peru and bolivia and northern argentina: part one.

so as mentioned previously, as of the end of ecuador i was hightailing it for patagonia, properly visiting only the areas i knew i couldn´t easily return to and temporarily bypassing the rest. in peru, i only did the coastal regions and the colca canyon area in the south. by the way, travelling as quick as you´d like is one thing... rushing your travel like this is quite another. it felt kind of awful.

so the bus rides in western peru essentially consisted of umm, sand. just like... a whole lotta sand. but i have a thing for desert, at least when it´s not full of trash and enormous ugly machinery, so i didn´t mind the monotony. but lots of people get driven a little bit mad by peruvian bus rides. the scenery, at times, could include stunning, stark deserts spotted with shrubbery and dunes and the odd adobe house with a few goats in fences of skinny sticks (or even stranger, fences extending for miles that enclosed nothing at all, like tonnes of empty sandboxes), all against a blue, puffy cloud sky background. or it could be flat, dirty, garbage-strewn construction site against a dull grey, kill-me-now background. the former was thankfully much more common than the latter.

so i left helga in chiclayo and proceeded to bus forever. i bussed to trujillo, then over to huanchaco. i planned to stay the night but the places were all quite pricey and it was ugly weather and ugly beach and so i called the bus company (my FIRST phone call in spanish, by the way, i was so proud... and terrified) and got a ticket for lima that night. in huanchaco they have these "little horse" boats that are all curved at the ends and really skinny and dr.seuss-looking that are meant to ride the waves for fishing slightly offshore. i forgot that you could pay a fisherman to take you out- that would have been something i´d have liked to do. all that happened in huanchaco was that i ended up being stuck at the front of a photo exhibit presentation in a restaurant... odd. but beautiful photos by kids less fortunate... makes you wonder what the world could do if everyone had equal resources. anyway, i went back to the trujillo bus station with plenty of time to kill. right at piura, our first stop in peru that day, i noticed the immediate different in timidity level of peruvians. in other words, there is none. it was shockingly different than ecuador. this was further enforced when, enjoying my small, chinese, late-night dinner, i was joined by roberto segundo, an elderly tailor who asked to sit with me (although the place was near-empty) and we chatted for about an hour as we sipped our soups. how nice!

my ankle had been stung by something the day before in ecuador. nothing to draw my attention though- a little local swelling and a small bump, happens eeeveryday. then the first day in peru, it swelled slightly more... then i took my final bus ride, to lima, and thaaaat did it. when i attempted to get off the bus, i had to LIMP because not only were my ankles so swollen they couldn´t bend, but the pressure on my blood-filled feet was too much to bear for more than a millisecond and i had to quickly and awkwardly switch to the next foot, or just bear the initial pain of the pressure until it faded slightly, release the breath i was holding in... then proceed to place the opposite foot in front of the present one. it was hell. i don´t know if it was just the bite, or the 34 hours in transit, or a combination of the two, but my ankles swelled- one more than the other- like a MOFO. it was shocking, really. cankles. no space between my toes. no ankle bone. DENTS in both feet from the lines of my thong sandals. wow.

so my first day in lima was spent lying in bed with my legs raised, staring, sighing. i left once to go get food. i have NEVER walked slower in my life. i´m sure my first steps must have been faster than this. i got asked by a large stranger on the street if i´d like a piggy-back.. it was tempting. my roommates were really nice. the italian told me if i wanted anything to just ask. the frenchman was sweet and talked to me a long time and then made fun of me:
me: "this is normal, i think, swelling in bus rides."
he: "yea, it happens to my grandmother."
me, after finishing laughing: "yea... and pregnant people. damn."
the hostel workers all came in and hit on me. good day, really. that hostel was SUPER cool too. a painful (at the time) 4 stories high, but ffuuulll of kitschy greek busts and renaissance paintings and vines streaming from the top floor to the bottom, and three live turtles roaming the rooftop patio. the next day, frenchman was stern with me and made me purge a LOT which i could KISS him for now that i´m in chile carrying an extra tent and sleeping bag than before.

i was then off to pisco. i don´t watch the news or read the papers, so pisco isn´t a place that is engrained in my mind as connotated with "major earthquake". so when we rolled into pisco around 7pm, my first thought, embarrassingly, was "oh dear, what a shithole". not minutes before i remember that this was the town hit by a serious terremoto not 5 months prior. iiidiot. so then i felt bad and saw everything in a whole new light. everything here was overpriced but i sucked it up because i felt so bad for the people. if i had more time, i would´ve liked to volunteer cleaning up there. if anyone´s interested, just catch a flight to peru and jump right in, i´m pretty sure they´ll accept any help available! my guide norton (straaangest name for a dreadlocked afroperuvian kid) and i then went to the nearest pub- completely devoid of visible tourists (awesome)- and ordered the drink named after the city (though not produced there, actually, long story)- pisco. we talked to the bartender all night and he played ridiculously cheesy 80s-90s pop videos that he LOVED and one time we even put on a little dance show for the folks. we got applause. it was so much fun. i went back and was really chatty to my near-slumber roommate. his name was benedict and i told him that he was possibly named after a type of eggs and continued to talk randomly (including trying to name off the ingredients of eggs benedict) for a good hour. pisco is a really feel-good innocent drunk.

and a reeaaall hazy hangover. norton picked me up bright and early for the tour to "the poor man´s galapagos" (islas ballestas). they were pretty cool- absolutely jam-packed with birds birds birds, and sea-lions. and seals, i think. n cute lil penguins that blended in with the rocks veeery well. crazy rock formation islands. at first i thought we were so lucky to witness the sea-lions in such animation- fighting and yelling and rolling and coming and going. then i realized that everywhere there was a lion, there was this. that´s cool. i got shat on. heh, by a bird, not a sea-lion, don´t worry.

the remainder of the day was spent lazying by the pool and talking to the little boy about his experience with the quake. man he spoke fast. i felt stupid asking a little kid to speak slower though, especially when he was so excited to talk, so i just pretended i understood him.

off to huacachina, the desert oasis! MUCH smaller than i expected, but really cute and surrouded by mountainous dunes. two blocks by 4 blocks, a big ugly lake and we´re done. immediately upon arrival at casa de arena (house of sand ha) i met handsome french canadian jean-christophe. soon into our conversation i discovered that he was here to study backpackers for his masters! studying their motivations and travels relating to their life at home, etc. i was ALL over it! i started ranting about things and he made me stop so he could grab his recorder and we hit the beach (by beach i mean disgusting smelly cespool in the middle of the oasis). i was so excited, i couldn´t stop talking, really. and he led me in all the right directions with his questions, which doesn´t normally happen because people just keep commenting rather than thinking of asking a lot of new questions since we´re not normally interviewers. so it really broadened my thinking too, which was a beautiful thing. it was all very exciting. i was so happy and it was so thrilling to THINK and be with someone who was THINKING. possibly my greatest passion, above all else... refreshing, revitalizing thought... engaging in intellectual intercourse.

we finally returned to the party house by dusk. free food, free drinks, then some girls from the nearby town got their sister to bring over more pisco. there was so much love. peruvians are sooo friendly, i love it! there were two girls from lima there- nice girls, but a little snobby, dressed like they were ready to hit the club in little ol´ huacachina, and they told me that pisco´s a dirty alcohol that gives a mean hangover, and they never stray from their pricey black label. but who had the hangover the next day? that´s right, i felt GREAT! woo!

visited the nearby bodegas (wineries) the next day with a lil group of folk from the hostel. the first one was closed. the second was hilaaariously kitsch. they called it an "art bodega" and there was the most random assortment of "art" pieces i have ever seen. like, an entire pirate ship made of bones. a mini stuffed crocodiles, mounted and taped to the back of a larger stuffed crocodile. greek busts galore. among much much more. it was so funny. the wine in peru is SO bloody sweet, i did not enjoy it at all. but pisco is the most concentrated form (it´s like a brandy), so cheers to that. the third bodega was cool because they told us all about how it was actually made, including the old-school berry stomp then press-smashing after, the distillation tanks. all very cool!

i climbed up the dunes that night to see the sun go down. REALLY hard to climb (well, at least to RUN so as not to miss sunset) a steep, enormous sand dune! buen ejercicio. but so worth it- beautiful, wavy, rhymthmic sea of sand, dune after dune all lit romantically by the warm sunset. super calming. y´know, other than the periodic whip of sand in the face.

a guy walked by me with his shirt over his face (therefore otherwise topless), dark sunglasses and army pants, picking up garbage. momentarily i thought that this must be community service from the nearby jail because quite frankly, he was a scary-looking man doing a good deed (i´m awful. but seriously, i make my first impression and don´t hold it against them, but impressions are impressions and you can´t change that, impressions exist for a reason). then he spoke to me and my worries quickly faded. his name was julius caesar, for one. (well, julio cesar). and he calls himself the "señor del desierto" (mister of the desert... bad translation). has a soothing voice, a few dogs, used to live in the amazon, lives alone in the desert, and enjoys keeping the dunes free of garbage. he thinks we´re all the same on the inside and doesn´t discriminate between local and tourist. he´s a real environmentalist. a really beautiful, free spirit- while speaking to me there, he ranged from standing with legs planted at a wide angle in the sand, kneeling in the sand, then downright rolling in it to demonstrate how much he really does love that sand. i took his foto with sand-covered visage and he took mine while telling me to act sexy (so of course i´m laughing and acting like an idiot, furthest thing from the request). then we ran down the hill- me screaming delightfully at how out of control my legs were, the dogs and he barrelling down like it was their business, and then we parted.

later that eve, i went in search of cheap vegi food. i found the señor on the side of the boardwalk playing djembe and he joined me for dinner. we ended up just chilling and drinking and eating all night (ahem, and singing to grease songs on the radio). (okay that was just me). lotsa fun, but i woke up the next morn the haziest of the HAZIEST. i begged the hostel to let me sleep. this really weird guy ended up attaching to me and like lying with me in the dorm bed and hugging me and telling me he loved me all while i murmured replies into my pillow. it was all mildly amusing in my state and he was obviously completely harmless, so i allowed it. ela, who i met that day or the night before (neither of us remember) decided that we would travel to arequipa together. oooon the nicest bus i´ve had to date. by accident.

ela was awesome. she´s a mountain climber and she had crazy stories about climbing mt mckinley in alaska for 28 days with her ex and pulling their food in sleds behind them, she constantly preached of the complete protein in quinoa (i had no idea!!), talked about living through communist poland (she´s 32 or something), was always smiling and laughing and in good spirits. she was so very pleasant to be round. when we ended up camping she also shared eevveerything with me- incredibly generous- her tent, sleeping bag, stove, mats...so nice! also, it was fun travelling with her because she was only a week into her trip so she saw everything in such a new and different light. everything´s still shocking and exotic and exciting. i´m a little jaded. well, just more... accustomed! i think that that is the upside to many shorter trips rather than one long one- each time you´re pushed from, for example, oshawa ontario, to la paz bolivia, and you get that "new place eeekk!!!" feeling all over again. BUT you become the culture more on longer trips. pro n cons.

we pretty much wasted our time in arequipa and took the next night bus (yep, second in a row) to the colca canyon. i ended up falling asleep in the middle of the hallway of the hostel we WEREN´T saying in, i was so tired. we also used the kitchen for free food and free wine (long story) and free garlic from a known source which i think is what KILLED me.

we boarded the bus at one in the morn and my tummy was already a-hurtin. the bumpy-as-hell bus ride in the FREEEEEZING canyon was murder. i really really felt like death. by the time we arrived i was completely debilitated- i could barely walk my stomach hurt so bad. (i´m a mess, eh?) so, very unlike my normal nature, we went searching for hard drugs. the local clinic delivered. as i layed back on the bench in cabanaconde waiting for the pharmacist, i looked up at a homemade poster presentation on the wall and laughed. it preached to wash your hands with soap in order to stay clean and remove bacteria. yet there wasn´t even any soap in the hospital bathroom. nor toilet paper. (for goodness sakes, at least have one or the other). by the way, at pharmacies here you generally just tell them what you want, if you know. i was pretty sure it was a serious bacteria issue because i´d had problems for awhile, so i ordered the strongest anti-biotic they had, without question. helloooo multi-strain resistant bacterias... people ordering whatever they want is how this starts.

so i took the anti-biotic and one of the pain-killers just so that i could actually walk (though i normally don´t agree with forcing your body out of pain- it´s there for a reason... i was impatient and felt bad that ela was waiting for me) and we were on our way down into second deepest canyon in the world. and don´t picture like dark, cold, wet barren canyon. this is just like... really steep super high mountainsides ending in river, and maybe the bottom is below sea level and that´s why it´s defined as a canyon, i don´t really know. hm, good question.


so we were so tired and ridiculous that we both fell twice and it took us over 50% longer than it should have to reach the bottom. ela laughed at me lots at my parasol but my umbrella helped shield the sun... when it was actually above me. in other words, i got really sun burned because i forgot to raise it half the time. we had both assumed the oasis was a natural oasis because no one told us otherwise, but as we neared the bottom and saw the emerald green of the pools and the palm trees... we began to have our doubts. and these were confirmed upon arrival at the bottom. the whole place was man-made, which was disappointing. beautiful, but man-made. i liked that you knew everyone that was at the bottom had hiked to get there (you can´t take mules DOWN for some reason, only up). so we enjoyed the scenery, natural and otherwise, against the brilliant bright orange-yellow canyonsides, smothered ourselves in the aloe i found growing behind our tent, and chatted up some local guides. later that night, one of the guides walked past us chatting to a british girl, escorting her to her room. about a half hour later, we hear the girl SCREEAAAming "get OUT, get out!!! you FUCKIN animal, get out!!!" and the first thing that came to both our minds is that the guide had snuck back into her room, but when we asked her if she was okay, she told us the dog (literal canine) had snuck into her bed. phew.

said dog then proceeded to make friends with us. and then wanted into the tent. all night. his way of demonstrating this was by sitting beside the tent door THE WHOLE NIGHT THRU and barking. non. stop. we poked it, we yelled at it, we screamed a quick "SH!" everytime it barked, we threw it sticks, we petted it but nothing worked. we wanted to let it in, i have no problems sleeping with dogs, but my body was dealing with enough right now, it didn´t want to add fleas to the list. so after two nights of sleeping on buses, we have a night attempting to sleep beside an annoying howling dog within inches of our heads. it was unbelievable. would not quit.

i had to split from ela the next day in order to make it for my bus, which connected me on time, in a beautiful chain reaction of buses, to the train in oruro, bolivia. which, by the way, i of course never made it on. such is life.
anyway, i rushed out of the canyon. on the way up, i talked to a spanish guide wearing a canada hat. turns out the route i chose was extremely dangerous alone because it dropped right off the mountain, so he told me to go the other way. seven hours when i was expecting three to four. sun goes down in about six. i BOOTED it. which is a shame because it would have been really nice to stop in the completely isolated villages i passed through. the hike was amazing though and i´m glad i pushed myself to finish it. at one part i was walking with a really nice man herding his slave mules and he had a radio slung across his back (really common in rural peru), so it was fun to walk to music. the canyon was lovely- waterfalls, raging rivers, cacti... just lovely.

in a beautiful act of generosity, a threesome i met in arequipa ending up donating me a bottle of water on my way up the final and gruesome ascent. this turned out to be very fateful. about an hour later i had just finished a sandwich, the second piece of food i had consumed in six hours (i usually don´t like to eat while hiking, especially if rushing, but when your hands start shaking, it´s time), sitting on a rock in the rain when i heard a yell. the guy ahead of me yelled again "HAVE YOU GOT ANY FOOD?!"... i gave him all my food and water because this idiot had ONE PANCAKE for breakfast and took no food with him on the entire hike! i don´t know how many times we agreed on how stupid he was. so good thing those people gave me that water! he told me countless times that he would have fell asleep on that mountain he was so lifeless and dying and dehydrated. how i´d saved his life. a little melodramatic, yes, but i´ve felt thirst like that before too and i knew what he meant. and so i felt really good bout myself. plus, it got RIDICULOUSLY foggy at the top and he´d had his bus to cabanaconde in the daylight, so he knew that the road i was about to take was the wrong one, so i would have likely been extremely lost in the canyon right now if it weren´t for him. it alll comes together.

after this, i got the NIGHT BUS (that´s right folks, fourth night without sleep) back to arequipa, then boarded another and another and spent the day arriving in la paz, bolivia. la paz was mainly being used for its cheap goods. i needed a tent and a sleeping bag and a warmer top layer and quick-dry pants STAT. argentina and chile rob the bank with their hostel rates that i wasn´t prepared to pay, and i needed the camping goods for patagonia anyway. thankfully, after an entire day of market-searching, i found it all. VICTORY! and ddaaammnn cheap.

unloading the backpacks in oruro the next day, i met rebecca (i THINK that was her name. if it wasn´t, it is now) from australia. we started speaking in spanish and upon discovery that she was from australia i remarked that we could, therefore, speak in english. au contraire, madame. she insisted that we continue in spanish. that was pretty cool. especially because her spanish was terrible. it was nice to see her trying to practice; heaps of people give up too easily. it was also CRAZY how when she spoke in english, with her thick australian accent, she sounded 100% entirely different from the spanish accent rebecca. weird. she was travelling with a girl from argentina named aranzazu (the only reason i remember her name is because she wrote it on a note once), whom i later found out was actually her temporary latin lover.

so we ended up all roaming the bus station looking for the buses out of there and then discussing whether it would be worth walking into town if everything was going to be expensive and full of pre-carnaval crowd (oruro is THE bolivian town for carnaval. two people described the pre-festival to me as one "without clothes", which i knew meant without traditional costumes, but for a split second, both times, i got rapidly intrigued only to be disappointed split seconds later). at one point, while descending the stairs and viewing the wine-tasting booth in the bus terminal, aranzazu in unison both let out an "ooOOoo vino" which was meticulously timed and therefore hilarious. winos. anyway, after all discussions ended, i ended up an hour bus from oruro in a hideous, small mining town off the map, rooming with two lesbians in a hostel with no running water of ANY sort. raaannndom. rebecca and aranzazu alllways talked politics. anyone that knows me at all knows that´s the last item on my "hey let´s talk about this stuff" list. to make them fully comprehend how little i knew about politics, i had to tell them that i always wondered why ecuadorians were constantly discussing korea (prounounced in spanish like correa, the political figure of some sort) and i assumed morales was the spanish word for morals, not the name of another political figure of another sort. they actually couldn´t believe i could be such a moron, but this information had them in hysterics, at least. they spent the eve interviewing locals (rebecca´s a journalist) while i concentrated more on my crackers.

when i woke up in huayuni, rebecca asked me how my sleep was and i responded with "mmm, great, my bed was like a big hug" because it was so incredibly dilapidated. but i say that in complete sincerity- i may try to destroy any future beds in order to create that permanent embrace every night. was lovin life. when we walked round in the morn, i was shocked by the amount of garbage in the street and poor river and i was loving the sights of a million hard-hatted men in the restaurants. it was as if the traditional hat here was a mining cap instead of something like a cowboy hat. it brought them together, unified them. it did feel good to be in a place completely devoid of any touristic interest. the girls went for a tour of the mine and i headed back to oruro.

so the week before carnaval is the warm-up, the practice, of the enormous parade. my first day was filled with the festival of the bands and more spray guns and water balloons than i would have cared for. especially because white girls not wearing rainjackets are a target. i ended up absolutely soaking, but it was fun. there was one lane in particular where i was nailed by one balloon, quicklyfollowed by another, and then spray guns and balloons from EVERY angle just launched attack, it was ridiculous! i screamed and giggled madly and ran up the road in my slippery flipflops yelling "AAHHHHh zona de agua!!!" soaked. i had lunch at a hare krishna place and my whole table was so chatty and lovely. the bands were pretty cool- i liked their unison when they moved their instruments.

in the evening there were bands playing in all the plazas which was nice and romantic. at one, this huuggee and awesomely in sync crowd of two lanes of two (two couples wide) were rhythmically approaching to the music- SO neat! i have a serious obsession with synchronization. even in kickbox class when we´d all be kicked in unison i´d have to hide my excitement and giant grin. it makes me happy. THEN, at the end of the row, rebecca grabs me by the arm and drags me in! soon i´m dancing with a drunk bolivian fellow who´s missing all the moves, but i´m having a grand time nonetheless.

i waspaying big bucks for this hostel- i mean, we´re talking pre-carnaval,this is BIG bucks, DOUBLE the normal price. five. whole. dollars. i love bolivia. private room with tv and hot shower. so when i finally retired to bed that evening i of course took advantage of my tv priveledges and watched awful mtv dating shows and jackass all night (actually,that surprised me by making me laugh out loud quite hard, multiple times). it´s just like at home- in hamilton, megan and i never had(nor missed) tv, but whenever i´d go home, my first night i would stay up til some obscene hour of the eve watching the worst programs on television.

the pre-carnaval parade was so long it was unbelievable, i actually left town before it finished, and i left town at hour six! i can imagine that with crazy costumes it would be phenomenal, but as it was it was just an enormous group of groups dancing the same, playing similar band music to one another... so six hours was sufficient. off to argentina!

the drive from oruro to potosi was STUNNING. i was watching the very rocky, textured, striped rose-purple-green-brown-grey canyon with skinny tuscany-like trees all against a bright but stormy sky backdrop and an "oooiiii" slipped from between my lips. strange noise. but i allowed whatever my throatal region (wooowww my anatomy lessons are abandoning me.. i know it´s the trachea or larynx, but i forget which) allowed, and it chose.. that.

a sign upon my arrival in la quiaca, argentina showed me i had over five thousand kilometers to go before reaching ushuaia (final patagonian destination). woo. it also presented my argentinian problem early on: no bank will allow more than a sixty to one hundred dollar withdrawl (this gets pricey when visa charges you $5 every transaction). but it also presented the best bizcocho bread i´ve had so far.

the daylight bus ride to tilcara was even more stunning than the potosi route. those striped mountains really blew my mind. in tilcara, i found my very first camping spot. el osito (the little bear). i set up tatty and nicholas (my tent and sleeping bag, respectively. both nick names after their brand). on my way to the plaza, a crazy, dirty, local artesan approached me and silently made me a flower out of paper while i made him an airplane from my candy wrapper, then we walked arm and arm to the plaza. random, love it. that eve, a guy at the camping asked me out for beer and i insisted that my first night in argentina be presented with nothing but wine. he agreed to this. i can´t believe it, but argentina- a country with some of the best wines in the world- is also the only country i have ever seen coke added to wine. blasphemy!! and not just daniel, but on like FIVE other occasions! weird! my only consolation is that they apparently only do it with cheap wine. well done. we ended up at a peña (bar with local folk music) and there was crazy beautiful traditional line dancing that everyone knew how to do (like, YOUNG people, my age), it was so cool! eventually i felt comfortable enough to join in. then my sandal broke so i was dancing with one shoe. but so much fun, no matter how much of an idiot i made of myself. SYNCHRONIZATION! a few couples did flamenco-y and tango-y looking stuff in between "sets". they were wicked. all in this itsy bitsy bar! how neat.

next day involved being beaten by my bicycle in the rough heat and wind (but beautiful ride while it lasted!- textured rock, skinny tuscany trees, whispy willows), and then climbing to a lookout full of ancient ruins and cacti. really stunning. then off to salta!

salta was not incredibly enjoyable for me. super rainy the whole time which makes everything a little disgusting. ironically, the only hours it didn´t rain were the five hours i spent at the frickin bank trying to get a cash advance. AH, and there´s a museum of mummys (sorry, technically the frozen sacrificial inca peoples museum), which is very cool and well done. they still looked creepily alive, just more leathery and slumped. the last highlight of salsa was my amazing hostel. the owner was SO funny and personable. he explained to me that the reason argentinians have their enormous siesta time interrupting the entire flow of the day is NOT because they´re lazy but so that they have time to pick up their kids from school, make a full, healthy meal- none of this fast food crap, they take a nap, then they make love to their wives, relax, enjoy, and head back to work refreshed and rejuvenated. it makes sense. but it´s still annoying- i have no kids, no bed, and no wife, i just want an empanada at 4:00 and i can´t. the other upside to my hostel is that it was filled with incredibly friendly, and oftentimes incredibly good-looking, buenos aires..ians. it´s lovely that the young people of argentina and chile travel because you can get a much better feeling of the country when you can actually talk to them in intimate environments like common rooms and such, instead of trying to have a deep chat with a seller on the sidewalk of a market.

off to cafayate! supposedly the best wine in the world. how anyone can judge that, i don´t know (subjective taste tests, factors within the berries, alcohol %???), but surely there´s a reason. or maybe it´s just a lie.
luckily by the time we reached the quebrada (i have no idea what it means in english- it technically translates to "rough", but it actually just means really beautiful rocky place, like tilcara and here) it was dark, so the surprise beauty of it all remained unspoiled.

i wandered bodegas the next day. but not until trying wine ICE CREAM! i asked the man if i could sample it first and he simply said "do you like wine?" (yes.) "do you like ice cream?" (yes.) "then you´ll like it". it was quite good, but the cactus fruit ice cream was amaaaazing. mmm. anyway, the first bodega visited was etchout. didn´t understand much the girl said, but the wine was alright.

the second was felix lavaque. the tour started with just me so i told the girl i´d really appreciate it if she spoke slower and that she did. MUCH more interesting! she told me the grapes they make wine of are, in fact, edible (i swear i´ve heard the contrary). the different types of wine are from the types of grapes and the reason that one type can taste entirely different across wineries and even within wineries is because of factors like grapes grown in different places, exposed to different amounts of sun and different weather, different harvest times, chemicals, treatment of grapes, etc. she continually avoided my question of why all the premium wine is exported to other countries. i have a feeling it´s like the coffee in guatemala and colombia- it just makes more money in the other countries, it´s not even worth it to keep any in their own country. it´s still a little sad. plus that means we couldn´t sample the good stuff at the bodegas because, ironically, it´s all in my own country! the tasting at the second bodega was crazy- the guy taught us how to sip it properly (first hold up to the light, then sniff, then sip with nostrils closed, then sip again, nostrils open), then made us describe the undertones of each one and told us all about the reasons we should drink wine, beyond the obvious (cancer-fighting, anti-oxidants, wrinkle-killer). he also told us that the way this bodega markets its wine is by age class because in ten-year gaps they can generalize the tastes that class wants. from 20-30,30-40, so on. younger wants smoother, little more fruiter, less bitter.

on my way to number three, i saw two hippies hand in hand walking back from the winery with the late day sun, a bottlá red in hand. so cute.
the third was bodega domingo. it was here i made my first PURCHASE of white wine ever. torrontes, the local specialty. $2 at the bodega. why not? its percent was so precise that it was printed separately from the label! i have never seen that on wine before. i then proceeded to buy a lil shawl. it is unfortunately extremely... genuine. i had to later pick sticks and burrs and hay out of it and i don´t know how else to describe its shedding other than saying that, before i managed to wash it, it looked as though i had run through a field of crotches everytime i removed it. sufficient mental imagery?

when i returned to my tent, i sat inside and got all excited about my own little space as the sun went down on argentinian wine country, surrounded by the glistening vineyards on all sides from recent showers, eating local goat cheese with basil, holding a bottle of white wine that was grown and processed across the street. magical. wuddalife.
then i wandered around and waited for someone to talk to me (campsites can be intimidating like that- much harder to meet people when they´re in big groups and when the "common space" is an enormous field). bingo, i found pablo, carlos and lautaro. carlos gave me my first cup of mate (pronounced mah-tay), which is a HUGE huge custom in argentina. it´s like a less intense tea in this little cup and you sip through a metal straw with holes to filter the leaves. they drink it super hot and it tastes like grass, but i like the idea of the custom (it´s a very social thing, the passing of the mate cup). then they opened the bottle of wine that broke my corkscrew and we shared that. apparently it was good wine, especially for $2. they kept calling carlos "viejo" (literally, "the old guy") which, although it´s a very normal thing to do here, did not cease to make me laugh everytime. pablo would speak super fast using tons of slang and the others would yell at him and tell him i didn´t understand and he´d try to slow down and slowly speed up again. they were lots and lots of fun- they had biked the 180km from salta. by the end of the night, pablo was running down the streets calling everyone crazies and learning how to say things like "nice ass" in english, and then practicing it. he was so funny. and lautaro was so sweet and understanding about the language barrier- always went to great efforts to help me understand pablo´s crazy slang. viejo was in bed. we went to a bar for awhile (the bar stools were saddles you had to straddle! so cool!!), then tent time.

the next morning i boarded a bike on a bus, passed out for the bus ride to the devil´s throat (a crazy rock formation), then biked the five hours back. i´m pretty sure that was the most beautiful bike ride of my life. this area looked like the land before time. incredibly ornate and beautiful rock formations, all sorts of colours, wide rivers, gaping valleys covered in lime green and accented with brown and mustard mountains. when i´m alone (as if often the case), i always talk to myself. a lot. and on this journey i don´t know how many times i let out orgasmic gasps and "wooooowww"s and "ohmigggoooddd"s as i passed through this absolutely stunning scenery. by the way, my photos in NO way do this place justice.. they actually appear very boring. unfortunately, no one warned me that in five hours i would not see one store or potable river, so after about hour 2 i was out of water. with devastating results. it came to the point that i was so dehydrated it hurt to breathe and i wanted to cry but my body literally could not produce tears ha. (i can get REALLY emotional when i´m dehydrated). it felt awwwffful. i kept joking to myself that god must be showing me this amazing place right now because he´s about to take my life. when i finally made it to civilization somewhat, the first place i saw was a vineyard. i biked til i found somewhat of an opening in the barbed wire and then snuck through and gorged myself on wine grapes. good thing that lady told me they were edible the day before. i´ve never been so happy to see a grape.

and then, i caught a bus to a million places in order to end up in bariloche. from cafayate to bariloche took me 2 complete days (48 horas en punto) but the last 18 hours were on the BED bus baby, YEA! what luck (the girl was accidentally placed in bed bus and i was sitting beside her friend, so we switched). i almost kissed the sweet, beautiful, comfortable, uber-reclining seat.

so i´m still more than a month behind. but that´s okay! i´ll work on it. love you all!!!
shayyy

p.s. AH, and now random additions times two (since i missed them the last time)!!:

- lately i´ve felt more aware of the... energies of a place or person. i say energies only because i don´t know what else to call it. the feeling of a place and people, the aura of a place or people. the energy. i feel more like i can step back and access and feel comfortable or uncomfortable and be more sure of that decision or statement. tengo sentido? (do i make any sense?) (possibly one of my most-used spanish expressions).

- what do us tourists desire when we want to see indigenous cultures? just something totally different from our norm? another way of life? people living or "stuck" in the past? pictures we can show our friends and say "lookit the crazy shit i saw"? robert and i discussed this and i came to no conclusion. my feelings are from the former and he believes the majority of tourists desire the latter. hm. we also discussed how tourists don´t want to see them modernize because that ruins it all. i must agree with that- i don´t want to see these beautiful and rich cultures degrade to modern convenience, but i think that can turn into a whole globalization issue among other things and... i dunno. i don´t believe they need to be developed, but is it fair to assume that they don´t want to change?

- speaking of which, i wasn´t sure how to feel about the whole "teaching english to this somewhat isolated salasacan community" deal, to be honest. in india, one of the schools had a conscious purpose of educating the village children, but in a way that promoted village life and remaining within the community as opposed to moving away. i liked that. a lot. but i never really got the basics of how they went about doing that. and in a case as such, why learn english? why does everyone need to know english? it´s rare for an english person to visit salasaca. do they want to have better jobs? that requires leaving the community. understand english movies and culture? their poor rituals and customs are dying so rapidly because of tv and tourist infiltration already (rosa maria told me she believes these to be contributing reasons), i´d be sad to see the village in a decade. i just... don´t know how to feel. i also feel that learning other languages, whatever they may be, is incredibly valuable and important, especially when you´re young (you need to hear those other sounds in order to get accustomed to making them) and it´s so easy to learn them. so maybe that´s a reason in itself to learn. just... to know more. and for it to be easier to learn other languages and for the individual to feel more empowered and knowledgeable simply by having more under their belt.

- what does it mean to be indigenous? i have often described communities or peoples as such, and had a seemingly concrete subconscious understanding of the concept, but we´re all indigenous to somewhere. and you wouldn´t call anyone in europe indigenous, would you? i´m sure i could easily look this up, but i have a crap internet connection so i´ll wait for someone to send me the answer, if there is one.

- vegetarian restaurants are incredibly popular in south america, which miffs me because it is so anti-traditional and anti-norm. south america loves MEAT so it´s shocking to me that most of the vegetarian lunches i have been to i´ve actually shared tables with others because it´s so packed. maybe it´s just the small portion of the population that congregates in the hare krishna haven, sick of their carnivorous culture, rejoicing in fruits and salads and soy meats. in a way, it´s south america evolving, but also they´re globalizing, but in turn making more people happy and hurting none, but there goes some tradition, a little more melting pot... i almost WANT to struggle as a vegetarian in south america because that´s their culture: meat. for me to say "it was hard to find vegetarian food in south america" ii saying "south americans sure like and take pride in their carne" which is the truth. but to be honest, despite all the horror stories i had heard on my way down, it´s not THAT hard to be a vegetarian here. it´s just carb and fat overload, is all.

- i am so used to ceramic turtles that when the turtles in peruvian hostel patios MOVED i was SHOCKED and often let out little yelps of pleasure before jumping away from the "rapid" movements of those prehistoric beasts. they´re hilaaarious to watch when they move, by the way. movements like a newborn crawling baby and the head jiggles in the shell with every step... i loved watching them.

- a favourite game in english class was hangman and i entertained myself by gradually drawing the hanged man as a traditionally dressed salasacan. the kids thought it was funny, too. i´m not just a sicko.

- that whole "put a very explicit, real, at-the-scene-of-the-crime photo of murders on the front page" deal was NOT just an isolated incident, i soon came to realize. i just never read newspapers so the one time i saw a front page i thought it was the only time. nuh uh, these photos are everywhere and extremely disturbing.

- it´s so funny learning spanish (yes, i´m still learning, leave me alone). each sentence, as it forms i figuratively hold my breath, hoping i will have the vocabulary to complete the line as desired. with each completed phrase, i am filled with joy at my success- one little victory, a million times a day. good feeling... until i can´t communicate.

- at times, smiles are more important than anyone realizes, i think. i´m recommend we all disperse them at more, at random, sincere, and in full.

- each book i read i get entirely into and it affects the way i see everything. i pay more attention to the air on my tongue with every in- and exhale, the way i view people, wondering how they´re viewing me, my environment, my feelings and sensations and how i might describe them. all dependent on the author´s writing. i love it. it´s like a little game, a little way to entertain myself.

- i think on a trip so long, i want breaks every once in awhile because it´s all so much to take in. i want a minute to be removed from it all, to ponder it all. month after month being in constant dynamics, change is normal and therefore everything becomes normal. i no longer receive mini-culture shocks really, no time to contemplate, yea of course eating guinea pig is normal (it really is). but i know that quickly after returning home i will yearn for the change again, yearn to be right back out here.

- is it possible to brush your teeth without getting toothpaste on your lips?? i swear sometimes i get funny looks when i´m brushing my teeth, but MAN there´s no way people can keep that in there... is there? very important question.

- sometimes when the bus overheats and no one opens a window and i appear to be the only one that minds, i just try to understand how on earth they couldn´t seem to care, and i center a little... and then my body just magically regulates. accustoms. as opposed to having to change my environment, i change. metaphorical- this practice means more than just meets the eye. but sometimes the bus is like WAY too hot.

- on feb.11 i had my first spanish dream in spanish. but i couldn´t understand it HA. who does that?