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!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
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
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Holy Week
There was this amazing thing that I witnessed in Buenos Aires last week that I forgot to mention before. I was spending one of many days wandering around the city, seeing what came up. I was walking down a side street in the Microcentro or Congresso area that was teeming with activity at mid day, with entirely too many pedestrians, cars, buses, bikes, and the like. There was this guy riding his bicycle through the street, approaching my direction as I walked the opposite way down the sidewalk. All of a sudden I heard an incredibly loud POP - I didn´t know what it was, but it seriously could have been a firecracker or gunshot even. The sound startled me and everyone around me. I then realized what happened - the bike rider´s tire blew out. He stumbles off of the bike and is screaming expletives in Spanish, and all of a sudden this scene becomes the funniest one that I have witnessed since the beginning of my travels. There is literally - I kid you not - a bike shop immediately to the right of both me and the bike rider. Literally. He was able to walk ten feet into the bike shop and buy a new tire. I couldn´t stop laughing about how upset this guy got - it was like God played a practical joke with the side note, "Relax dude, the universe takes care of you. Have a little faith next time."
Ah, ok. The metaphor. I have been so busy running around cities partying like a maniac that I happened to forget about a pivotal reason for this trip: spiritual balance. As I ran myself ragged and played the superficial party circuit, I started feeling lonely. And then the lonelier I got, the harder I partied, until finally I got angry. (Angry at who? I don´t know. I think that I blamed Buenos Aires for a moment, but that is not true or fair.) Shaky and unbalanced - not the goal. So why the heck am I lonely? Obviously, the people I love most in this world are not around. That´s a pretty obvious reason to be lonely.
Wait..."the people I love most in the world are not around." Well - what about...me?
OK, so here´s when this blog starts to sound like a spiritual journal/testament/memoir, and I am sorry if you are reading and feel like you didn´t sign up for this. But it is the direction that I need to go at this point. I cringe at the idea of seeming or sounding cliche, but you know what? That is a huge part of my problem. I care way too much about the ways that other people see me, and I don´t think enough about how I see me. So - you ask - why be all exhibitionist about this? And the only way I can respond is to say that I experience self-realization through writing, and I write better when I know that other people are reading. So, I guess I am being a little selfish. I am sort of using all of you to get the most out of this freaking process. Even if there are just a few of you out there, it makes a difference to me. Thank you for listening.
So here I go. So what about me? Why am I not good enough company for myself? Why am I not my own damn bike shop? I have the tools to make myself whole. I´m right here!
I am beginning to realize that I want a sturdier, steadier sense of self. I want to feel lucky when I´m the only one in the room.
I have not made the act of listening to myself, finding my heart, and valuing that truth a daily priority. I am starting to realize that I regarded that kind of self-attention and self-love as superficial and needless. My upbringing revered the selfless acts of Jesus, but more in the name of "selflessness" than in "Jesus." My culture values self-reliance, and my intellect cannot stand hypocrisy, and so honestly I have distanced myself from organized religion. I have never felt like I needed a strong sense of my own spirituality because I have always posited that the act is more important than belief or faith...and that it is too easy to slip into hypocrisy if the moral act does not come first. And so, when living my life, "How does this other person feel? How do I impact them? How can I make them feel good, or happy, or as little discomfort as possible?" has become my religion. I am in no way perfect - I do not always act accordingly. But, in a word, thoughtfulness has been what I strive for every day.
The problem is that thoughtfulness has not always started from a healthy or noble place for me. As bubbly as I may seem sometimes, I am shy and observant at the core. I´m not a psychologist, and I don´t feel like trying to be one today, so I will just say that, "for some reason," I have never been confident that people will love me if I don´t guide them through it, one step at a time. Constantly, always: "How does this person feel? How might they interpret what I just did or said? What can I do for them that might make them want me around?" I always try to steer the ship.
Well, when your self-worth is supported by this kind of model, you are bound to run into problems when none of the people who you love are around. I am realizing that I missed a critical point when I proclaimed that "I am traveling for the people I am meeting and human moments I am experiencing, not because of any grand vistas or pieces of architecture." How can you experience relationships and human moments with contentment if you don´t know yourself and love yourself? I am not a crumbling mess, but my sense of self is not blessed with God´s grace at this moment. I know that I can grow. I know that I do not have complete peace and poise.
In the Catholic Church, this past week is what we call "Holy Week." A week to pray for salvation and God´s grace - the holy spirit. This week has been my Holy Week too, and the beginning of something great - I promise myself. Why have I lost my Yoga since beginning traveling, and why have I never really bought into Yogic meditation before? I don´t know, but I feel a calling to find out. Simply stated, Yoga is about finding God inside of you. It is about finding balance, peace and bliss in the total self-realization of your own divinity. I have started this journey, for real, this week. I have been in lovely surroundings to begin this journey. (You are probably saying, "Get on with it already! This is a travel blog, isn´t it?") And - guess what - those surroundings include grand vistas and pieces of architecture!
I have had the lovely pleasure of exploring the wild west of Argentina - a place that is geographically stunning, culturally rich and spiritually vibrating just about everywhere. Being here during Holy Week has made the experience even more special. I visited the states of Tucuman, Salta and Jujuy. A way to describe this region is to combine New Mexico with Montana or Wyoming, and then to throw in a touch of Napa Valley. The Native Indian cultures are alive and thriving. There are artists and weavers selling handicrafts everywhere - gorgeous handwoven fabrics, handmade pottery, handcarvings, etc. Most of the people here practice Catholicism, and so their native cultures are complemented by fervent Christian religious practices. The practices that I have witnessed include reenactments of the Passion in mass procession through the streets, the creation of large shrines made from tree branches and flowers, and the carving of enormous clay sculptures of the crucifix and stations of the cross. There are shrines to various saints with candles burning non-stop along many of the main roads that I travelled this week. Every town I visited contained a church, if not a Cathedral, many of which are architectural treasures.
The landscape is so vast and so varied. First, you will see nothing but seven foot tall cacti for as far as the eye can see. All of a sudden, the scene changes to riverbeds and rolling hills with horses and cows grazing leisurely. Next, giant rock formations in every imaginable color appear - bright red, blue, green, orange, even purple. You see a few llamas hanging out by the side of the road. Next - I swear - miles and miles of vineyards start rolling by. Goats are crossing the road. Mountains are in the background, and moody clouds set the scene. It is so majestic. I have no idea how so much geographical diversity was jammed into this corner of the world.
Seeing all of this beauty and bearing witness to beautiful culture and heartfelt religion is inspiring. I have been blessed to create a lot of time for self-reflection in the midst of it all. I have enjoyed the peace and silence as so much beauty passed by my bus window. I have also enjoyed much of my favorite music. It is amazing how music can change my mood, and then a lyric makes me smile, and before I know it I have been smiling for hours - I get to know that feeling and I hold on to it, even when I am alone, without that stimulation. I discovered something so amazing this week. Do you know that you can take just about any love song and pretend that you are the singer, and that you are singing about - yours truly? Yes. You can sing love songs to yourself. This discovery might seem trite, but it was new for me, and it has allowed me to create so much happiness for myself.
At last...my love has come along...my lonely days are over! And life is like a song!
I have been around the world...looking for that woman girl...who knows love can endure - and you know it will!
I believe in the love that you gave me! I believe in the faith that can save me! I believe in the hope and I pray that someday it may raise me!
It will be no surprise to hear who I decide to listen to when I really want to feel inspired. Well, there is only one Boss, after all. (And any man who knows how lovely the girls from Jersey are obviously has some things figured out.)
It ain´t no sin to be glad you´re alive.
I gotta know how it feels.
I´ll love you with all the madness in my soul.
Well there it is. Bad Scooter´s in the jungle, searchin for her groove, man. Everybody better move over, that´s all. I´m all alone, I´m on my own, and I can´t go home. Not yet.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
I´ve Been Busy!
Ah, I have been so absent. Well it´s not like I haven´t been busy! There is much to report from the past week - much that has made me happy, but also much that has left me completely exhausted and depleted. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting to travel alone. I sort of underestimated this fact in Brazil. Brazil was the honeymoon. It also has a magical mystical air about it, fit for, well, a honeymoon. I was surrounded by friends of friends in Brazil that quickly became my own friends - and for the time being, my family. Buenos Aires is a completely different animal. Buenos Aires is big and pulsing...and because it is so cheap for foreigners, it has become an expat mecca, full of sophisticated types with money to spend. Now - I am sort of a sophisticated type with money to spent - admittedly. And there are many fabulous shops, parks, cafes, restaurants and more to enjoy. It´s just that, if you know me, you know how I love to love...and it gets exhausting to navigate a landscape like this one when you don´t have someone to share it with.
So - I have eaten fantastic food. Phenomenal. The steak, as I have said before - is clearly making me realize that there is something very wrong with American livestock. It is just so damn good. (Filet Mignon also costs $12 at the finest grill restaurant, by the way.) I have strolled through elegant cemeteries, paying homage to the likes of Evita and people much richer than her. I have taken jogs in pretty parks, around glistening lakes, watching locals read and play soccer and make-out with each other. I have visited the Evita Museum and the Malba (modern art museum), which has a gorgeous collection. I have strolled tree lined streets, watching how the rich live. I have made a few purchases in the designer boutiques that are completely impractical to carry for the next month and a half. I have also strolled through a dozen malls, soaking up the eye candy that ranges from tattooed misfits to anorexic glamouratti to ridiculous fake-hipsters wearing t-shirts saying things like "I´m so bored." Hilarious. I also, I am proud to say, figured out how to get my laundry done - and I found a travel agent to help me coordinate a number of logistical details about the coming weeks.
However - I have also met a lot of people who are not the greatest set that this city has to offer. I am sure of it. I was eating a burrito the other night and met two American dudes who couldn´t wait to "get some good pictures" in Buenos Aires - so they were planning on going to the ZOO. (?) In addition to the Americans who are everywhere, I blame myself for relying too heavily on snobby online networking that can have the tendency to produce somewhat snobby people. And, I have relied too heavily on their guidance. I have had a lot of overpriced tourist cocktails at fake euro style dance clubs thanks to these suggestions. Some of these folks are expats, and others are of the "My family owns all of the [fill in the blank] in Argentina" variety. On Wednesday, I went to a nightclub that bears the same name as a very well known Los Angeles nightclub, and wish I could have predicted that the entire place would be filled with 19 year old field hockey and rugby players from Yale. (Why?!) I have unfortunately lost that magical lovin feeling, and the creepy men on every corner don´t help. I wish that I had had more confidence in my own ability to open up Time Out and figure out the best cumbia or salsa joint myself. This is Latin America for goodness sake - I want some heat! But then there´s always the fact that I´m in Latin America, and I´m by myself, and should I really be doing anything alone at night?
On the other hand, with the exception of getting taken for a little bit of a joyride by a taxi driver who wanted a higher fare, nothing bad has happened. At all. Knock on wood. And, some really great things have happened that I should mention. First, I met someone who will undoubtedly become a friend when I return to New York - my friend Meagan´s friend David. David is studying Spanish in Buenos Aires to help him in his future medical career. He is not here for long, but he welcomed me with open arms to join him and his new friends whenever I liked. David is smart and honest and fun and my kind of friend. It was so fantastic to meet him.
Also - I signed myself up for some private tango lessons. Nothing has made me happier since coming to this city. I had this amazing teacher named Julieta. She is in her fifties, and she still wears full make-up and bustiers and fishnet stockings. This chica´s got flare! She has this huge gummy smile with braces, and she hugs you and welcomes you into her gorgeous pre-war style high-ceilinged apartment where she has a private studio...and then she puts on the music and says "We walk." And you quickly learn that Julieta has kind of demanding criteria for an acceptable step! And the Russian ballet teacher in her comes out...but you totally love it because you have your game face on, and only two hours to get some business accomplished. And before you know it Julieta is screaming "ESO! ESO! EXACTAMENTE!" and you are finally doing something right, and then "NO NO NO, that is horrible" and oh god, what the hell am I doing wrong, and then "SI SI SI! NOW, ESO! - that is different, no?!" and you think you understand what you fixed, but you´re not sure...and then again and again until your feet and angles are throbbing but your heart is flying. I learned ochos (twisty steps, like figure eights), both forward and backwards, and three kinds of hooks, and how to climb over the man´s leg, and how to grapevine around him in circles, and how to know when he wants to stop, and change directions, and when to cross, and how to add flare if he gives me the time...OH! Tango is so amazing. I went back for a second lesson and feel somewhat functional now. But the point is that I am going to be friggin good at this dance by the time I return. No doubt in my mind.
After tango, I went to the Plaza de Mayo on Thursday at 3:30 in the afternoon to see the Madres protest. Between 1976 and 1983, Argentina suffered under a military dictatorship that kidnapped and tortured dissenters in what is now called "The Dirty War." It is estimated that as many as 30,000 people disappeared during this time. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo formed an organization whereby they fight for the right to be reunited with their children, and also for other human rights struggles. The women wear white head scarves to symbolize doves of peace - and many of them have the names of their children and grandchildren embroidered on these scarves. These women congregate on the Plaza de Mayo every single Thursday afternoon - and have been doing so for over thirty years. They had such fervor on Thursday - and it is almost incomprehensible that they have had that kind of fervor every Thursday since before I was born. Unbelievably inspiring - and heartbreaking. Some of them were close to tears. A parent´s love for their child is hard to reckon with, and they are absolutely unwavering. The Madres are a fixture in Buenos Aires, and I am so glad and honored that I got to witness their protest.
Also, I forgot to mention that I had a great time last weekend in Uruguay! I stayed with a friend of a friend named Maru - what a doll! - and her roommate Valentina and her friend Mariana´s two dogs. (I fancied one of these dogs in particular because she was named Nonie, like my grandmother.) Montevideo was very surprising. It is a gorgeous city - cobblestoned streets, lots of leafy trees, restaurants and bars on the corners...there isn´t very much historical architecture, per se, but it seemed like a lovely place to live. The city is right on the beach, and so there are many city beaches to go to, in addition for Uruguay´s gorgeous beaches up the coast. Uruguay seemed very developed and very first-world - at times I almost felt like I was in Florida. This illusion came crashing down when Maru´s best friend, who was on vacation in Miami, had her house get broken into while she was away - the weekend that I was visiting. The robbers even cooked in the kitchen, and then splattered food all over the furniture. This news was so sad to hear. I really don´t know how I would psychologically manage a trauma like that. Aside from the robbery, the weekend was very fun, filled with shopping, partying, and beach time. Punta del Este, Uruguay´s premiere seaside resort, is gorgeous, and must be incredibly fun during high season. There was a little bit of boy-drama that Maru had to endure...but a funny anecdote to go with it. We went to three bookstores looking for a copy of the Sex and the City-inspired young women´s bible - He´s Just Not That Into You. After trying to explain what we wanted to clerks who repeated very loudly, "QUE? HE-NOT-INTO-YOU???" we died laughing and ran off to the movies to watch a chick flick.
Well - that´s all for now folks. Stay tuned. Love you all. Many besos, Katie
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