A Lovely Getaway in Tigre

At first, I imagined an IES run weekend trip would be jammed with obligatory activities and tours, strictly organized to the point of boredom.  How wrong I was!  After dropping us off at a feria to browse and shop at our leisure then taking us to an art museum with a guided tour, they packed us on a boat to our island paradise.  The leisurely ride brought us to a secluded hotel consisting of private bungalows and a pool-side patio.  Due to the river’s proximity, all of the buildings were on stilts and reached by a network of suspended wooden pathways curving through the trees.  I felt like I was staying in some sort of tribal tree house, what with the birdsong and dense vegetation.

The evening brought bonding, food, and a light night pool run that sent us sprinting to our cabanas for a hot bath.  It was a pleasantly odd situation: vacationing with our professors and their significant others.  Running it all was Filomena, a frazzled and excitable woman that resembles an adult version of Dora the Explorer.  The following day was marked by meals: breakfast complete with pastries and fruit, a lunch asado of immense proportions, and pool-side teatime with muffins and rolls.  Between feedings, we soaked up the sun by the pool and in peddle-boats which we enjoyed in the river.  With sweeping branches curtaining the river banks, the day felt like a romance scene in a film.  (This is starting to feel like the theme of my life here!)  It was sad to leave, though the return passage brought more gorgeous river views. Buenos Aires’ port welcomed us home with the warm glow of lights glimmering in the water.

Spring Break: The Biggest Adventure Yet

Last week, I got a break from classes (yes, I actually do have classes, homework, and papers) and got to enjoy a week of travel through Chile and Argentina.  It was one of the best trips I’ve ever been on, as I did so many things I’d only dreamed about.

Santiago:

Our first stop was Santiago, Chile.  I have to admit, I wasn’t particularly fond of the smoggy, crowded city.  The fact that every waiter and subway employee warned us to be careful probably didn’t help my already skeptical opinion.  To be fair, I was expecting something new and fresh, and after living in Buenos Aires for two months another Lain American city probably can’t produce the ‘wow’ factor.  We did enjoy a delicious meal in which we tried traditional Chilean dishes.  The most delicious by far was the pastel de choclo, which was a thick corn substance in which you could dig for tasty treasures such as meat or potatoes.  Besides some bad seafood and a touristy ride up a hill to see a statue of Mary, we toured one of Pablo Neruda’s houses.  This was actually really interesting, as the home was built like a boat and decorated really eccentrically.

Viña del Mar/ Valparaiso:

While Santiago was a bit disappointing, I found my new favorite place in the world just two hours away. Viña del Mar and Valparaiso, neighboring Chilean towns resting on a hilly seaside, were the most charming and beautiful places I’ve ever been.

Viña del Mar boasts curving coastlines that harbor palm trees and castles. Valparaiso was equally as scenic, but with a quirkier personality.  Brightly colored houses speckled hills that plunged into glittering ports.  Everyone was relaxed and friendly, wandering the streets or spending the afternoon in a cafe.  Art galleries and fairs that sold artesian goods were fun to browse.  And of course, I made a few purchases: alpaca socks, fanny packs, indigenous jewelry.

Mendoza:

It was hard to leave the sunny coast, but I was excited for the rest of our trip.  We boarded the overnight bus to Mendoza, Argentina.  I was used to long bus rides, but this one proved to be a little more difficult than usual.  We were roused in the middle of the night and ushered off the bus to go through customs on the Chilean-Argentine border.  Unprepared for such circumstances, the hour-long wait in the callous cold was almost unbearable.  Finally, passports stamped and luggage inspected, we were allowed to return to the comfort (sort of) of our bus.

When we finally arrived early the next morning, our hostel graciously allowed us an early check-in so we could get a few hours of much needed sleep before our first adventure: paragliding.  Aerial sports were never really something I had considered attempting since the thought of dangling mid-air thousands of feet above ground sounded more miserable than pleasant.  However, after hearing others’ accounts of the tranquility and remarkable views I decided to give it a try.  I was slightly nervous but had heard enough about it to know that it would not be a scary experience.  We drove higher and higher into the mountains before dropping off my friends (who would go next) and continuing on.  The takeoff felt like something out of a cartoon.  Attached to a guide and a giant sail, I was instructed to start running across the plateau to the cliff’s edge.  A bit nervous about what would happen when I reached it, I obeyed.  And what do you know, I ran and ran and next thing I knew my legs were still moving but I no longer felt the ground beneath them.  It was like the moment right before the cartoon character realizes they’ve run off a cliff when they’re still suspended in the air.  Only the fall never came.  The ride was ridiculously serene.  I was seated, flying through the air, and gazing down upon the mountains landscape below.  The guide even treated me to aerobatics- we did a full spin!  This was definitely one of the most amazing things I’d ever done.

Until the next day’s excursion: climbing a mountain in the Andes.  We signed up for a day of trekking, not really sure what was in store for us.  Led by two Argentine guides, our group set off up the steep mountainside cluttered with wobbly rocks and slick patches of snow.  The high altitude made each breath a laborious process and left me slightly light-headed.  Visions of myself sitting on the mountainside waiting for the group to finish and come down to get me flashed through my mind.  I honestly didn’t know if I was going to make it.  But, four hours and a few thorn injuries later, we reached the top of Arenales.  Textured ridges and snowy peaks surrounded us as we picnicked atop the summit.  I’d never felt so accomplished!  And I have to say, a ham sandwich never tasted so good.  The descent was even more tricky, as the skittering rocks torqued my ankles and knees and we kept sliding on the snow.  That night, we relaxed and enjoyed a delicious asado prepared by our hostel while getting to know our fellow travelers.

While our adventures so far were great, we had to spend our final day touring Mendoza’s most famous attractions: the bodegas. We boarded a bus to visit three such wineries, and the tour ended up being just us.  Each tour showed us the methods of production, taught us a bit about the process and different flavors, and let us taste a few wines.  It was really interesting to learn about how the different flavors are created.  Of course, the lunch that was included in the excursion was equally as enjoyable.  The table was covered with a delicious spread which we quickly learned was only the appetizer.  Followed by four courses and a dessert, the meal left us full and sleepy.

San Juan:

There is really no reason to go to San Juan other than to see the rock formations in the Valley of the Moon, which is what we had planned to do.  However, due to some planning errors, the tour cost quite a bit more than anticipated and entailed 12 hours on a bus before our 10 hour bus ride that night.  There was a bit of a panic when we abandoned the original plan and realized our detour to San Juan was completely in vain.  However, it turned out to be one of the best days of the trip.

After talking with the hostel employees about free excursions, we boarded a bus that was packed with locals.  It took us about an hour outside of town, and the ride was better than any tour bus I’d ever been on.  We drove through leafy villages where children played in the streets and rudimentary buildings dotted the landscape.  The bus finally dropped us off on the side of a dusty road that seemed to stretch on forever.  The only thing in sight was the sign that read “Costa Magna.”  After a brief hike, we reached our destination:  a lakeside beach.  Seeing as it was a weekday, the cabana-lined sand was vacant; we had found our own private paradise.  We spent the afternoon sunning and picnicking on the water’s edge before making our way back to the road, hoping the bus would return.  That night, we cooked a delicious stir fry, garlic bread, and salad before boarding the bus to our final destination.

Cordoba/ Villa General Belgrano:

There really isn’t much to do in Cordoba other than visit the churches and historic buildings that look pretty much the same as the ones in Buenos Aires or any other major city in South America.  However, Villa General Belgrano, a town two hours away populated by German immigrants had an attraction that we couldn’t pass up: Oktoberfest.

A huge festival, the event draws thousands of people who go to drink beer, eat bratwurst, and enjoy traditional music and dance shows.  Oktoberfest has a very specific regimen.  Step 1: Buy a beer mug.  Step 2: Attach it to the sash that you also purchase.  Step 3: Fill it with an assortment of beers which you sample with bratwurst and sauerkraut.  To me, all the brews tasted equally disgusting.  But, I figured I had to look to my German heritage and give it a try.  Unfortunately, a huge storm rolled in, so we rolled out.  But, it was an experience to remember.

Breaking Barriers: My Weekend in San Pedro

I’ve traveled a ton, tried lots of new things, and explored many different aspects of Buenos Aires.  But it wasn’t until this weekend that I really felt like I broke through the tourist experience and got a real view of how the Argentines live.

An Argentine student, named Yanina, invited my friend Catherine and I to go home with her for the weekend to the town of San Pedro (about 3 hours from Buenos Aires).  We arrived Friday night and were welcomed by her parents who were really excited to give us a taste of San Pedro and made sure we tried lots of new things.  Tired from our journey, the three of us retreated into her room for some much needed sleep.

Saturday morning we shared the first of many mate experiences with her parents and met her pets: two dogs and a duck.  For lunch, Yanina’s parents cooked us yet another asado of endless meat, chorizo, and blood sausage.  It was delicious (though I didn’t quite understand the draw of the blood sausage).  Chatting with them was great Spanish practice, and they welcomed us into their household like part of the family.  However, our American habits did seem a bit odd to them and they teased me for cutting my meat into such small pieces and for drinking water with a meal.

Later in the afternoon, Catherine, Yanina, her boyfriend, and I relaxed in her friend’s horse pasture where we rode and drank mate.  (I even drank mate while on the horse!)  There was a four-year-old neighbor there who was riding the pony around while squealing and singing the entire time.  Needless to say, we were quite entertained.

Back at her house, we met her grandparents and tried the traditional San Pedro treat: ensaymada, a large round pastry filled with cream, dulce de leche, or half of each (ours was of the half-and-half type).  I didn’t like it all that much, but it was great to sit around the table, passing around a mate cup, and getting to know her family.

San Pedro is known for having a beautiful riverside landscape, ensaymada, growing oranges, and its annual country music festival, which happened to be this weekend.  We stopped by to see swarms of cowboy-hatted Argentines relaxing at the outdoor event, which featured mostly American artists.

That night, a bunch of her girlfriends came over, and they loved teaching us slang words and laughing about our complete ignorance of such things.  They took us out to a friend’s birthday party and then to the clubs for a typical San Pedro experience.  They accepted us into their group, and for the first time I really felt immersed in the Argentine society.  Until now, I’ve felt like a foreigner on vacation, an outsider to a fascinating world.  But spending the weekend with Yanina gave me an opportunity to integrate myself, and I absolutely loved it.

Goodbye Buenos Aires, hello Salta!

This last week, I burst into tears for the first time in awhile, was temporarily homeless for the second time this quarter, and ate more red meat than I thought humanely possible.  Allow me to start at the beginning.

Last Thursday my purse was stolen at a dance club, meaning I had no money, credit cards, phone, or apartment keys.  (I had lost my debit card a few days before.)  I was stuck outside all night until my program building opened the next morning and I could get help.  I was okay, but unfortunately I am still dealing with the incident.

Getting credit cards mailed from a foreign country takes a lot longer than I expected.  When my credit card finally arrived, it did me absolutely no good because almost every store here requires cash.  And no bank would let me use my credit card to take out money while I was awaiting the arrival of my debit card.  I spent days trying to work out cash advances and money transfers, hoping the other card would arrive.  Well, Thursday rolled around, the day I was scheduled to board a 22-hour bus to northern Argentina for a weekend getaway, and still no sign of the long-awaited package.  To make matters worse, all my clothing was at the lavandería, a place that washes your clothes for you (no, I’m not ridiculously lazy- this is just how things are done here) and I didn’t have enough cash left to pay to get it back.  And when I say all my clothing, I mean all of it except the skirt and top I was wearing.

After one final phone call in an attempt to procure money through an agent who spoke way too fast (in Spanish, mind you), tears just burst from my eyes.  I wasn’t expecting this at all.  It was completely irrepressible- my eyes just started leaking and I just felt hot drops slithering down my cheeks.  I was in the middle of the IES center, and I felt absolutely ridiculous.  But I felt so helpless and frustrated that I just broke down.

Luckily, I was able to negotiate my way into getting my clothes and borrow money from a friend during the trip for tours, food, and hostels.

Which brings me to my brief period of homelessness.  (I was in a similar situation when my keys were stolen and I couldn’t get into my apartment).  Coincidentally, our weekend in Salta coincided with the once-a-year concert of Argentine rock star Indio Solari.  Fans flocked to the rural town from all over South America.  Booking a hostel online was nearly impossible, as everything was full.  But my friend Chelsea and I managed to find one.  Or so we thought…

When we arrived, we were told the website had tricked us and that there was actually no room for us.  The woman called around to try to find somewhere for us to stay, but everything was booked.  Visions of us sleeping on the side of the road next to scruffy stray dogs haunted my mind for the next hour or so.

But, it’s funny how the longer you talk to people, the more the story changes.  We spoke some more with the hostel owner, and she began to feel bad for us.  (I think the fact that we could speak Spanish helped our case).  She somehow realized she did have beds for us for Friday and Sunday night and said we could sleep on the floor for Saturday.

And now to the red meat…

That night, after dealing with such obstacles, we decided to take it easy.  We ended up grilling at the hostel with a group of Argentinean 20-somethings who were there for the concert.  It was a lot of fun sitting around the barbecue, practicing our Spanish, and getting to know some new people.  The asado (barbecue) took hours to cook, so by the time it was done I ate way too much meat.

The next day, we roamed the countryside on horseback.  And let me tell you, this was no ordinary trail-ride where the horses mundanely follow the leader.  We were at an estancia for the day and the gaucho who took us out kept asking us if we wanted to gallop.  He would run alongside our horses with his whip, revving them up with excited shouts, and they would take off at incredible speeds.  I was gripping on with all my strength, terrified that I was going to bounce off, but at the same time thrilled to by flying along the dusty path in the undulating rhythm of the horse’s gait.  Midday, we were treated to yet another asado in which each course was a new type of meat or chorizo (sausage).  I couldn’t pass up a new cut, so needless to say, I was ridiculously full and in need of a siesta.

That night, we slept at the ranch (which solved our hostel issue), and this in itself was a great experience.  We sat by the fireside conversing with the gauchos who lived and worked there.  It was incredible to talk with people whose lifestyles were so far removed from modern society.  I felt like I was peeking into the past, talking to characters out of my history book.

What made it really great was that we met a woman from Switzerland who, after a year of travel, had decided to settle down and work at the ranch for a few months before going home.  She shared her experience with us, recounting details from her stay in the countryside, lamenting the issues she witnessed while praising other aspects of isolated life.  This was probably one of my favorite days in Argentina so far, because I really felt I understood something about another culture.

The next morning, we woke up early and boarded a bus for an excursion to a nearby town.  The views on the drive were gorgeous, as we drove for hours through shadowy valleys and mountains of bitter reds and mottled greens.  We tried a local custom of shoving coca leaves into our mouths to prevent altitude sickness.  (Yes, this is the plant from which cocaine is made, but in natural leaf form it doesn’t work the same way.)  The plant had a pungent flavor and was slightly uncomfortable wadded up in my cheek for hours.  But, who knows? Maybe it did something for me.

The actual town of Cachi was honestly not worth the four-hour drive.  And though I kept telling myself it’s about the journey and not the destination, I had severe doubts about the veracity of this saying.  One could walk from one end of the village to the other in a matter of minutes.  Sure, it was quaint, but after about 15 minutes we’d seen it all and were pretty much done besides the asado for lunch in which I had my first taste of goat meat.

That night, empañadas were in order, as they are a specialty in Salta.  These pastry pockets are stuffed with cheese, chicken or beef jerky and are ridiculously delicious.  It was the perfect last night to our trip.  (And yes, there was more meat for lunch and dinner on the bus ride home.)