My Walk Home

I'm refuse to pay for a cab unless in a group or I've got miles to go with bags and all. If I'm not crunched for time you won't find me on a bus either. I prefer walking because it's the best way to get to know a city. Plus it gives me time to be thoroughly entertained by my inner monologue. 

So as if the title didn't give it away, you are well informed that I'm walking. But where and when? Buenos Aires. 4 AM. Trouble is brewing. 

I've heard countless horror stories of muggings, theft, beatings, and all other sorts of shady activity associated with Buenos Aires. When is it my turn? I'm now in my 3rd stint here and have not one horror story of my own. Super jealous. Perhaps tonight is the night.

Faced with what is already a 30 min walk home through a less than friendly neighborhood, I can't be bothered to reroute along more pleasant grounds. Knowing full well the hostilities that may await, I arm myself with the only thing around that can double as way to make myself look even more hardcore and as a deadly weapon. With my toothpick perfectly inserted in my mouth at the most menacing angle I set forth. 

With fantasies playing out in my mind of how I will soon become the most deadly man in the world with a toothpick I find the darkest street possible and go for it. Gringo begging for problems.

As soon as the two dudes in trenchcoats materialized at the other end of the street I immediately loathed the moment this sounded like a good idea. But it was too late. Walking towards each other, I knew a clash was imminent. What would their preferred mode of robbery be? How would I react? If things got rough it was two on one. No amount of deadly toothpick training could save me now. 

As they approached perfectly in sync, I could now see the whites of their eyes peering at me from under their hoods. At once, with flawless execution, they both pulled back their coats, reached in with the other hand, and each quickly produced the weapon with which they would do their wicked deed. I was equally lightning quick with my draw.

So there I was staring down matching barrels of a pair of...... cell phones? All I was shot with was awkward glances as they proceeded to make their calls. I decided I had better repocket the cash I had already whipped out as an offering of surrender.

Disaster averted. Realization made. I would have made that way too easy if those had been real criminals. Next time will be different. Next time didn't wait long to arrive.

A couple deserted blocks later, a large man, with perhaps the world record for facial piercings, broke free from the shadows and rushed at me with a special kind of crazy in his eye. I fumbled to ready my toothpick for a counter attack which was difficult seeing as is had fallen from my mouth who was preparing a terrified scream. This wild man wasted precious little time in demanding my wallet. But wait. My Spanish isn't great and that demand for a wallet sounded like it might have actually been an inquiry as to if the 59 bus stopped nearby. 

Did I really look like I would know that? I'm standing there fiddling with a large splinter, mouth agape and a freshly pissed pair of underpants. I obviously don't concern myself with trivial facts about bus 59.

Yet again spared a horrific tragedy. Over the course of the next few uneventful blocks I was beginning to make a few discoveries about myself and my true feelings towards being robbed and/or beaten. But before I could settle on anything concrete, it happened.

There I was on a lonely street corner waiting politely for my good time to cross sign. Toothpick casually dangling from my lips. That's when I heard it. More accurately, that's when I felt it. The hot breath of Buenos Aires wrath on my neck was unmistakable. But how could this be? I had just looked over my shoulder and confirmed my isolation. Now not one but two, no, three figures had stealthily flanked me and were now literally breathing on my neck, ready to make their move.

Showtime. I had to get it right this time. This was the real deal. With an elegance and swiftness not seen this side of the equator in years, I quickstepped into a spin maneuver while transferring my weapon from mouth to hand, thus becoming combat ready. Possibly could have even been a flip in there. It was all a blur.

There I was now face to face with the three most evil...... 14 year old girls in need of a lighter I had ever witnessed? What is this all about? First of all, why are you even out at this hour? Second, what would possess you to think that sneaking up behind someone and breathing on them is the best way to ask for a light? They don't even know how close they came to getting shish kabobed on my weapon of choice. Seriously, not cool. And no, I didn't have a lighter on me. Just a shiny new heart attack to go along with that wet pair of pants. Roar!

The last few blocks home is when I decided for sure: I don't actually want to be in a robbery/beating situation, no matter how sweet the story might be. And if it has to happen, I'm much better off forking over my 30 pesos, and running into the night than trying to become the world's most deadly man with any sort of teeth cleaning device.

So, Buenos Aires, if you're going to do it, just do it already and quit playing with me.

At The End Of All Things

Well Buenos Aires is pretty fantastic. But after a couple weeks there, broken up by a stint in Uruguay, it was time to move on. Destination: Ushuaia, Argentina. The most southerly city in the world. Yes, it is southerly and not southernly. No N. Don't ask me why, but if you dislike it then go read someone else's edge of the world blog.

Trouble finding another world's edge blog? Then you're stuck with my account and it goes a bit like this:

The edge of the world is a place where snow is friendly with seaweed. Where salt water and subzero temperatures get along quite nicely. Where streets and sidewalks bow out to a difficult-to-navigate combination of ice and mud. Where the lazy sun can't be bothered to rise before 10 but makes the wait well worth it by transforming the mountains into giant mounds of pink and orange sherbet upon it's ascent. Where pods of whales can be seen loitering in the frigid waters. Where mountains somehow conspire to surround you from all sides even while exhausted waves lap at your feet. The edge of the world is a place that begs contemplation, reflection, and snowboarding.

What? You didn't think I'd just go for the mind blowing scenery did you? No, when I found out I could snowboard while looking over the edge of the world, now that's when I was truly sold. It may not have been the most conventional 4th of July but it was definitely one to remember.

After a day of unleashing my Pacific Northwest bred snowboard skills upon the Argentines, I was all smiles. Descending to the base at the end if my last run, I was coming in with some serious speed. I decided a fancy stopping maneuver was in order to appropriately impress those watching. I went to carve hard to the left but my board refused to turn. It was only my binding who obliged. The combination of the failed loose rental binding and the laws if physics quickly teamed up to ensure some pain was in my near future. 

The sound of someone getting the wind knocked out of them is unmistakable. Nevertheless I gave the nearby Argentines a refresher course. 

You'd think it would be difficult to maintain a smile while your lungs are fighting, to no avail, for some air and your imaginative ribs are trying to convince you that they are shattered. Not this time. No high speed wipeout could rob my face of the smile it had been wearing all day. And just one second. Let me check. Yes. That same overly giddy, edge of the world smile is still right where it should be.

Five Bad Signs

Last time I discussed five indicators that lead me to believe my talents as a traveler are improving. Now, it´s time to take a look at my reminders that prove I have not achieved a pro status.

My Spanish is still atrocious

After full submersion in Spanish speaking cultures for the past four months, you´d think I´d have a grasp on the language. Surprise! I don´t. I´d call it more of a weak tickle. Yes, that´s it. I´ve made a feeble attempts to tickle Spanish and in turn, Spanish tends to deliver a slap in the face. But there is hope for me yet. Recently I had my first dream in which I spoke a few words of Spanish. Score one for me. Fear not, for I will get this language dialed in before it´s all said and done.

Unfortunate encounters with foreign objects

It has come to my attention that there are a few items that they use regularly here, but I haven´t quite got the hang of them yet. Example: I mentioned the emergence of butt-cleaning bidets in my life somewhere in a past post. Well for some reason we are no longer on a friendly level. I really don´t want to talk about how this happened, but one day a bidet decided to squirt me in the eyes. Not my brown eye. We aren´t talking about a small spritzing either. It was a total eye enema. A full on ocular douche. I was leaking juicy bidet tears for the next hour. Also hurt was my pride. It´s no fun getting blasted in the eyes with water that is meant for your bum bum.

I haven´t gotten robbed........yet

What is this all about? There is no such thing as a self-respecting world traveler who hasn´t gotten stuff stolen. I would consider myself a failure if I can traipse around South America for months without getting robbed. Im not worried about it though. There is still plenty of time for the criminals to come through. Until then, I´ll just have to rely on myself to continue losing my own stuff.

Tried to take a knife on a plane

As it turns out, the Argentines also frown upon attempts to bring weapons on their planes. In my defense, I had completely forgotten it was in my carry-on and I was running on a nights sleep of about 30 minutes. So I was pretty confused when they pulled me aside after going through the X-ray security check point. They said, ¨Hey buddy! What are you trying to pull here? Javier! It looks like we´ve got a terrorist on our hands.¨ Well, looking back that´s probably what they said, but at the time I had no clue what their Spanish words meant. I did understand the word I know in Spanish as ¨pen¨ but they were unamused when I whipped that out of the bag. They failed to use the word I know for ¨knife¨ but after some time I remembered that there was definitely one in there. Needless to say, they took that from me, but I was just happy/mildly surprised I didn´t get detained as a terrorist.

I miss you all

Boom! This just got sentimental. So I figure the best world travelers can go for years at a time without returning home and that can only be because they don´t miss it enough to go back. This is one attribute I´m not sure I will ever develop and I´m perfectly happy with that. Friends and family back home, you are thought of frequently and are definitely missed. Friends that I´ve met on my trip, you are already missed as well and I look forward to they day our paths cross again.

There you have it. These are the subtle hints I´ve received that indicate that I´m not quite a professional globetrotter.

Next up: The End Of The World!

Much love

Five Good Signs

Here are five signs that lead me to believe that I am getting somewhat decent at this whole traveling thing.

I no longer need a ladder to get on the top bunk.

The majority of my sleeping quarters come in the form of a 6-10 bed dorm room. A common set up for these beds is bunk style. A bottom bed is preferred, but sometimes I can't help getting stuck with a top bunk. In my early travel days I would dread the top as it meant fumbling around with an awkward, unreliable, sketchy ladder to get up or down. But after some practice, I have gotten good enough to bypass that pesky ladder altogether. When I want up, I simply give myself a running start, use a proper J style approach, and high jump my way onto that bed. I've found that both the Fosbury Flop and the Western Roll are equally effective techniques. When I want down, I leap towards the ground below and upon contact, I tuck into a ninja roll for the perfect dismount every time.

My backpack hasn't burst with too much stuff.

Normally, when you go on a trip your bag is reasonably full when you leave, but when you pack to leave, somehow you've accumulated more stuff and your bag refuses to close and/or be under the 50 lb limit for flying. So far, I have done well to keep my bag from becoming too full. I left with it packed to the brim, have indeed added things along the way, but if anything, I've only made extra room. There is one key to my success in not overpacking. The secret lies in developing your skills at losing stuff. Falling victim to this phenomenon is a sock, 1 pair of pants, 1 shirt, 2 towels, and 4 flip flops. Watch out possessions of mine, for none of you are safe from my forgetfulness.

I've lost weight.

In four months I've lost 20 pounds. I suppose that's what eating less and mildly healthier does to you. But to be fair, the weight I lost was probably just the 20 pounds of muscle I brought with me, because I'm down to about zero of that commodity at the moment. Of course I could also attribute some of the weight loss to the fact that I haven't touched a McDonalds since I left and Taco Bell just doesn't exist. By the way, did you know Burger King delivers in Buenos Aires? Ridiculous.

I can drink the water.

Through a series of accidents and trickery, I've found that I have developed the ability to drink some of the tap water. I don't like to abuse this new talent, because I never know when the wrong sip will decommission me for a bit, but it's just nice to know I don't have to fully rely on bottled water wherever I go.

Transportation without cost.

Somehow I've managed to catch a ride with 3 taxis and 2 buses without paying a single peso. No, I wasn't being cheap I literally just didn't have any money. I've learned that it is always best to have some cash on you even if you don't think you'll need it. This holds especially true at boarder crossings. This holds truest at boarder crossings when you are trying to leave a country you weren't suppose to be in originally. Need a ride? Got no money? Here's how: be honest about the fact that you are broke, look pathetic, portray a lost person, and act confused. Of course it's always easier if you really are pathetic, lost, and confused.

So there it is, five ways I know that my skills as a traveler are indeed developing. Stay tuned for the next edition in which I'll keep myself grounded by discussing five ways I know that I haven't quite attained a professional level of traveler.......yet.

Much love.

The Waterfall Saga

The Waterfall Saga

So this one time, long ago, about a million waterfalls got together and said, "Hey, we should party here at Iguazu like every day." 

So this one time, not long ago, I was invited to come take place in this legendary festival. Now I don't know how familiar you are with waterfalls, but when they invite you to their gala, you don't disrespect them. You go to their party. Maybe even take a fruit platter or bottle of wine, because it's a privilege to attend such a fiesta. 

So I went. I went with a camera and a mission. No fruit platter.

As it turns out, the camera was completely useless. There is no model available that can capture the brilliance of this place. Even the human eye struggles to comprehend what it beholds. Seriously, Iguazu is like an epic novel and a picture of this place is like only reading the 3rd page of each chapter in the book. There isn't even one place you can stand and see everything. But nevertheless, my camera did it's best to capture but a hint of what I was witnessing. 

Also, no one had informed me prior to my visit that these waterfalls were armed and dangerous. Turns out they are all equipped with rainbow guns. And they spare no one as they unload clip after clip while shooting from the hip.

The next day I paid to go back again just to make sure I hadn't been dreaming. Plus I still had that mission to take care of. 

Mission: Cliff Jump At Iguazu

I had done my recon work the day before and knew exactly where to do it. It had to be done very covertly as swimming is strictly prohibited, plus I had to hop a fence and go where no one is allowed. What's the worst that could happen? Other than injury/death from the jump or prison for trespassing?

Let's just say it took a lot of work, but I am neither dead or in prison and I successfully cliff jumped at the greatest waterfall in the world. It wasn't the highest jump, (only about 30 feet) but swimming under the fall afterwards and bathing in the cascade and glory of the moment made it one of my favourite jumps ever.

After completion of the mission I spent the rest of the day in the park just looking. No camera. No distractions. Nothing but me and that amazing place. 

Once my brain's 8GB memory card was maxed out with mental pictures and the park was closing, I departed. But I left knowing I had seen one of the most mind blowing places this earth has to offer.

Thanks for reading and until next time, much love.

P.S. If you ever find yourself on the South side of the Arctic Circle, you absolutely must make it a point to come visit this place.

Confessions

Having a bit of trouble getting pictures from the greatest waterfall in the world uploaded. Ellen, I beg your patience. You will soon be rewarded.

So for now, you all are stuck with this rubish. Plus unrelated pictures.

I´ve been at this whole travel thing for over three months now. I feel it is time to come forward with a confession or two on how my daily life has changed a bit since my time in the states. Perhaps this information will be best reflected in a before and after comparison.

Before I came to South America I never sewed a single thread in my whole life. After coming to South America I have used needle and thread to repair clothing two times. Not well I might add.

Before: Used a phone multiple times daily
After: I have no phone

Before: The bed I slept in was the same every night
After: I´ve slept in 37 different beds since I left

Before: Wouldnt be caught dead on a bus
After: I have spent over 150 hours on a variety of buses

Before: Shaved once a week
After: Four times total

Before: Brushed my teeth twice a day
After: Just once a day

Before: Flossed once a day
After: Bahahahahaha

Before: Showered twice a day
After: Every other day

Before: Applied deodorant once per day
After: Once per week

Before: Used the toilet sit down style 3 out of every 4 days
After: 1 out of every 3 days

Before: never seen, let alone used a bidet (that french thing that shoots water up your bum bum)
After: Argenina is full of them and it is awesome every time

Now that you are mildly grossed out, please remember that many of these statistics are based on averages. There are times in which many modern conveniences, such as showers, are simply not available. Or I just don´t feel dirty enough to warrant an impossibly cold bathing experience due to the lack of hot water. So yes, most of this is purely based on the circumstances I find myself in. Either that, or the frame of mind.

But have no fear! I can assure you that once I return, all personal hygiene will return to a level that is above and beyond that which is considered socially acceptable in our part of the world.

Next up, Iguazu! Hopefully.

Dear Mom, Don´t Read This One!

If you had never been to Potosi, Bolivia you would read a guide book or two, talk to some people that had been there and decide that based off their collective recommendations, you would not visit. That would be one crucial error, my friend.

I too consulted guide books and most of the people I talked to, that had been their, echoed that it was a washed up mining town with nothing to offer. But since Potosi stood between where I was and my next destination, I decided to see what was so bad about the highest city in the world. Turns out, nothing. I would venture to say it was actually my favorite city in all of Bolivia.

All I expected was a dull, gray town that had the life sucked out of it, along with all the silver in the mines, years ago. What I found was a vibrant, colorful city, full of proud citizens who were thrilled at the opportunity to share their culture with you. And they had lots of it. Potosi had the most bright and exciting culture of any city I have visited so far.

Each day I was there, I couldnt go anywhere without there being some kind of festive parade, or marching band, or dancing in the streets. There was no particular holiday they were celebrating, thats just what Potosi does.

Then a local invited us to his cousin´s wedding. Why wouldnt I go? Bolivian weddings are three straight days of party. And they know how to party. So much food. So much drink. So much fun. Congrats to the happy couple.

Finally, the main attraction. The mine. Its an active mine that employs much of the town and it has been busy since the Spanish invaded centuries ago. Over the course of its existence, it is estimated that around 9 million people have met their end in mine related deaths. So obviously I had to check it out. "Millions of people have died in there? Yeah, I´ll go in."

So we hired a couple exminers to take us in. But before we actually went in, we were told that its a good idea to buy gifts for the miners. They apparently like coca leaves, juice, cigarettes, and dynamite. Excuse me? Is purchasing the dynamite an actual option? It is? Ok, just checking.

Enter- my freak out dance. I had to blow something up. Anywhere outside of town would do. Only in Bolivia can I just walk up to a shop and purchase loads of dynamite, fuses, detonators, and dynamite enhancer.

My mind began to ponder just how far I can run in 30 seconds after I light the fuse. Probably not far enough. But how sweet would it be to do that running/diving thing as an explosion happens in the background? Oh the possibilities......

Miner attire is on. Ive literally got an entire bag full of dynamite strapped to my back. Only thing left to do is go in. So we did.

Crawling through tiny spaces, down poor excuses for ladders and battling the dust all while doing my best not to upset the explosives on my back. And its hot. Like uncomfortably hot. So why wouldnt the devil make an appearance? Indeed he did.

The miners have set up a statue/shrine to the lord of the underworld, whom they call Tio, or Uncle. In their culture, though, he is not a bad entity. Just another god who happens to rule the place they work, underground. So they make offerings to him in hopes they he blesses them with pure minerals.

So after hangin with Tio for a bit, passing out some dynamite to the miners, and being tired of not being able to fully stand up we were almost done. And I still had one stick of boom boom left. I think I'll hold on to it.

But on our way out we passed one more hole that our guide called into. A minute later, a 16 year old boys head pops out. He was working a double shift that day and had been working in the mines since he was 13. Powerful stuff down there. And then my conscious kicked in.

These miners are a poor people. They work in some of the worst conditions imaginable and most dont live 30 years after they first enter those mines. They operate as a co-op so they must buy all their own materials. And I just so happened to have some left. I mean, really? Would I have done anything productive with that last stick? Doubtful. I´m sure that kid in the mine made far better use of it. Besides, Ive presumably got 70 years or so left in my life to blow stuff up. He has less than half that time.

So yeah, Potosi. An amazing city with a sad history and reality that I will forever remember, and highly recommend.