and the sound is SO LOUD. This is no normal movie. Typically, South Americans watch movies from the US or UK with subtitles - but we doubt that the average passenger on our bus knew how to read Spanish. Instead, we were watching some kind of Peruvian telenovella. It was like a bad soap opera, but set in the Peruvian countryside with cows and chickens and traditionally dressed farm workers. Then, of course, evil gangs of bandits were trying to keep the lovers apart. Oh my lord. Please please please grant me some sleep.
Every time I would stir and take off my blindfold, we would be going around a steep bend, and Natasha would be biting her nails, looking out of the window. In the morning I asked her what she had been doing for the past 12 hours, and she said: "Katie, I literally said the rosary the entire night. I said thousands of Hail Marys. Every time I would doze off, I would jolt awake and say in panic ´OH, forgive me Lord! Hail Mary, full of Grace!´ and begin again." Seriously? Natasha?!?! Oh WOW this is too funny.
Well, it´s funny now because we made it to Puno (where we have a two hour layover) safely, with all of our bags. I knew it would be funny on the other side. I got to see an incredible sunrise over Lake Tikicaca. We found out that the second leg of our journey was on a double decker bus. Great! Oh, except that our tickets bought us a place in the back of level 2, with no leg room. We sadly walked by the other backpackers in the front, happily yapping away, legs extended against the windows.
God was watching over us because we did end up safely in Cusco with all of our belongings, and we have a great story to boot. We have been staying at an amazing hostel. Cusco is beautiful and has a great nightlife. We have been dancing until dawn and making lots of friends. On Monday morning, we left on our Machu Picchu trek. And oh, the plot thickens once more.
After an amazing morning of trekking (like badasses with our 25 pound packs), everything starts to get harder in the afternoon. We have been walking for hours. My back and hips are aching from the weight - why didn´t I just give in and rent an extra horse? It starts raining, and it is cold. We reach camp at 5:30PM after walking for eight hours. As soon as I stop moving and my adrenaline stops pumping, my head starts throbbing. All of a sudden: extreme nausea. How could this be elevation sickness? I have been acclimating for days. I am so nauseous. I cannot eat. I climb into our tent and ask Natasha to bring me bread. Twenty minutes later, there is no way I can eat anything. I am gasping for breath at the elevation and am shivering in fever. I am so nauseous. My stomach aches. My body aches everywhere, and I don´t know if it is from the day of trekking or from the flu.
Oh my lord. I threw up five times throughout the night - at first in a plastic bag, and then directly outside the tent. Whenever I had to get up to use the "bathroom" (yeah right), I had to struggle not to step in my own vomit - not to mention the fact that the campsite was covered with spots of cow and horse manure. Seriously, I have never felt more disgusting. There were two wild dogs at our camp who were rustling and making sounds throughout the night. At one point I peaked out of the tent to see what was going on - "Oh......my GOD. Natasha...the dogs are LICKING my throw-up. They are EATING my vomit." Are you kidding? Bad bad bad dream. It was absolutely freezing outside. I did not get a wink of sleep. Neither did Natasha, who was the best friend I could have asked for. Thank God for having her there with me.
In the morning, we made the obvious call that I would not survive a nine hour day of trekking to even higher elevations. However, remember folks - this is Peru. The contingency plans here are not ideal. Essentially, I had to walk for 45 minutes in the morning cold, across streams and through piles of manure, before I realized that the guide carrying my pack was planning on HITCHING me a ride into a tiny town, where I would then somehow find a taxi. Literally, there was an eight wheeled truck with an open top, containing about thirty farmhands, that he tried to get me to ride on. HELL NO. I was in so much pain, and I was so cold, and I was so scared. Please please please, do not leave me here. I am in the middle of nowhere, Peru. I go: "No taxi, no solo!" If you don´t get me a taxi here, I am not going alone!
Miraculously, a taxi rode by going the opposite direction and told us to wait twenty minutes for his return. The driver took me all the way back to Cusco, which took three and a half hours along steep, bumpy roads. I laid in the back and prayed the whole time, trying to keep it together. I was able to call my hostel and get a private room. Thank heaven. I am so lucky.
I am taking a train tomorrow morning where I will be reunited with my group. I will get to see Machu Picchu, the great lost city of the Incas, on Friday. The plot has thickened, the story has changed, but in the end, fate has its way. I fall, I get up, and I am stronger for having survived it all. I think that I will continue to fashion myself as superwoman if that´s ok by you.
I can´t wait to tell you about the majesty of Machu Picchu from the other side. I will talk to you (and see some of you) very soon. Much love from Cusco. Besos!
First, I have to mention the most darling little restaurant ever, which you must visit if you are ever in the Chilean Lake District. It is called La Cocina de la Abuela - The Kitchen of the Grandmother. It is the quaintest, classiest of places that Natasha and I just happened to walk by one evening. There was nobody inside, but after the warmest welcome from our waiter, we couldn´t walk away. We shrugged at each other and thought - why not? There was one other gentleman behind the bar who warmly welcomed us, and one woman who peered at us with a smile from the kitchen - the Abuela!
We began our meal with a pisco sour - the deliciously dangerous alcoholic concoction of the land - and then the waiter offered us a brilliant bottle of wine. Just before, Natasha caught the owner behind the bar whispering to the waiter, Enzo, teaching him how to say "May I recommend..." in English. So darling. We had a delicious meal, perfectly prepared by the grandmother. I had pumpkin apple soup and grilled salmon. Throughout dinner, we were praying that other customers would arrive - this place was just so darling, and these people deserve success! Alas, it is slow season in Pucon, and nobody came. Natasha and I continued to get mushy about it - and the pisco sours plus half a bottle of wine each did not help the estrogen overflow. Then, to make us fall in love with them harder, the owner took a picture of us with his digital camera and displayed it on the computer screen at the bar. He asked us to sign his guest book and include our email addresses so that he could send it to us. The guest book went back several years and was just filled with warm remarks about other wonderful meals that people have enjoyed at this lovely restaurant. We felt like we had been welcomed into their family for an evening! Here is what we received in our inboxes the next day:
Dear friends Katie & Natasha: Here you may find one picture when you visited La cocina de la abuela of Pucon, Chile, on april 06, 2008. Thanks a lot for visit us and for your friendship. Thanks a lot for your warm words in our Guest Book, you are great. You are invited to come back, visit our web site www.lacocinadelaabuela.cl and recommend us, if you could. We'll stay waiting for your news. Your friends of La cocina de la abuela. Sincerely Victor & Kika
Yes, Victor and Kika - you most certainly have our recommendation! We cannot wait to go back there someday. It came time to leave Pucon, and here is where our lovely fairytale plot thickens. We needed a way to get to Cusco, Peru that did not take four days on a bus. We also did not want to spend the money to fly internationally - and flying out of Santiago would involve an 11 hour bus ride anyway. We thought that our best option would be to fly into the northernmost Chilean city - Arica - check out Lauca National Park, which is relatively nearby - and then bus it into Peru from there. Problem: the most well-known airline in Chile is super expensive. Next problem: the number two airline in Chile is still kind of expensive, and their website doesn´t work. Next problem: no other airfare websites will let us complete this purchase either. Another freaking problem: the one travel agent in town is never open, and when he finally is open, he claims that the airline will not accept credit cards, and that we have to pay him in cash. Hell no. Ergh. What the heck do we do?
We decided to take our chances and literally showed up at the Temuco airport without tickets. We got there and the airline counter wasn´t even open for another two hours. We were losing precious bus time if this plan didn´t work out. There was no internet cafe in the airport, which was a problem because we needed to book accommodation in Arica if we were indeed to be arriving there that evening. Then, there was the necessity to figure out a way to get to Lauca National Park the following day. We asked the airport police officer to pray for us in Spanish, which must have helped because we were indeed able to purchase tickets - and with credit cards no less! The catch - the journey involved two flights. No problem, I´ve done layovers before! Haha, no there´s more: the first flight involved two legs, and the second flight involved three legs. Let me put it differently - we would be taking off and landing five different times that day, over the course of 8 hours. We would be in six different Chilean cities that are each hundreds of miles away from each other. Put differently: this flight is like a damn bus that hops up the country, making stops along the way. Seriously? My lord. My ears were so confused and clogged by the end of the day that I could barely hear Natasha say, "OK - so where are we sleeping?"
We ended up sleeping in a darling hostel owned by a Kiwi expat who was helpful in the morning with regards to getting our asses to Lauca. We signed onto a one and a half day private tour with our own tour guide - Carlos. The several hour drive there was so neat - huge mountains made of sand, ancient etchings, weird magnetic fields that pulled the car when put in neutral, and enormous candelabra cacti. We passed through a tiny village of 20 people where they still practice a pre-Columbian farming technique called terracing. There are stone walls built into the side of the hill that create broad, wide steps. The farmers grow things on each step and irrigate from the top, and the water flows down the terraces somehow. They grow corn and celery and oregano, and many other things. Carlos picked off little pieces of oregano for us, and my mouth immediately started watering as I was transported to the pizzerias of New Jersey. So far away, yet so close to home.
We arrived before sunset in the village of Putre, where we would have dinner and sleep before exploring the park the following morning. What a darling place. Women walking around with colorful textiles wrapped into napsacks carrying vegetables, or babies. Men sitting in clusters, talking about the day, or working together to paint the new swingset in the townsquare. Little kids running around, laughing and playing and kicking soccer balls. The sky starts to get a bit orange, and the cell phone rings - I get to talk to my parents. I feel revived and connected to the ones I love. Natasha and I sit on a ledge, and then she points across the square - look at those little girls dancing! We decide to move closer to sit on another ledge that is closer to them. They are about seven years old, and they have a tiny boombox playing the latest in Latin upbeat R&B: best description I can offer. There are six of them, in two rows, and they clearly have a routine - they must be practicing for some kind of performance or talent show. The sky starts to get orangey purple over the mountains, and these little girls are laughing and dancing in total adorable harmony. I am officially melting in delight. What a beautiful life. I am so lucky to be able to witness so many different ways, in so many different places, in which people are pursuing happiness. In the end, these ways don´t look all that different.
Lauca National Park is quite simply stunning. Many say that it is Chile´s most beautiful national park - and Chile is really beautiful, so that is saying a lot. There are miles of open grazing fields with endless amounts of local fauna - alpacas, llamas, vicuñas, guanacos...they all kind of look like the llama, and they are all amazing. There are tons of birds, ducks, and geese. There are many snowcapped volcanoes in the near and far. At times we could see both Bolivia and Peru while standing on Chilean soil. The volcanoes are set behind many reflection lakes and salt lakes. We completed a few short treks, and the elevation put us out of breath. One trek took us onto moss pads as we neared one of the salt lakes. There was a flock of flamingos standing on the water. When we got close, we got to see them fly away. The moment was absolutely breathtaking. Carlos prepared a delicious picnic with the ripest tomato and avocado, and by the way, we managed to carry on conversation with him in Spanglish throughout the entire two days. I am going to be so good at charades by the end of this trip!
On our way out of the park, we stopped for a dip at one of the many natural hot springs in Chile. Essentially, natural spring water runs off of the mountains, and then it is heated in the ground by seismic activity. The heated water ends up spouting up somewhere; the locals pipe the water into little pools at the source, and voila - the springs are so relaxing and healing. And cheap! At around 1PM, we dried off and began one of the longest journeys of my life. We had no idea what we were in store for. We arrived back in Arica at 4:30 PM, when we learned that the standard way of crossing the border into Peru is by collectivo taxi. Basically, a driver takes you and others in a pooled taxi, helps you fill out the paperwork, and then drops you off at a bus station on the other side. Perfect, we thought, because we wanted to buy bus tickets for the following morning. We planned to stay overnight in the city of Tacna, Peru because it is not so safe to travel Peru by night bus - there are many robberies.
We arrived at the bus station and saw a sign in the window upstairs - Bus, Cusco, Arequipa, Puno. Great, because Cusco was the destination. There were two ticket offices. We did some comparisons and found out that the prices were the same. Problem: there was no direct bus to Cusco in the morning. Second problem: the morning bus would get us to Cusco at 3:30AM the following day. Ergh - we are going to be traveling by night in the end, either way. The morning bus would be arriving in the middle of the night: don´t like the sound of that. Other option: leave at 7:00PM this evening, which would get us to Cusco at 3:30PM the following day.
We weighed our options. It is better to arrive during the day, versus in the middle of the night. Let´s just go now. I point to a bus poster that is on the wall for a company called San Martin - the bus is a double decker tourist bus, like the ones we are used to traveling on. They have bathrooms and an attendant. I point to the poster and say "semi cama?", which means a seat that reclines with a footrest. The guy nods and nods. Perfect, let´s do it. The office is pretty nice, with computers and free internet. We check our email while we wait to depart.
The guy helps us with our packs and we walk downstairs into the bus station. We get in a taxi, and I think - great! - they must be dropping us off across the street so that we don´t have to walk! The taxi drives a few blocks and I look at Natasha - um, where are we going? Shit. We pull over to the side of the road where there is a tiny bus stop that looks like a place where you would catch a ride across town. There are tons of locals in traditional type dress piling onto this bus. Not a single tourist in sight. It is dark. We freak out at the ticket office guy. This is NOT San Martin! NOT tourist bus! You lied to us! Take us to San Martin! He mumbles something about this bus being "same" - "semi cama" - and we are like HELL NO this is NOT the same! We are near tears. I think we were in tears. We are hyperventilating. We have nowhere to stay and just dropped all of this money on bus tickets. The guy says something about "No San Martin tonight, only tomorrow, different ticket," and then all of a sudden he doesn´t speak any English anymore. We are so scammed. We are so screwed. If we wait until morning, we are going to get to Cusco in the middle of the night anyway. SHIT.
We look at each other in disbelief. What the hell do we do. We look at each other again and hand our packs over, fatefully, to the bus driver. He tags them and puts them in the midst of everyone else´s luggage - wrapped up cardboard boxes, tied up sacks and plastic bags. Everything around us smells like urine. We stumble onto the bus. It is SO hot and SO crowded. It is SO loud. We make our way to the back of the bus where we are sitting together (thank God) in seats 40 and 41. There are people standing everywhere, with bags in their seats. There are people shoving to get by each other. Everything smells.
We sit down. I have never seen a look of horror like I saw on Natasha´s face.
We aren´t moving. There is an old woman with two braids tied together at the bottom, a meter long, wearing a petticoat. She is shoving her way up and down the aisle and stops to talk to us. She is holding one solitary winter coat and is trying to sell it to us, right then and there. She is trying to sell a winter coat in the middle of the aisle.
The girl across from us is fishing through a bag that contains all sorts of miscellaneous items wrapped in newsprint. She is trying to sell things too - it looks like those are...flashlights? My God. Are we going camping? What is this?!
A guy makes his way up and down the aisle, screaming (singing) and trying to sell candy. He puts it in your lap, regardless of whether you want it, and then makes a second trip to collect money (or to take the candy back). I refuse the kid, and Natasha gives me the look of death: "Katie, what the HELL are you thinking, pissing these people off? Take the damn candy." We are the only gringas on this bus and stick out like sore thumbs. Our luggage below, I remind you, also sticks out like sore thumbs. SHIT. Then, the baby behind us starts crying, and we smell a dirty diaper. I start hysterically laughing at the ridiculosity of this situation. It is too damn funny.
Finally, we start moving. Bright lights stay on. I put on my ipod to drown out the chirping, as the candy kid is still going at it. Shortly thereafter, we stop at some kind of check point. We look out the window. You have got to be kidding. A San Martin bus pulled up beside us. Natasha and I look at each other in disbelief. It is three-quarters empty. We were so scammed. We should have known something was wrong when they would not accept a freaking credit card. Dammit. I tell her - listen, the other bus might not even be going to Cusco. Let´s just tell ourselves that. We pull ahead of the bus, and we both can´t help but look back. There it is, a bright and shining light on the front of that San Martin bus - CUSCO in beaming neon. I die laughing once again. Priceless. Seriously - joke or bad dream?
We stop again, and this time more people get on the bus. Are they going to be standing in the aisle all night? Oh no - this time the new people are selling food. The entire stuffy bus begins to reek. They are selling taco-like things wrapped in foil and are holding USED WATER BOTTLES that contain the salsa. The salsa is being squirted out of the sports nozzles. I am HYSTERICAL laughing, but under my breath because Natasha looks like she is going to strangle me if I make a single peep. She seriously looks like she is going to vomit. The only things missing from this bus are the chickens.
Finally, we take off and the lights go out. Natasha proclaims that there is no way that she is going to sleep. OK, I say - well I am going to try. I put on some mellow rock and all of a sudden I find that I need to turn up the volume - they have put a movie on, and the sound is SO LOUD. This is no normal movie. Typically, South Americans watch movies from the US or UK with subtitles - but we doubt that the average passenger on our bus knew how to read Spanish. Instead, we were watching some kind of Peruvian telenovella. It was like a bad soap opera, but set in the Peruvian countryside with cows and chickens and traditionally dressed farm workers. Then, of course, evil gangs of bandits were trying to keep the lovers apart. Oh my lord. Please please please grant me some sleep.
Every time I would stir and take off my blindfold, we would be going around a steep bend, and Natasha would be biting her nails, looking out of the window. In the morning I asked her what she had been doing for the past 12 hours, and she said: "Katie, I literally said the rosary the entire night. I said thousands of Hail Marys. Every time I would doze off, I would jolt awake and say in panic ´OH, forgive me Lord! Hail Mary, full of Grace!´ and begin again." Seriously? Natasha?!?! Oh WOW this is too funny.
Well, it´s funny now because we made it to Puno (where we have a two hour layover) safely, with all of our bags. I knew it would be funny on the other side. I got to see an incredible sunrise over Lake Tikicaca. We found out that the second leg of our journey was on a double decker bus. Great! Oh, except that our tickets bought us a place in the back of level 2, with no leg room. We sadly walked by the other backpackers in the front, happily yapping away, legs extended against the windows.
God was watching over us because we did end up safely in Cusco with all of our belongings, and we have a great story to boot. We have been staying at an amazing hostel. Cusco is beautiful and has a great nightlife. We have been dancing until dawn and making lots of friends. On Monday morning, we left on our Machu Picchu trek. And oh, the plot thickens once more.
After an amazing morning of trekking (like badasses with our 25 pound packs), everything starts to get harder in the afternoon. We have been walking for hours. My back and hips are aching from the weight - why didn´t I just give in and rent an extra horse? It starts raining, and it is cold. We reach camp at 5:30PM after walking for eight hours. As soon as I stop moving and my adrenaline stops pumping, my head starts throbbing. All of a sudden: extreme nausea. How could this be elevation sickness? I have been acclimating for days. I am so nauseous. I cannot eat. I climb into our tent and ask Natasha to bring me bread. Twenty minutes later, there is no way I can eat anything. I am gasping for breath at the elevation and am shivering in fever. I am so nauseous. My stomach aches. My body aches everywhere, and I don´t know if it is from the day of trekking or from the flu.
Oh my lord. I threw up five times throughout the night - at first in a plastic bag, and then directly outside the tent. Whenever I had to get up to use the "bathroom" (yeah right), I had to struggle not to step in my own vomit - not to mention the fact that the campsite was covered with spots of cow and horse manure. Seriously, I have never felt more disgusting. There were two wild dogs at our camp who were rustling and making sounds throughout the night. At one point I peaked out of the tent to see what was going on - "Oh......my GOD. Natasha...the dogs are LICKING my throw-up. They are EATING my vomit." Are you kidding? Bad bad bad dream. It was absolutely freezing outside. I did not get a wink of sleep. Neither did Natasha, who was the best friend I could have asked for. Thank God for having her there with me.
In the morning, we made the obvious call that I would not survive a nine hour day of trekking to even higher elevations. However, remember folks - this is Peru. The contingency plans here are not ideal. Essentially, I had to walk for 45 minutes in the morning cold, across streams and through piles of manure, before I realized that the guide carrying my pack was planning on HITCHING me a ride into a tiny town, where I would then somehow find a taxi. Literally, there was an eight wheeled truck with an open top, containing about thirty farmhands, that he tried to get me to ride on. HELL NO. I was in so much pain, and I was so cold, and I was so scared. Please please please, do not leave me here. I am in the middle of nowhere, Peru. I go: "No taxi, no solo!" If you don´t get me a taxi here, I am not going alone!
Miraculously, a taxi rode by going the opposite direction and told us to wait twenty minutes for his return. The driver took me all the way back to Cusco, which took three and a half hours along steep, bumpy roads. I laid in the back and prayed the whole time, trying to keep it together. I was able to call my hostel and get a private room. Thank heaven. I am so lucky.
I am taking a train tomorrow morning where I will be reunited with my group. I will get to see Machu Picchu, the great lost city of the Incas, on Friday. The plot has thickened, the story has changed, but in the end, fate has its way. I fall, I get up, and I am stronger for having survived it all. I think that I will continue to fashion myself as superwoman if that´s ok by you.
I can´t wait to tell you about the majesty of Machu Picchu from the other side. I will talk to you (and see some of you) very soon. Much love from Cusco. Besos!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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.
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
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
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
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
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
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