tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20254473803082827252024-03-13T13:16:08.382-07:00The Grand Adventures of Lisa en ArgentinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-3748272031211111812013-12-16T20:41:00.000-08:002013-12-16T20:53:36.560-08:00The Beaches of Chile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I suggest you listen to this song while reading this post, it always gets me in the right mood for South America, even though this band is from Europe. Lol.</div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not five days after
reaching basecamp of Aconcagua, over 14,000 feet above sea level, Ryan and I
found ourselves the following weekend at 0 feet above sea level. That is, on
the beaches of Chile.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A large group of us
took the bus trip over the Andes, through all the switchbacks and down into the
heart of Chile in the capital of Santiago for a night, then headed to the coast
and the beautiful city of Valparaiso for a beachfront experience only found in
Chile. Valparaiso (or fondly called Valpo by us Gringos) was thoroughly
explored by my dear friend Yona on a previous trip and she served as our tour
guide for all the good spots while we were there. On this trip, a great deal of
my focus and attention was absorbed by my three best friends as we faced the
encroaching reality of having to leave for the States soon, which would split
us across thousands of miles. To deal with this horrifying thought we consoled
ourselves by taking lots of pictures and laughing constantly to the point it
hurt….</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uChaB3TAtPM/Uq_Stnp0trI/AAAAAAAAAnE/ntuXOQ5vRsY/s1600/DSCN3534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uChaB3TAtPM/Uq_Stnp0trI/AAAAAAAAAnE/ntuXOQ5vRsY/s320/DSCN3534.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You go girls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e4AGS_2WEmA/Uq_THSeonOI/AAAAAAAAAnU/7aE3VxCQJEc/s1600/DSCN3433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e4AGS_2WEmA/Uq_THSeonOI/AAAAAAAAAnU/7aE3VxCQJEc/s320/DSCN3433.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding up one of the elevators.</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Valpo is a beautiful
and influential city in Chile. While a poorer establishment, it’s actually the
legislative seat of the government of Chile, and was also the first city in the
county to have a Fire Station and a school for girls. What’s most striking
about the city though, is its unique conformity to the land and its amazing
acceptance and promotion of public art.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Valpo is built on an expanse
of large rolling hills that have amassed themselves around the harbor where
shipping and commerce now takes place. In fact, the natural harbor is in part
why Valparaiso grew to be such an influential city in the first place as
commerce and trade provided wealth for early traders. Those individuals built
the city up and around the hills and landscape of the area, resulting in
winding streets and steep sidewalks that sometimes turn into stairs or even
elevator cars for pedestrians. The city has certainly turned tough in the
economic downturn Chile has faced, and we were cautioned to never take the
stairs at night. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful sight seeing the lights from
the homes dotting the hillsides and glowing out into the harbor. This was the
best shot I could get. </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q-nSz9CxPgc/Uq_TW_4WrDI/AAAAAAAAAnc/aXAsClGz4Sg/s1600/DSCN3569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q-nSz9CxPgc/Uq_TW_4WrDI/AAAAAAAAAnc/aXAsClGz4Sg/s400/DSCN3569.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During the day
however, Valpo was incredibly beautiful for other reasons. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You know how Boulder,
CO thinks it’s all artsy and hipster and eclectic? Well clearly none of the
hippies of Boulder have visited Valpo. In this city, art is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everywhere.</i> If you have a home or a
business with any inch of space publicly (or I suppose privately) visible, you
hire someone to paint a mural. And these are not just any murals. Check it out.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VE2Ee-c4n-8/Uq_TyZd3uGI/AAAAAAAAAoE/XzmJswgesjE/s1600/DSCN3317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VE2Ee-c4n-8/Uq_TyZd3uGI/AAAAAAAAAoE/XzmJswgesjE/s320/DSCN3317.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ihFWfGIQgA/Uq_T0ejqOPI/AAAAAAAAAoc/I_WfjcRrwLw/s1600/DSCN3380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0ihFWfGIQgA/Uq_T0ejqOPI/AAAAAAAAAoc/I_WfjcRrwLw/s320/DSCN3380.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K92Hnk1TqvI/Uq_T0gdWR7I/AAAAAAAAAoo/RTj0xyaTgl8/s1600/DSCN3385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K92Hnk1TqvI/Uq_T0gdWR7I/AAAAAAAAAoo/RTj0xyaTgl8/s640/DSCN3385.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ryIyPSGZzY/Uq_Uk-dXNUI/AAAAAAAAAow/NXqeAyoRTLY/s1600/DSCN3595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ryIyPSGZzY/Uq_Uk-dXNUI/AAAAAAAAAow/NXqeAyoRTLY/s320/DSCN3595.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So ya, just walking
around the city was like visiting an art gallery, except that the sun was
always beating down, seagulls calling overhead, and boats and waves ebbing and
flowing in the bay. The way of life here just accepts art in all its forms as a
complete and utter part of the culture, and I found it to be quite beautiful.
The chicas and I dreamed of starting a hostel there and how fun it would be to
paint and run and (in Lorri’s case) DJ the hottest spot in town. La Girasol we
want to call it, and I’m not ruling that plan out as a possible career path as
odd as it may sound.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Needless to say, sand
boarding, viewing art, playing in the waves, and eating a seafood dinner with
Ryan was very different than the experience of last weekend but certainly was
another I won’t forget. Or the very cheap delectable fruit and veggies we used
to make exotic vegetarian dinners at our hostel. Or the epic card games. Or the
sunset over the harbor. Or my best friends always, Las Chicas.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1K_8_jsCHEg/Uq_VFqi9JlI/AAAAAAAAAo8/EYcNTfLE9fI/s1600/Chicas!!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1K_8_jsCHEg/Uq_VFqi9JlI/AAAAAAAAAo8/EYcNTfLE9fI/s640/Chicas!!.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Stay tuned for two
more posts coming up, a sneak peak of the next is below.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-51103091021124304272013-11-05T17:21:00.001-08:002013-11-05T17:33:11.239-08:00Aconcagua – Reaching Base Camp of the Western Hemisphere’s Highest Mountain<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It seems only fitting
after summiting my tenth 14,000 foot mountain here in CO this past summer that
I share the story of my 14,000 foot climb in Argentina.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ak-3C9UrUY0/UnmMZ9tvjHI/AAAAAAAAAis/SCOKlQGM9Og/s1600/DSCN0336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ak-3C9UrUY0/UnmMZ9tvjHI/AAAAAAAAAis/SCOKlQGM9Og/s200/DSCN0336.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This story really
begins at my roots, my dad and my Uncle John are mountaineers at heart, and it
was hearing Dad’s stories about climbing Longs Peak that got me excited about summiting
mountains too. I proudly jotted my name down at the top of Longs the summer
when I turned 14, and aside from not being able to climb the stairs to bed when
I got home, loved every minute of it.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With three 14,000 foot
summits under my belt by the time I reached Argentina, I was looking for a
similar adventure, and what better opportunity than Mount Aconcagua, the
largest mountain outside the Himalayas at 22,841 feet.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vobhu3IRoLg/UnmMqB5K1eI/AAAAAAAAAi0/eaSUOF-duR8/s1600/DSCN3133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vobhu3IRoLg/UnmMqB5K1eI/AAAAAAAAAi0/eaSUOF-duR8/s640/DSCN3133.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, I know what
you’re all thinking, and no, I don’t have a death wish. Summiting Aconcagua is
a week to two week long process, with various camps, acclamation procedures,
highly specific gear, and an enormous amount of training. In other words, not
doable during my study abroad. However, reaching the first base camp, Plaza de
las Mulas was doable, and at 14,340 feet, was more or less the equivalent of
climbing one of Colorado’s famed peaks. The difference was doing it with 35
pound packs on a multi-day backpacking trek of a kind I had never undertaken
before.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately, I had my
best friend to undertake this adventure with, Ryan, who was gung-ho about the
idea from our first visit to the mountain in the winter when we learned the
initial details. Since my tent sleeps three, we thought of including a third
person in our catamaran, but no one seems quite as insane as us, or maybe it
was just the threat of being a third wheel as Ryan and I’s relationship
progressed. Anyway, it ended up just being the two of us. And one. big.
mountain.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We set the date for
late November, the first weekend the mountain was open to climbers for our
exhibition, and together we hurriedly started to amass all the gear, food, and
supplies we needed for the trek. Luckily, Mendoza is the city base for all
Aconcagua trips so it was easy to find suppliers of camping gear such as a
sleeping bag that Ryan needed (I’d hauled all my stuff down there, because who
wouldn’t bring 50 pounds of camping supplies with them?). More difficult
however, was finding fuel for my stove (which burns white gas primarily, but is
designed to burn practically anything liquid, including straight gasoline). For
some reason the airlines don’t let you bring white gas on the plane, (something
about terrorists), so I had to go hunting around the city. I ended up being
sold some sort of flammable clear liquid in a recycled Pepsi bottle from a
Ferretería (Argentina’s version of hardware stores). It was sketchy, (to say
the least), but hey, whatever it was, it burned. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another key hurdle was
obtaining permits to access the camp. As Aconcagua is one of the seven summits,
(the grouping of the largest mountain on each continent and a goal for many
expert, insane mountaineers), it’s easy for the country to charge HEFTY fees
for access to climbers and get away with it. For Ryan and me however, $500 each to
climb just to the base camp was not doable. So with a little convincing in
Spanish, English, and pointing, we argued that our student visas gave us
residency status in the country, although temporary, and with a stroke of luck,
we were granted resident passes to the camp, for a whopping $40.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I remember the night
before the trek, we went through all our gear and divvied up who was carrying
what. We’d put together breakfast rationings, bought lots of pasta makings, and
sandwich ingredients since Argentine grocery stores are typically not stocked
with freeze-dried backpacking food, and REI has yet to penetrate the Argentine
market (get on that Sally Jewell!). That night Ryan also asked me how many
times I’d done this before. “Twice” I said, and never for more than one night.
For him, it was his first backpacking trip ever. Three nights. 35+ lbs of gear
per person. Over 5000 ft. of vertical gain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the morning, it was
a slightly anxious bus ride.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ok, actually it was a
VERY anxious bus ride, but not because of the mountain. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">>>Comedic
Interlude<<</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here’s the thing,
whenever you climb a mountain, (or anything high for that matter), you HAVE to
stay hydrated. From the wisdom of my dear old dad, I’d learned drinking a lot of
water ahead of time is key, because if you start dehydrated, your body will
never be able to catch up. So the diligent mountaineer that I am, I drank LOTS
of water the night before and morning of. Then got on a bus.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For five hours.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With no bathroom
service.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ryan and I laugh about
this story now, but needless to say, it was a painful lesson in how to ration
water intake. Ryan experienced the pain too as I squeezed his hand as hard as I
could the whole way there. And yes. I made it. And yes, Ryan still makes fun of
me to this day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">>>Back to the
Epic Trek<<</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BSAfUEvi23M/UnmNrsh_ODI/AAAAAAAAAjA/0S79USgtt5Y/s1600/DSCN3040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BSAfUEvi23M/UnmNrsh_ODI/AAAAAAAAAjA/0S79USgtt5Y/s320/DSCN3040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's so far AWAY!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After checking into
the ranger station and hearing the required spiel about packing out trash,
checking in at each camp, etc. Ryan and I set off on trail, capturing this
picture before we set out with Aconcagua’s snowy south face clearly visible.
What’s deceptive about this picture, and a fact that ultimately made this
backpacking experience extremely challenging, is that the mountain is quite a
significant distance away – it’s just so huge it’s hard to notice.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This brings me to
logistical challenge #729 of the trip, which was also probably the most
frustrating. On the maps they issue to backpackers, the rangers make a strict
point NOT to state distances between camps in useful metrics such as
kilometers. Rather, they use <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">time</i>. So
from the bus stop to the first camp, Confluencia, the map said “4 hours.” Now
this seems a little objective, Ryan and I thought. Is this a park ranger hiking
the trail in 4 hours? An average hiker? A mule? We still to this day have NO
IDEA how far we actually hiked over the course of the four days, although we
estimate it was somewhere around 30 miles round trip.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Luckily the first
stretch of the hike to Confluencia camp wasn’t too challenging, and we only
gained about 2000 feet in elevation. So I took lots of pictures to ensure we
had no way of knowing how on par we were with the timing on the map (Ryan was
thrilled), but I have to say the landscaping required it…</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zCaFu9O0tJ8/UnmOf8td9pI/AAAAAAAAAjY/u1-kneIP6Fc/s1600/DSCN3041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zCaFu9O0tJ8/UnmOf8td9pI/AAAAAAAAAjY/u1-kneIP6Fc/s320/DSCN3041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kCaq9GrqmMo/UnmOf6sDuAI/AAAAAAAAAjU/bN4fbwW1qKY/s1600/DSCN3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kCaq9GrqmMo/UnmOf6sDuAI/AAAAAAAAAjU/bN4fbwW1qKY/s320/DSCN3048.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xBqgYUAQ-vo/UnmOf5_5wGI/AAAAAAAAAjc/dY8-N9LkMnY/s1600/DSCN3061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xBqgYUAQ-vo/UnmOf5_5wGI/AAAAAAAAAjc/dY8-N9LkMnY/s320/DSCN3061.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The first night at
Camp Confluencia gave us our first real taste of professional mountaineering:</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ki9K_tTPRyc/UnmO3El6SDI/AAAAAAAAAjg/r-mlbQ_Km8g/s1600/DSCN3084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ki9K_tTPRyc/UnmO3El6SDI/AAAAAAAAAjg/r-mlbQ_Km8g/s200/DSCN3084.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Confluencia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>The good:</b> Rangers available to
check in hikers and answer any questions, as well as double check you are
prepared for the next leg of the journey.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>The bad: </b>Huge permanent canvas
tents (usually globular in shape) with bunks for trekkers who hire companies to
carry their gear (and probably them) up the mountain. Wimps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>The ugly:</b> Helicopter landing
pads (with a helicopter practicing landings) for the many emergency rescues
that happen each season.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our first night also
afforded its first set of challenges (aka lessons of the outdoors Lisa will
never forget). Like my stove struggling to burn fuel (something it started
showing symptoms of at Valle de la Luna) and which was extremely alarming since
we needed heat to cook our food. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The good news was Ryan
and I eventually set up camp, ate our pasta, and managed not to freeze too much
while watching the sunset and the stars burst into light.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xSHZvSue3Cg/UnmPEnmoIyI/AAAAAAAAAjs/GfVJ4Zs74N4/s1600/DSCN3095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xSHZvSue3Cg/UnmPEnmoIyI/AAAAAAAAAjs/GfVJ4Zs74N4/s400/DSCN3095.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day Two of the Trek
was actually a simple day hike around to the South Face viewing point of the
mountain. The rangers suggest this because it helps climbers acclimate, and
because the South Face is pretty darn impressive.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ujQ9hkNlX3Q/UnmPjaN5NkI/AAAAAAAAAjw/vDFMIkot_D4/s1600/DSCN3130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ujQ9hkNlX3Q/UnmPjaN5NkI/AAAAAAAAAjw/vDFMIkot_D4/s400/DSCN3130.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Some mentally unstable
people have actually ice climbed all seven glaciers to the top on this face.
Ryan and I were content to just gape at it aaaaannnddd try not to get blown
over by the crazy wind whipping us around that day like rag dolls. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Unfortunately, my tent
was not so lucky in avoiding the wind. When we got back to camp, we found it in
a jumbled mess (even all our gear inside didn’t hold it down) but fortunately
the rangers were kind enough to pile some rocks on it so we didn’t lose our
shelter completely. Also very fortunately, the only structural damage was a
bent pole, no tears, no breaks. Phew! Luck was on our side…</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">…until an hour later
when my water purification (my battery operated ionizer) died on me. This is
the epitome of a rookie mistake, but in my defense, Argentine stores do not
carry the type of battery my water filter uses. Katy had to bring some down
from the States with her when she visited. Luckily, I had a backup filtration
system with me, and we met Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude who were
kind enough to lend us their magical purifying wand (ya <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sure</i> UV light kills water borne bacteria and viruses) and gave us a
nice stash of Coca leaves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">>>Backstory on
Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude<<</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These guys, Ryan and I
learned, were set on summiting Aconcagua, AND set on doing so without a guide.
Hairy Columbian Man I wasn’t too worried about. He did Kilimanjaro <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">by himself.</i> Rich Alaska Dude however,
even though he lives in Alaska, informed us that he doesn’t really hike a lot,
much less mountaineer. To make matters worse, they were carrying more gear than
humanly possible, including Rich Alaska Dude’s incredible amount of fancy,
brand new gear. They were departing at the same time as us tomorrow for the
push to Plaza de Las Mulas and we said we’d see them along the way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">>>Backstory on
Coca Leaves<<</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Coca leaves come from
the cocaine plant, but, unlike its powdery relative, is not a toxic drug.
Rather, coca leaves are used in the Andes for the same purpose the Incans used
them for thousands of years ago, acclamation. Hairy Columbian Man instructed us
to chew the coca leaves the night before heading up to Plaza de las Mulas at
14,000 feet and sure enough, neither Ryan nor I dealt with altitude sickness,
but I did have the craziest nightmare dreams ever the night before, so we ruled
no more coca leaves for Lisa.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">>>Back to the
Epic Trek<<</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pRBZuNSen9U/UnmU4mY3AFI/AAAAAAAAAkI/QoY9NOpIDFc/s1600/DSCN3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pRBZuNSen9U/UnmU4mY3AFI/AAAAAAAAAkI/QoY9NOpIDFc/s320/DSCN3156.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hairy Columbian Man took our picture!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day Three was the big
day, and Ryan and I got up early (not quite as early as Hairy Columbian Man and
Rich Alaska Dude) to start our trek upwards. We quickly caught up to our
overburdened friends however and after walking with them a ways, realized if we
were ever going to reach Plaza de las Mulas, we had to ditch them. Slowly the
pair turned into smaller and smaller dots behind us as we crossed what I fondly
called </span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4TwBJyrGAg4/UnmU2InIMFI/AAAAAAAAAkA/m3oZWnh_l5Y/s1600/DSCN3159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4TwBJyrGAg4/UnmU2InIMFI/AAAAAAAAAkA/m3oZWnh_l5Y/s320/DSCN3159.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the "Desert of Rocks"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“The Desert of Rocks.” The reality is, climbing Aconcagua is most doable
from the west face, but the initial trailhead and check in station is a ways
away from the South face of the mountain, which means not only hiking to the
mountain, but then wrapping around it to start climbing the west face.
Basically this equated into a very long, hot trek where we seemingly made no
progress, in part because of the enormity of the landscape. The end of the
Desert of Rocks always looked so near, and then two hours later, would seem
like the horizon hadn’t shifted at all. And of course, our lovely map detailed
absolutely nothing about how long the trek actually was across the Desert of
Rocks, except that it was supposed to take us around, quote, “8 hours.” So we
hiked, and hiked, and gained more and more elevation and marveled at how large
everything was around us.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LTQK-rqjgkM/UnmVWQYjSbI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/9X-3CvERX2I/s1600/DSCN3160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LTQK-rqjgkM/UnmVWQYjSbI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/9X-3CvERX2I/s400/DSCN3160.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you find Ryan?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dQSUWZuFxAw/UnmVpmmuSVI/AAAAAAAAAkY/Z3PVSXGxEV4/s1600/DSCN3170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dQSUWZuFxAw/UnmVpmmuSVI/AAAAAAAAAkY/Z3PVSXGxEV4/s320/DSCN3170.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan the mountain goat a switchback ahead of me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally, we got to the
most challenging part of the trek, the homestretch to the camp which Harry
Columbian Man had warned us was very steep. Honestly the switch backs were
comforting more than anything. At least we were going <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">up</i> and besides, this was more the grade I was used to climbing
14ers at home. The only difference was having 30 pounds of weight on my back…
and all the dead mules. Apparently this part of the trek is the most
treacherous for the mules that frequent said “camp of the mules.” Ryan and I
were certainly disconcerted by all the bones and slowly decomposing corpses.
Lovely.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately we made it
to the top of the climb and were greeted by a full view of the west face of the
mountain with a condor flying majestically above us (probably waiting for us to
clear out so he could head back to feast on mule). If you didn’t think about
that part though, it was really quite an incredible moment.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gfCQs51Q46Y/UnmWXb-z3rI/AAAAAAAAAkg/zGGVYeXhB5U/s1600/DSCN3185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gfCQs51Q46Y/UnmWXb-z3rI/AAAAAAAAAkg/zGGVYeXhB5U/s400/DSCN3185.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Plaza de las Mulas was
more than a welcome sight when our weary legs finally brought us to the Ranger
Station for check in. They were concerned by my bloodshot eyes (I blame the
coca leaves) but once we convinced them we were ok, they snapped our
commemorative photo and sent us along our way to set up camp.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I couldn’t believe we
were at 14,000 feet. Sure I was goofy and lightheaded (Ryan can attest to my
silliness), but it’s sort of hard to convince yourself you’re that high when
you’re used to this view at 14,000 feet:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kZ-COWgU0uE/UnmW_A58szI/AAAAAAAAAko/cwX-ohRr-2k/s1600/Mount+Elbert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kZ-COWgU0uE/UnmW_A58szI/AAAAAAAAAko/cwX-ohRr-2k/s640/Mount+Elbert.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And this time you see
this:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4DC3EByudXA/UnmXoza9_uI/AAAAAAAAAk0/gwQeNudcxwo/s1600/DSCN3199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4DC3EByudXA/UnmXoza9_uI/AAAAAAAAAk0/gwQeNudcxwo/s640/DSCN3199.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HVLYanyw7UI/UnmYQsraibI/AAAAAAAAAlE/qCWJffawWco/s1600/DSCN3194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HVLYanyw7UI/UnmYQsraibI/AAAAAAAAAlE/qCWJffawWco/s320/DSCN3194.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cook baby cook.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yup, we were in a
valley for Pete’s sake, and nowhere near the tallest feature. Aconcagua looming
above us was still another 8,000 feet up. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McaBnltuBjw/UnmX3Qc3-JI/AAAAAAAAAk8/axi4dVyMaGw/s1600/DSCN3191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McaBnltuBjw/UnmX3Qc3-JI/AAAAAAAAAk8/axi4dVyMaGw/s200/DSCN3191.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aconcagua's west face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nonetheless there were vault toilet
structures and more of the large domed tents for group treks. We were
originally told we’d have to pay to use the toilets since they were operated by
private trek companies, and that we couldn’t go number two anywhere else, but
one company was nice and let us use their bathroom at our will since it was
still the early season and not many mountaineers were around yet. Just us crazy
exchange students.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Luckily, our water for
dinner boiled quickly, but unluckily we had to melt and slowly filter the water
since it came from a nice patch of snow (the water source was still frozen at
that time). We were racing the sun at this point, but Ryan and I had become
quite a team between Valle de la Luna and this trek and our efficiency paid off
with nice warm bellies and sleeping bags set up before the sun set, which, when
it did, was quite the spectacular sight.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--6pzAEGcYQA/UnmYtPwwX_I/AAAAAAAAAlU/BG_rAzR-bOs/s1600/DSCN3196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--6pzAEGcYQA/UnmYtPwwX_I/AAAAAAAAAlU/BG_rAzR-bOs/s640/DSCN3196.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Also unfortunately, we
were very hyper aware of the fact that Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude
did not make it to camp, at least not before darkness fell, and we hoped they
were camped out somewhere safe, not among the mule bones.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sometime during the
night, Ryan got the courage to actually get out of the tent and observe the
stars at 14,000 feet. I kinda did, but I was not willing to leave the warmth of
my sleeping bag and so just stuck my head out as far as I could and craned it
upwards. It was quite breathtaking, both the cold and the stars. The
constellations are different in South America, so the glittering canvas above
me was quite unfamiliar, however it still had the same humbling effect and I
found myself zipping up the tent and feeling a little more blessed than I had
just a minute ago. I think Ryan stayed outside star struck for a good few
minutes before succumbing to the biting cold and retreating back into the tent.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next morning
marked our last day of our epic trek, and Ryan awoke to find his contacts
frozen solid in their case, which had been in the tent all night, thus proving
our hypothesis that it was around 25-30 degrees in the tent, and probably in
the teens outside. What was worse was the other frozen device, my water filter,
which was rendered useless by the frozen mechanisms inside and was my last
backup for water purification.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since Hairy Columbian
Man and Rich Alaska Dude wouldn’t be able to come to our rescue (they were
still not in camp the next morning), we decided we’d have to conserve water as
much as possible, then fill up at Confluencia when we passed by.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thus began our
grueling trek back down from Plaza de las Mulas: Across the God forbidden
Desert of Rocks, to Confluencia Camp for water, then down the valley to the
Visitor Center, THEN down the highway to the bus stop. And we had to do it all
in time to catch our bus home.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After a final goodbye
to our campsite and Aconcagua, we set out on trail only to run into Hairy
Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude not far from camp. They had camped out on
the side of the trail in the Desert of Rocks while the sun was setting, knowing
it would be unsafe to continue during nightfall. Ryan and my reaction to this
was, “good thing they had the sense to stop before dark,” followed quickly by,
“but do they have the sense to realize if they can’t make that trek, they
probably won’t summit?” We never saw those two characters again, and Ryan and I
wonder to this day whatever happened to them. One can only hope it wasn’t a
tragic end.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hours and hours and
hours seemingly later we finally crossed the Desert of Rocks with Lisa
thoroughly angry about how long and vast the Desert was. We came to Confluencia
not long after our water ran out, and eagerly filled up our bottles for the
last haul, hoping the system the Rangers had in place did indeed require no
filtration as they said. Otherwise it was going to be another miserable bus
ride home.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-svMjtFICFc0/UnmY_6PnzEI/AAAAAAAAAlc/poFFWtulae0/s1600/DSCN3214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-svMjtFICFc0/UnmY_6PnzEI/AAAAAAAAAlc/poFFWtulae0/s640/DSCN3214.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last look back.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was as we were
heading down the valley to the Visitor Center that I really started to fill the
pain in my boot. As we were crossing the Desert of Rocks, my feet had been
battered by the uneven surface of the rocks (there was not trail per se) and
every time my left foot slightly rolled outwards, I felt an excruciating pinch
on the side of my foot. No matter, we still had to keep hoofing it to get to the
bus, Ryan rather blindly and me slightly maimed. We did come across a train of
mules and their Argentine shepherd, heading up the trail laden with supplies
for the two camps. I debated trying to climb onto one and forcing it downhill,
but then I remembered all those mule bones up by base camp and decided maybe
guiding a mule down the trail would not be my best bet to get home.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mercilessly, we
finally caught site of the Visitor Center, where we dumped all our trash,
checked out, and officially claimed our trek up Aconcagua a success. But it
wasn’t over yet, since we still had to walk down the highway a few miles to
Puente del Inca to catch our bus.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I cannot even describe
how painful those last few miles were. Luckily we were on pavement, but
nonetheless every inch of my body was screaming to make it stop. By the time we
reached the bus stop we had descended 5000 feet over approximately 15 miles,
and had hiked consistently for 10 hours. The bus picked us up not ten minutes
later.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Winding back down the
mountains to Mendoza, Ryan and I were exhausted, but happy. We’d conquered a
pretty major challenge with lots of little challenges built in too. And we did
it together. Without ripping each other’s heads off. I’m not sure which was the
greater achievement, but we definitely felt closer for it.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Laughing together on
the way home about our adventure, Ryan and I decided one day in the future we
won’t turn around at Plaza de las Mulas. One day, we’ll make it to the top.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">P.S. After taking off
my hiking boot, I discovered the source of the pain in my left foot. It was a
huge blood blister about the size of a quarter and raised a good half inch out
from my foot. Yikes!</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For less disgusting
content, stay tuned for decent to sea level the weekend following Aconcagua, in
Valparaiso, Chile (preview below).</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ASGHNkMLSBg/UnmZdE9f6YI/AAAAAAAAAlk/R7TfX2e34XM/s1600/DSCN3355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ASGHNkMLSBg/UnmZdE9f6YI/AAAAAAAAAlk/R7TfX2e34XM/s640/DSCN3355.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-16963096326715338542013-06-23T20:34:00.002-07:002013-06-23T20:49:23.442-07:00Road Trip!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the first blog
posts I wrote when I came to Argentina recounted my first time driving in
Argentina, which it would turn out, would not be my last. Apparently after that
riveting experience of driving everyone home from the bars, I wanted more… six
hours more.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In reality, the idea
of a road trip stemmed from my desire to visit Valle de la Luna (Valley of the
Moon), a national park with geographic features not unlike those of Utah in
Arches National Park, which also happens to be one of my favorite places in the
world. The only issue was getting there, which after intense digging around on
the internet (I have become a pro at this) I determined it was a very remote
park, and thus difficult to get to without a private vehicle. My solution? Rent
a private vehicle. Argentine traffic laws (or lack thereof) aside, I was going
to this national park to camp and see the landscape, and I was bringing five of
my friends too.</span><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--G6ltORYrI8/Uce2iVgwCEI/AAAAAAAAAeY/YW8HzPQONb8/s1600/kangoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--G6ltORYrI8/Uce2iVgwCEI/AAAAAAAAAeY/YW8HzPQONb8/s1600/kangoo.jpg" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Luckily I was
completely able to rent a car in Argentina, regardless of my lack of an
Argentine license and only being 21, but rather unluckily, that car was a
Renault Kangoo (see picture at right), which, while sufficient, is a French
made car. ‘Nough said.</span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We managed to pack all
six of us into the Kangoo AND managed to get onto the highway and start heading
north. I had decent directions (I’d bought a map anyway) plus Lorri Cole and
Yona Yurwit, who were more than capable of not only asking for directions need
be, but also understanding the response. Spanish champs those two for sure!</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnW8IRWznus/Uce2trGsfXI/AAAAAAAAAeg/ShXPtN2iuyM/s1600/DSCN1492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnW8IRWznus/Uce2trGsfXI/AAAAAAAAAeg/ShXPtN2iuyM/s320/DSCN1492.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You'd be surprised how much we fit into this little French car.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rg18Ep2clBQ/Uce3bQNz6_I/AAAAAAAAAes/6sdTG_Erheg/s1600/DSCN1512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rg18Ep2clBQ/Uce3bQNz6_I/AAAAAAAAAes/6sdTG_Erheg/s320/DSCN1512.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a very pretty drive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It wasn’t long
however, until we were made aware of our first snag. In typical Argentine
fashion, we were told the drive would take about four hours, that is, until we
made our first stop two hours into the drive to pick up groceries and were told
it would be another four hours for a grand total of six. This wouldn’t have
been such a concern if it wasn’t for the fact that the sun was setting fast, and I
was specifically warned not to drive at night by my host brother. He also
warned me I may have to bribe the province border security personnel, or cops,
which led to utter terror every time we had to stop at checkpoints (they were
looking for fruit from other provinces and luckily none of them required
bribing). While this never happened fortunately, darkness was becoming a
problem and while the sunset was beautiful over</span> the wide plains of the wild
landscape that is Argentina and we all were thoroughly enjoying our sing along
of American Pie, I was soon white knuckling it down the road. Only once did I
about jump out of my skin when a stray dog crossed the road in front of me (the
main reason driving at night is inadvisable) and fortunately we were able to
find the entrance to “Valle de la Luna.” Even more fortunate though, was
someone was there to show us a camping space and bring a grill around for us to
use. Before long, the tents were set up, sleeping bags unrolled, and a fire
raging in the grill for our ponchos (hot dogs) to cook.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uZD6mhBlMb0/Uce3tOh7NyI/AAAAAAAAAfM/sx2-gN2psDc/s1600/DSCN1515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uZD6mhBlMb0/Uce3tOh7NyI/AAAAAAAAAfM/sx2-gN2psDc/s320/DSCN1515.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yona get out of here I'm trying to grill the food"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bY_VI8MzdY/Uce3tULTPUI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/Cyepd_5V_7o/s1600/DSCN1516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bY_VI8MzdY/Uce3tULTPUI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/Cyepd_5V_7o/s320/DSCN1516.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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Ryan and I even had the
chance to Tango for a bit (this was before we were dating and he was mightily
embarrassed by Yona’s insistence on a demonstration). Content, we all went to
sleep, only to wake up in the morning to a lovely, cold drizzle of rain that
had turned everything to mud overnight. Perfect. My friends were far from
entertained at that weather, especially since it was pretty chilly and they
were expecting desert conditions. I offered to make hot water in the rain for
coffee/tea since I had brought warmer, rain-repellant gear but Ryan adamantly stood
outside with me for support (this was when I started catching on). Then came
the even worse news that we couldn’t enter the park due to impassable, muddy
roads. Completely bummed, we packed up our soppy gear and piled into the
mud-covered Kangoo to start the drive back home.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ymBcEUUJlk/Uce3xoDCPxI/AAAAAAAAAf4/s3RfZUM0RTU/s1600/DSCN1531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ymBcEUUJlk/Uce3xoDCPxI/AAAAAAAAAf4/s3RfZUM0RTU/s320/DSCN1531.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The (awkward) shrine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DLL0nyCnO1g/Uce3uBpWW4I/AAAAAAAAAfY/q7cBmux78tk/s1600/DSCN1519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DLL0nyCnO1g/Uce3uBpWW4I/AAAAAAAAAfY/q7cBmux78tk/s400/DSCN1519.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately though, we
did have the chance to stop at a local shrine, a local legend that, quite
frankly, cracked us up. The shrine was named “The Defuncta Correa” but we pleasantly
renamed it “The Lady of Perpetual Boob” because, as the story goes, this woman
fled Mendoza as her family was facing political persecution with her infant
son. She headed straight into desert country (smart choice of course) where she
died of dehydration. Amazingly though, her young son survived by nursing from
her breast… even though she was dead. Lovely. The spot has since become a
shrine for all travelers passing through the area, especially truck drivers,
and her shrine is covered in license<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UUwdNEI2I0s/Uce3vgTjpZI/AAAAAAAAAfg/c3eqiaA-ueI/s1600/DSCN1520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UUwdNEI2I0s/Uce3vgTjpZI/AAAAAAAAAfg/c3eqiaA-ueI/s320/DSCN1520.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<br />
plates and paraphernalia from all over the
globe. In all reality it was kind of a cool, weird, cultural thing to
experience, and made the trip at least a little more worthwhile. Us girls even
gave our own little tribute, much to the amusement of my friend Steve taking
the picture.<br />
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qNHTyrVqitI/Uce3yZ5kMTI/AAAAAAAAAgA/oov5_zQKZQw/s1600/DSCN1554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qNHTyrVqitI/Uce3yZ5kMTI/AAAAAAAAAgA/oov5_zQKZQw/s640/DSCN1554.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our tribute to the Defuncta Correa and breasts everywhere.</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Needless to say, I was
bummed when we got home with no pictures or stories from the national park I
was so excited to see, but, seeing that I was so bummed, Ryan promised we’d go
back. And so we did!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Same story, but this
time just the two of us set out for the six hour drive once again. It was a few
weeks after the first attempt, with only sunny skies in the forecast and an
even more ambitious weekend plan. We decided to see Talampaya National Park too
(sort of like Canyonlands) which was not too far away. Ryan and I were also
prepping for our Aconcagua trek (coming next) and wanted to perfect our system
as a team (like how to operate my stove, pitch the tent together, cook, etc.).
By this time we had decided to date, thanks in large part to the last Valle of
the Moon experience.</span><br />
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vD9Zo5pX53I/Uce6kxE43iI/AAAAAAAAAgo/0m8AGRxsfZU/s1600/DSCN2537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vD9Zo5pX53I/Uce6kxE43iI/AAAAAAAAAgo/0m8AGRxsfZU/s200/DSCN2537.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving stick like a boss</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time, luck was on
our side, and the sky stayed bright and blue the whole trip. Valle of the Moon
ended up being a car tour since the scenery is so delicate, which is not ideal
for Ryan and my active mentality, but we took the opportunity for me to teach
him stick (cus what’s not a better time than on a dirt road in another country
with tourists all around you?). He did great and we did admire some pretty
spectacular rock formations:</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zobCy1Q5GxQ/Uce6kvGRJhI/AAAAAAAAAgk/-3UQ2EB-HwE/s1600/DSCN2524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zobCy1Q5GxQ/Uce6kvGRJhI/AAAAAAAAAgk/-3UQ2EB-HwE/s320/DSCN2524.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The painted valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-48Tcq3rwIyI/Uce6nD12omI/AAAAAAAAAhE/Jim9mYhwGlc/s1600/DSCN2585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-48Tcq3rwIyI/Uce6nD12omI/AAAAAAAAAhE/Jim9mYhwGlc/s320/DSCN2585.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The submarine (and yes, it's kinda yellow)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jit-8mNNQIU/Uce6ljAw5gI/AAAAAAAAAgw/9xyStQ-M38s/s1600/DSCN2551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jit-8mNNQIU/Uce6ljAw5gI/AAAAAAAAAgw/9xyStQ-M38s/s320/DSCN2551.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sphinx</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwxgwLCYQJs/Uce6mcwVnpI/AAAAAAAAAg4/rft2fEYdMk0/s1600/DSCN2599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwxgwLCYQJs/Uce6mcwVnpI/AAAAAAAAAg4/rft2fEYdMk0/s400/DSCN2599.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ACrMveZxvGc/Uce6i8UxGeI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/QesUBlqfuxA/s1600/DSCN2504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ACrMveZxvGc/Uce6i8UxGeI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/QesUBlqfuxA/s320/DSCN2504.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We also saw fossils!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WdW0ReEreKo/Uce6kaVNLeI/AAAAAAAAAgg/bbkRpn_e6t0/s1600/DSCN2510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WdW0ReEreKo/Uce6kaVNLeI/AAAAAAAAAgg/bbkRpn_e6t0/s320/DSCN2510.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And weird ass birds with mohawks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our favorite part by
far though was Talampaya…</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQt9l1fliKc/Uce6rgFqZwI/AAAAAAAAAiA/baUPl16LWoE/s1600/DSCN2727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQt9l1fliKc/Uce6rgFqZwI/AAAAAAAAAiA/baUPl16LWoE/s400/DSCN2727.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient petroglyphs!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--khHdVPGzjQ/Uce6o7DhPJI/AAAAAAAAAhY/rb_rnsao_Mo/s1600/DSCN2638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--khHdVPGzjQ/Uce6o7DhPJI/AAAAAAAAAhY/rb_rnsao_Mo/s320/DSCN2638.JPG" width="228" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here we did a mountain
biking tour of the main canyon, then hiked into some slot canyons that Ryan and
I</span> enjoyed exploring. I took quite some bantering from the bachelor group of
older men who went on the tour with us, but it was all in good fun. They even
shouted my name to hear it echo a clear five times down the canyon at one
location. How flattering. Ryan and I really enjoyed this part of the trip, and
afterwards, even decided to be adventurous and take a different route home,
which also meant we drove our tour guide back to his hometown a good thirty
minutes away from the park. Love Argentina.<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ryan actually drove a
good portion of the way home this time, feeling very confident of his new
manual skills. We drove for hours and only passed one or two cars. The sun
slowly set over the Andes, sending rays scattering down the sides of the
mountains as the shadows grew longer. It was during this drive that we talked
about our love of travel, and how much we want to see right in our backyards in the United
States. This led us to dream of a road trip around the United States, and what
kinds of things we could see in all the different states. That road trip is now
being planned, and I’ll keep you all posted on the adventures that that trip
will undoubtedly lead us to.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For now, stay tuned
for the next installment of my blog a sneak preview of which can be seen below:</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">P.S. This is what happens to bananas when you leave only a portion of them in the sun. Who knew?</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-84974675350844439002013-04-15T14:34:00.000-07:002013-04-15T15:08:52.150-07:00Sola in Bariloche<div class="MsoNormal" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It seemed only fitting
as my second Spring Break comes to a close here in Denver that I write about my
first which took place in September in Argentina. Technically, it wasn’t
actually a Spring Break as we found out a few days before when we were told
classes were still happening that week. Rather, it was just IFSA saying we
should take a week break to travel, (I guess they assume kids like me don’t do
that every weekend anyways). Needless to say, I jumped at the chance.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.travimp.com/images/maps/argentina.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" id="irc_mi" src="http://www.travimp.com/images/maps/argentina.gif" style="margin-top: 84px;" width="251" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The problem was just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where to? </i>Ryan and several of my other
close friends were planning a trip to Machu Piccu Peru, which would have
satisfied my bucket list desire to see the ruins, but was also quickly racking
up quite the price tag since flying, busing, and trains were all involved to
get there.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then of course there
were the girls. Yona had her set plans to visit her US roommate in Chile where
she was also studying abroad, but Lorri and Ale were very much on the fence
like me. Finally, we made the decision to split up. They wanted the culture and
heat of the Jujuy arid landscape with its wondrous hills of seven colors, and I
wanted my mountains, specifically the world-renown views of Bariloche, in the
northern lake district of Patagonia, Argentina. The catch however, is that I
would be traveling alone: 800 miles south, staying in a hostel, and of course,
completely dependent on my Spanish to do it all. Typical me, I bought my bus
tickets and set my sights for Bariloche. Bring it on.</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The bus ride was
twenty hours through mostly desert as we wound our way south. Luckily I find
great entertainment in looking out the window, though the yellow plains that
met my gaze may not have been the normal traveler’s idea of beauty. I am still
so taken aback by the enormity of Argentina, specifically the expansiveness of
those landscapes which have no human scaring upon their faces. No telephone
poles, no roads, no buildings of any kind, which to me brings a sort of beauty
that many places in the US and other well-developed countries cannot replicate.
I remember flying into Argentina, over Chile and across the country to Buenos
Aires, and seeing the darkness below me only intermittently lighted up by city
centers. They were so far and in-between there were times it seemed we were
flying over an ocean rather than land. I found myself gazing out the window of
the bus and recognizing I was on probably the only lonely highway through that
ocean of arid plains, towns only coming into view every four hours or so.
Sometimes more.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I knew we were getting
close to our destination when the landscape suddenly started to change. Water
appeared, a tell-tale sign I was entering the famed “lake district” of
Argentina’s Patagonia. The waters were crystal clear blue, a contrast to the
yellow plains I had just left and a reflection of the cloudless sky above. Then
hills began to form around those lakes, some of which wore crowns of craggily
rocks, water acting as sculptor on their pointy spires. Next thing I knew we
were rounding a bend in the narrow highway and in full sight came one of the
many large lakes for which the region is known, guarded by magnificent snowy
peaks, with the little ski town of Bariloche nestled amongst them on the far
shore. Nerves of traveling alone aside, I was left in wonder for a moment, the
low afternoon sun glittering on the lake and the snowy mountains set in stark
relief with the blue sky above them. I’d made the right choice coming here.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Easily enough, once
the bus had pulled into the terminal, I stepped off the platform to find my
hostel owners Silvia and Cesar, who I would come to call my second host family,
waiting for me with smiling faces. They seemed to understand the fear that can
come with traveling on your own, and Silvia especially did everything possible
to make me feel comfortable at their beautiful hostel named El Quijote, as did
Grandma who also resided there permanently. In return I helped Silvia
throughout the week practice her English skills (she was learning via Google
Translate) and even served as interpreter when her skills failed to help her
understand an Israeli couple who could only speak English and needed a taxi. I
blame Google, not Silvia’s lack of effort, but I nonetheless felt my first hint
of fluency in Spanish when I could successfully communicate easily between the
two languages with both parties walking away satisfied.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gkgtX6vXLJU/UWuDyrgbRtI/AAAAAAAAAZA/gZVvPolRqck/s1600/DSCN1628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gkgtX6vXLJU/UWuDyrgbRtI/AAAAAAAAAZA/gZVvPolRqck/s320/DSCN1628.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A piece of artwork outside the local cathedral.</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After settling into my
new home for the next five nights, and sending a quick e-mail to the parents
and Ryan (the parents being far more cool and collected about the whole thing
than Ryan who was forever worried about my safety), I set out to discover the
town and watch the sunset over the lake and distant mountains. Needless to say,
I was spellbound by Bariloche on sight, and it would turn into a love affair
that would last the whole week.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G_cUKzOvIs0/UWuDyW177tI/AAAAAAAAAY8/A0T6XFfYbd8/s1600/DSCN1624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G_cUKzOvIs0/UWuDyW177tI/AAAAAAAAAY8/A0T6XFfYbd8/s400/DSCN1624.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Sigh*</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day 1: I figured my
first day in Bariloche should be spent seeing and exploring what National
Geographic dubbed “one of the top ten best views in the world.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This view is accessed by climbing Cerro
Campanario, a short bus ride away from the city center. It’s possible to take a
chairlift up to the top but I opted to avoid the 20 peso fee and instead hike
to the top, which, in classic Argentine style, meant a straight up climb for
thirty minutes or so, because who ever believed in switchbacks?</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once at the top
though, the sweat was undoubtedly worth it. Just as National Geographic
promised, I found myself gaping, wide-eyed at this incredible sight:</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">!!!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SdHGq9A5Js4/UWuEk7KDqmI/AAAAAAAAAZc/5k6uY-z58uM/s1600/DSCN1690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SdHGq9A5Js4/UWuEk7KDqmI/AAAAAAAAAZc/5k6uY-z58uM/s320/DSCN1690.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">White capped mountains
under a gloriously clear blue sky reflected in equally glorious deep blue lakes
amongst a lush wooded landscape kept me captivated as I rotated 360 degrees in
wonderment. The day was perfect, sunny but not too hot, and it was all I could
do to take my fingers from my camera and simply accept that the scene could
never be recreated. Instead I decided to get up close and personal with the
landscape by biking Circuito Chico which loops around the largest peninsulas
and connects a few of the islands amongst the lakes.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This ended up being
quite the strenuous endeavor, but I was able to see many of the sights and
vistas that otherwise would have eluded me. I ate lunch on the waters of one of
the lakes, still marveling at the peaceful place I found myself and how
incredibly beautiful everything was. Peaceful that is, until these guys showed
up.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear God!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bariloche, I’ve got to
hand it to you. You’ve got some badass camp robbers. I nearly offered up my
sandwich as tribute just so my fingers would be spared. Scale is obviously a
problem in this picture, but these guys are larger than roosters. Good grief!</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regardless I was still
able to get this very blue shot at my lunch spot before moving on in my bike
tour. I’m proud of my photo timing talents, though I nearly toppled into the
lake at one point trying to get to my pose in time, though that would have made
a great picture.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lqsYee3fUxw/UWuE9VInOeI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/7wWFjIFIl6Y/s1600/DSCN1710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lqsYee3fUxw/UWuE9VInOeI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/7wWFjIFIl6Y/s640/DSCN1710.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cDeoiQUXWKg/UWuFNKYgv9I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/e3Wd7NKokzA/s1600/DSCN1757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_AhM3q6MaHk/UWuFZ_hYDYI/AAAAAAAAAaE/oxcnOcEQd3Q/s1600/DSCN1758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_AhM3q6MaHk/UWuFZ_hYDYI/AAAAAAAAAaE/oxcnOcEQd3Q/s320/DSCN1758.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punto Panoramico with Hotel Llao Llao front and center.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A highlight of my bike
trip around the circuit was Punto Panoramico, a vista which showed another
incredible view of the lakes and surrounding mountains but also prominently
featured Hotel Llao Llao, a five-star resort on the circuit which is famed
internationally for its luxury and (obviously) spectacular setting. Something
to note of course is that Punto Panoramico is a panoramic point (Spanish lesson
101 there folks), which means it has some elevation to it… and I ate lunch on
the beach… so needless to say Lisa got a full work out that day. The level of
difficulty on the circuit, which I was not totally expecting put me a bit
behind schedule, such that I suddenly was concerned about returning my rental
bike on time. This was all the more tragic because at the top of Punto
Panoramico was a small little cafe which was advertising hot chocolate and
waffles. I nearly had to tear myself from the place to get back on the road and
down to the bike shop in the 15 minutes I had left. Barely made it!</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After returning my
bike, I found myself thinking back to that little café and longing to sample
their advertised special. Inquiring with the bike rental employee though, I was
disappointed to learn the next bus wouldn’t be stopping by for another 45
minutes or so given that it was a holiday (some obscure day celebrating
something Argentine’s surely invented to have a day off, as per usual).
Determined to have my waffles though, I set to the one method I could think of
that would get me there within the hour (rather than the uphill climb on foot).
Hitchhiking was of course my practical solution.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now before I get angry
phone calls from concerned family and friends (Ryan was quick to give me a
lecture himself), there are a few things you have to realize about hitchhiking
in southern Argentina – that is, that it’s very common and very safe for
tourists to utilize. Add to that that I am able to speak Spanish, knew exactly
where I was headed not too far up the road, and was on a basically closed
circuit that led straight back into town worst case, I thought the idea was a
brilliant solution to my dilemma. Having mulled all this over, I assuredly
stuck my thumb out on the side of the road and waited, which led to the first
of many lessons this trip would bring:</span></div>
<ul>
<li>T<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">o have
success hitchhiking, all you have to do is smile</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took me a car or
two to figure this out, but once my pearly whites appeared (both rows of course)
a kind gentleman quickly pulled over and asked me where to. He ended up being a
local policeman, so I felt more than safe and we chatted casually as his car
puttered up the hill and he dropped me off at my desired location, smiling and
giving me besos as I left his car. Hitchhiking? No problema.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And besides, it all
ended up being so worth it. I seated myself on the balcony of the café looking out
over the vista that is Bariloche, for a moment absolutely overcome by the
beauty of it all. I ordered my hot chocolate and waffles with berries, then sat
soaking in the sun until the waiter promptly brought out this:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mMLXDx523_Y/UWuFzTJs3II/AAAAAAAAAaM/cKUermOIEjA/s1600/DSCN1769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mMLXDx523_Y/UWuFzTJs3II/AAAAAAAAAaM/cKUermOIEjA/s400/DSCN1769.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sZp3xFGTBYU/UWuF9IxENVI/AAAAAAAAAaU/7CC9a4r3Rd4/s1600/DSCN1770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sZp3xFGTBYU/UWuF9IxENVI/AAAAAAAAAaU/7CC9a4r3Rd4/s320/DSCN1770.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So happy!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Something to note
about the above fare is that 1). Bariloche was originally founded by the
Suisse, and given this background is actually famous for its Swedish chocolate.
Therefore the hot chocolate shown in this picture is not the Swiss Miss powdery
stuff with the petroleum based marshmallows. No this was the real deal, melted
chocolate with just a hint of spice, not unlike in the movie Chocolat and how I
always dreamed it would taste. 2). Argentines do not believe in breakfast,
waffles in the afternoon being a testament to this. Nonetheless, it was still the
best breakfast I had ever had in Argentina regardless of its afternoon
tardiness and may compete with Waffle Brothers for the best of all time (sorry
Illinois). The fresh raspberries and cream nearly made me cry as I sipped my
hot cocoa and looked out over the scenery. It was one of the happiest moments
of my life.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A first day well
spent, I (naturally) hitchhiked back down to the bus station then rode back the
short trip to the city center and my hostel as the sun set, sending orange and
pink hues into the sky. I was near to heaven.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YMyzAZeJpBY/UWuGH_xVEzI/AAAAAAAAAac/x5h0QiQS4qg/s1600/DSCN1776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YMyzAZeJpBY/UWuGH_xVEzI/AAAAAAAAAac/x5h0QiQS4qg/s320/DSCN1776.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day two I decided to
splurge on an organized excursion to see parts of Nahui Huapi national park
that otherwise would have been inaccessible to me, while also seeing the
landscape in one of the best ways possible: by boat.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I purchased my ticket
for a full day tour across the lake and into a more remote location of the park
that featured a beautiful waterfall and a hike to a glacier lake. Unfortunately
the day was considerably colder as the wind had whipped up overnight and
persisted throughout the day, though the sun still shown overhead. I would also
soon discover that not unlike cruising, boating excursions are very appealing
to older tourists. One elderly couple entertained me quite immensely while we
were preparing to cast off from the dock. They, like me, were insistent on
riding on the top deck, regardless of the blustering, chilly wind. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X9SEqTmDVis/UWwraspRieI/AAAAAAAAAaw/1_5Az4qGASU/s1600/DSCN1793.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X9SEqTmDVis/UWwraspRieI/AAAAAAAAAaw/1_5Az4qGASU/s200/DSCN1793.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adorable!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To combat
this, the two were all bundled up to the point where the gentleman was only
showing his eyes which were peeking out from under hoods, hats, scarves, and
headbands. He was insistent though to put on his sunglasses, which were
stubbornly resisting his attempts to fix them securely on his ears, ears that
had disappeared under layers of fleece and wool. His giggling wife offered to
help him and the two broke into fits of laughter when he disappeared behind the
darkened shades to become basically a puffy body of winter wear with no human
features to speak of. I hope they didn’t notice the quick picture I took of
them, but I found their mannerisms to be not only funny, but adorable. After
countless years, they still laughed at one another, and I found my mind
wandering to Ryan who (I was later to find out) had just survived a terrifying
bus trip through the Peruvian Andes. (You can ask him about that when you meet
him).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6BIQWNkn_7c/UWwsLDZm7QI/AAAAAAAAAa4/x4yhp0S4kOk/s1600/DSCN1812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6BIQWNkn_7c/UWwsLDZm7QI/AAAAAAAAAa4/x4yhp0S4kOk/s200/DSCN1812.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BAs8o_Hhen0/UWwsLDRjVoI/AAAAAAAAAa8/uwxFyaWoeng/s1600/DSCN1837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BAs8o_Hhen0/UWwsLDRjVoI/AAAAAAAAAa8/uwxFyaWoeng/s200/DSCN1837.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EeWAnQfBbzM/UWwsMSXFE5I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/vdoD5efQgeY/s1600/DSCN1890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EeWAnQfBbzM/UWwsMSXFE5I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/vdoD5efQgeY/s200/DSCN1890.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After crossing the
main lake to Puerto Blest, and of course after the entertaining game of “feed
the seagulls” who swoop down to take crackers out of outstretched hands from enthralled
passengers (including myself), we all disembarked to view the waterfall and see the glacier lake.
The waterfall was beautiful, and the lake which fed into it even more so, but
my favorite part of the excursion was the glacier lake, in part because I had
the hike to see it all to myself. You see as I mentioned, the vast majority of
passengers on the boat were older, and thus many decided that rather than see
the lake, they’d rather take media tarde at the little tea house which operates
at Puerto Blest. I therefore had the trail, which was more of a road, all to
myself which wound alongside a glacier green river that flowed from the lake to
Puerto Blest. The foliage was thick and green and, with almost a rainforest like
feel, moss covered the trees and forest floor. Having left the group, I found myself
confronted with silence, aside from the river passing over rocks and downed
logs and the occasional chirp from an unseen bird. It was during this tranquil
time that I really reflected on being in this place alone and how, though I am
an extrovert, I get as much of my energy from the sun and nature as from other
people. In short, I found myself to be one happy hiker.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zFtxWczcCiw/UWwsLfRQ7dI/AAAAAAAAAbA/uvHP_-7GAXA/s1600/DSCN1867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zFtxWczcCiw/UWwsLfRQ7dI/AAAAAAAAAbA/uvHP_-7GAXA/s400/DSCN1867.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OkFhW7ZXwdY/UWwsM213c7I/AAAAAAAAAbY/8_GU3hSLSkU/s1600/DSCN1915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OkFhW7ZXwdY/UWwsM213c7I/AAAAAAAAAbY/8_GU3hSLSkU/s400/DSCN1915.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lago Frias</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MLDxeCbOoMk/UWwsMx1Z9SI/AAAAAAAAAbc/00ALa4G4Nyw/s1600/DSCN1922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MLDxeCbOoMk/UWwsMx1Z9SI/AAAAAAAAAbc/00ALa4G4Nyw/s320/DSCN1922.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The glacier lake, appropriately
named Lago Frias, appeared after some thirty minutes or so of hiking through
the woods and it was a mesmerizing shade of green due to the rock particles
reflecting light within it. Above, Mount Tronador, the largest mountain in the
area and the guardian of the Chilean- Argentine border, displayed her enormous glaciers
and craggily rock faces. I was a ways distant from the mountain itself, and so
the size of the ice flows were difficult to comprehend, though “grande” was an
obvious description. I was able to sit and enjoy the scene for a brief while,
during which time a cute little bird similar to a finch joined me in
contemplation, ruffling his feathers and tweeting a tune before flying away
again. Content, and with a sigh of awe at the unfailing beauty of this place, I
left Lago Frias to head back to the boat, and back towards Bariloche.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_QoPE_2ZQ4/UWwsNaDhiOI/AAAAAAAAAbo/npe1UM71ZlQ/s1600/DSCN1938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_QoPE_2ZQ4/UWwsNaDhiOI/AAAAAAAAAbo/npe1UM71ZlQ/s320/DSCN1938.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puerto Blest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lJytEdIO-GU/UWwsNxBoZ5I/AAAAAAAAAbw/WsK8jVdBSgE/s1600/DSCN1947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lJytEdIO-GU/UWwsNxBoZ5I/AAAAAAAAAbw/WsK8jVdBSgE/s320/DSCN1947.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As Puerto Blest
receded behind us, I noticed an interesting phenomenon occurring around the
lake. What was so clear and picturesque that morning had turned to a brownish
haze, and the horizon of white-capped mountains which were so clear yesterday
had disappeared. Upon quizzing my new found hostel family about it, they
informed me that just a few years ago, a large volcanic eruption not far from
Bariloche in the Chilean Andes had covered the area in ash. That ash is still
being blown around, and thus on windy days in particular, the hazy affect I had
witnessed occurs. Hearing this was rather a creepy experience; I had forgotten
how many active volcanos still do erupt in the area. The Andes never cease to
amaze me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xFjR4DLnfxA/UWwtrwrLZeI/AAAAAAAAAb4/LSABb9iM46k/s1600/DSCN1949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xFjR4DLnfxA/UWwtrwrLZeI/AAAAAAAAAb4/LSABb9iM46k/s320/DSCN1949.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The South face of Mount Tronodor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day Three I was
convinced by the nice lady at the tourism agency who helped me book my boat
excursion to purchase a second excursion, this one taking me to see Mount Tronodor
up close and personal within the national park. I was excited for the
opportunity since there is no public transportation to this part of the park
itself and the opportunity provided me a great deal of practice speaking
Spanish and translating for others. And Mount Tronodor as I mentioned, is quite
the spectacle to witness. You see, Tronodor means “thunderer” in Spanish and
sure enough, as the group of us hikers was walking along to get up close and
personal with the mountain, we heard the grinding, crashing sound of thunder
echo ominously through the trees. “Tronodor, thunder” our guide says grinning
and as we entered a clearing, we were confronted by a huge cliff, upon which
perched an enormous glacier. Broken chunks of ice (still large enough to give
the Long’s Peak boulder field a run for its money) lay strewn below, evidence
of the calving above which created, you guessed it, Tronodor.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHXX2wzYTy0/UWwvLUCBNFI/AAAAAAAAAcE/3yghF3tPgek/s1600/DSCN1960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHXX2wzYTy0/UWwvLUCBNFI/AAAAAAAAAcE/3yghF3tPgek/s400/DSCN1960.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This cliff and glacier behind me are HUGE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2ZSyEkWxRQ/UWwvLCBBaVI/AAAAAAAAAcA/TAgdWq8l-5I/s1600/DSCN1956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2ZSyEkWxRQ/UWwvLCBBaVI/AAAAAAAAAcA/TAgdWq8l-5I/s320/DSCN1956.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calve baby calve!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As an aside, my sister
created her own definition of Tronodor which you can probably guess at, but I’ll
leave that story for my blog regarding Patagonia. (I know how excited you all
are for that).</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PL0VNbWV0v0/UWwxaz1g1LI/AAAAAAAAAcc/Y8aFahM3Urk/s1600/DSCN1977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PL0VNbWV0v0/UWwxaz1g1LI/AAAAAAAAAcc/Y8aFahM3Urk/s400/DSCN1977.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup, that dirty mess is a glacier!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The mountain and
hanging glacier were certainly impressive, and we were all sure to stay a
distance back from the landing zone of any potential ice blocks the size of
houses. We ate lunch slowly, hoping to witness such an event, but alas, no luck
for us that day. Instead, we hiked back to the van which then took us via a
very bouncy broken dirt road to the Black Glacier viewpoint, another quite impressive
sight. A large hanging glacier above calves and crashes to the rock below,
effectively breaking large amounts of rock and mixing it with ice, which
creates the larger flow below into ice mixed with black chunks of rock – effectively,
the Black Glacier. The glacier once extended all the way to the viewing point,
but has receded drastically since and instead a large green lake sits in front
with blackened icebergs the size of the double-decker bus I’d come to Bariloche
in floating around. It was quite the sight. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X0mGYM3agBc/UWwxa9T267I/AAAAAAAAAcU/aT5IQA_4Cio/s1600/DSCN1975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X0mGYM3agBc/UWwxa9T267I/AAAAAAAAAcU/aT5IQA_4Cio/s400/DSCN1975.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floating buses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Driving back the sun was slowly
setting over the mountains and a golden glow was reflected on the surfaces of
the lakes. On the van’s radio, the slow, smooth voice of Louis Armstrong summed
up my day perfectly, “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-svkssVoGxrE/UWwxbMcr95I/AAAAAAAAAcY/i-dlhmq376I/s1600/DSCN1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-svkssVoGxrE/UWwxbMcr95I/AAAAAAAAAcY/i-dlhmq376I/s640/DSCN1995.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't it though?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day four I set out to
see the ski slopes of Bariloche, but found myself in a bit of a predicament. I
was actually at the resort for closing weekend, but ticket prices were still a
whopping $60 for the day. Hiking meanwhile, was free, but of course the snow
that still covered the top of the mountain greatly restricted how much I could
do so. Bummed, I decided to head back to the city center to think of something
else creative to do for the day.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I chose to be the
tourist that I really was for starters by buying a few postcards and then heading
to Mamushka, the original, very famous, Swiss chocolatier. Inside, I was met
with the exotic and rich aroma of fresh chocolate, made all the more
mouthwatering when I noticed the free samples being given out. I decided on the
spot that chocolates were to be the souvenir of the trip, so I selected a few
different varieties for the Chicas to try, as well as Ryan and even a little
box for my parents who were arriving in a couple weeks. Oh, and of course some
for myself. This process was a bit difficult, as there is a jargon in the
chocolate world which is difficult to decipher in Spanish, but hey! Samples
communicate well. :)</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After making all my
purchases, (I should note my chocolate hearts for Ryan were quite trumped by
the Peruvian, hand woven, llama wool blanket he brought me as a souvenir), I
found myself still at a loss for what I wanted to do, when an idea suddenly hit
me.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Rushing back to the
hostel, I put on my best outfit (jeans, a sweater, and unfortunately tennis
shoes), then called over to Hotel Llao Llao to make a reservation for one for
afternoon tea. At a whopping 35 dollars, this experience was the most
luxurious I would partake in while in Bariloche, and perhaps while abroad since
the only other experiences coming close to competing would be the Salentien
bodega and the seafood dinner Ryan took me to in Chile. This tea included an
all-you-can-eat buffet of cute finger sandwiches and succulent deserts. I
helped myself to three different plates and enjoyed an iced tea of passion
fruit and citrus, all while looking out the window at the beauty of the lakes
and mountains, which you’ve probably heard too much of at this point. The
interior of the hotel itself reminded me of the Four Seasons where my cousins Sarah
and Will work, with a feel of utter luxury and hospitality. After hiking for
three days straight, I felt pretty pampered.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ch9DDqI4YYo/UWxt84yy3FI/AAAAAAAAAdA/hDKfweZtsKo/s1600/DSCN2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ch9DDqI4YYo/UWxt84yy3FI/AAAAAAAAAdA/hDKfweZtsKo/s400/DSCN2018.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fPQ5-LzgfnU/UWxt8QM9cFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/GZSpixxb12A/s1600/DSCN2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fPQ5-LzgfnU/UWxt8QM9cFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/GZSpixxb12A/s400/DSCN2016.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The food and tea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YUnDCzHRe6E/UWxvrF_MgwI/AAAAAAAAAdI/nqg4dlRCZ80/s1600/DSCN2045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YUnDCzHRe6E/UWxvrF_MgwI/AAAAAAAAAdI/nqg4dlRCZ80/s320/DSCN2045.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Refugio Cerro Lopez nestled high above the lakes below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Day five was my last
day in Bariloche, and guess what I did? You guessed it! Hiked. This time it was
to visit a refugio on Cerro Lopez, one of the white capped peaks in the area. I
hadn’t heard of the refugio system until I arrived in Bariloche, but they are
basically mountain huts that hikers can hike up to in the summer and stay at
for free. The huts are deceptively large, with kitchen space and lots of bunks
to accommodate backpackers. Hiking Cerro Lopez, I was able to investigate the
route to one such Refugio, and vowed I would come back to stay there as well as
the one on Mount Tronodor, which sits level with the glacier I stared up at
during my excursion to the mountain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> hike up Cerro
Lopez offered more amazing views of the lakes as well as sightings of condors spiraling</span> <span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">above the mountain peaks. Eventually, after climbing a considerable ways, I was
met with snow, and after I reached knee depth of snow, I decided to turn around.
Hiking by yourself has its dangers and I wasn’t about to have a repeat of my
last snow hiking experience when I fell in to snow up to my neck. Luckily at
that time I had my roommate Laura to help me out, but this time I decided to be
more cautious. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-360nqmACS3o/UWxvrg6h3EI/AAAAAAAAAdU/Mj3J4qKB0Ow/s1600/DSCN2030.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-360nqmACS3o/UWxvrg6h3EI/AAAAAAAAAdU/Mj3J4qKB0Ow/s640/DSCN2030.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For something completely different, it was super pretty!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After hiking down by a different route, I hitchhiked my way to
Colonial Suisa, which was the original colony in the area. Here I rested and
enjoyed one last cup of real hot cocoa before deciding to make my way back to
the city center. However on the way back I decided to make one last stop at
Punto Panoramico where I greeted a woman I had noticed there before selling
mates (the traditional tea cup/pot of Argentina) at the side of the road.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HWIw65Izbs4/UWxvrd_IT5I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/Lj5FQbUsbiw/s1600/DSCN2071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HWIw65Izbs4/UWxvrd_IT5I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/Lj5FQbUsbiw/s320/DSCN2071.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now I wonder which evil villain has my mate twin?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-360nqmACS3o/UWxvrg6h3EI/AAAAAAAAAdU/Mj3J4qKB0Ow/s1600/DSCN2030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A quick note about mates:
they are basically a staple of Argentine culture. Argentine’s drink Yerba,
which is a loose-leaf tea, from the mate by using a bombilla, which is like a
straw. The mate, which is traditionally made from a gourd, though glass models
are increasingly becoming more common, is passed around a group of friends,
students, family, etc. as a collective drink. And yes, you share the same bombilla.
Therefore, this critical part of Argentine culture is also a critical part of
becoming Argentine: you must own a mate. This is not done easily however,
because just like the wands in Harry Potter, you do not choose the mate, the
mate chooses you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CNjksfnhmnI/UWxvsJoSXEI/AAAAAAAAAdg/zcODszEuDk8/s1600/DSCN2074.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CNjksfnhmnI/UWxvsJoSXEI/AAAAAAAAAdg/zcODszEuDk8/s320/DSCN2074.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not surprisingly then,
in this beautiful place at this beautiful point, my mate found me. A
traditional guard with traditional silverwork decorating it in a simple style,
I fell in love and purchased my mate and bombilla. Then, with a content, but
heavy heart I headed back to the city, where my wonderful hostel family had
prepared a fish fresh caught from the lakes as a sendoff dinner for me and we
shared a bottle of wine I bought. How I miss them.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next day, I
watched the sun set, the full moon rise over the desolate Argentine plains, and
finally the sun rise in a full cycle as the twenty hour bus journey back to
Mendoza came to an end. My conclusion from the whole experience was this: There
are moments in your life you will always remember. They may have cost money,
time, sweat, or tears, but ultimately, because they’re unforgettable, they are
priceless. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will never forget my
week solo in Bariloche.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P710EwGajVk/UWxxxBuZecI/AAAAAAAAAdo/hZvA2I2_fMQ/s1600/DSCN1721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P710EwGajVk/UWxxxBuZecI/AAAAAAAAAdo/hZvA2I2_fMQ/s400/DSCN1721.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bwdgFjvEYNI/UWxx8LvZPjI/AAAAAAAAAdw/VZxBDelPZxw/s1600/Lisa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Up next, the first in
the November Trilogy – Road Trip! Lisa Braves Six Hours of Argentine Highway
Driving. Sneak photo of where this road trip led to below…</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vf4-4qolzcA/UWxyJQDb_bI/AAAAAAAAAd4/h9RYHMtnm5s/s1600/DSCN2644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vf4-4qolzcA/UWxyJQDb_bI/AAAAAAAAAd4/h9RYHMtnm5s/s640/DSCN2644.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-21027723341388568322013-02-10T21:27:00.001-08:002013-03-17T20:37:14.464-07:00October: A Crazy Month in Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9U4nNCvBCQ/URiAPq9pTyI/AAAAAAAAAYE/A614cymY388/s1600/DSCN2142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sitting in my
apartment in Denver is much different than my bright green bedroom in Mendoza
as far as this blog is concerned. I’ve been back in the States for a bit over a
month now and there’s definitely been some ups and downs as far as readjusting
to life at DU.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First of all, what’s
up with this homework business? You mean I have to keep up on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">schoolwork</i> now? What is this madness?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Second, why are people
in bed and clubs shutting down at 2am? Don’t you realize you’re missing out on
lots of South American clientele?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And along those lines… Where’s
my 18 peso wine? (Approximately $3).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These among other
things are just a few of what erk me as I make the transition back to an “American”
life here in Colorado.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Luckily what I am
grateful for is that Ryan and I are as happy as ever together and make a point
of trying to get outside as much as possible, just like we did in Mendoza.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DG7c6h0cDzI/URh85eX368I/AAAAAAAAAWk/e_9g9KxBDAA/s1600/Ryan&Lisa.jpg.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DG7c6h0cDzI/URh85eX368I/AAAAAAAAAWk/e_9g9KxBDAA/s320/Ryan&Lisa.jpg.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Snowshoeing in RMNP
for example (see right).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This blog is actually
about my crazy month of October while in Argentina which included all of the
following and consequently explains my lack of postings during the month:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>My first mid-term
exam</b>: This was a terrifying experience because it was for my hardest class
(being the only exchange student makes things far more difficult) and it’s over
complex topics and ideas (criminology, the definition of crime and how society
creates it). What was more stressful was the exam format consisted of four
short answer questions, which were given to all of us students <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">orally</i>. So I had the added bonus of a
Spanish listening test which more or less deteremined my success on the actual
exam even before I could prove any of my knowledge about Criminology. Needless
to say, I was pretty ecstatic when I managed to pull off a C+ on the exam.
Phew! Who knew I’d be proud of being average?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Q1PHLOZtC0/URh97axor3I/AAAAAAAAAW0/BdGE-jMZF1k/s1600/DSCN2104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Q1PHLOZtC0/URh97axor3I/AAAAAAAAAW0/BdGE-jMZF1k/s320/DSCN2104.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Oktoberfest in
Córdoba</b>: No I didn’t make a trip to Germany, Argentina actually supports a
large European population, and among that population are a considerable amount
of Germans. This population especially surged after WWII though we spotted no
swastikas luckily at the event. We traveled overnight to Cordoba, where
Oktoberfest occurs due to the German-majority population, which is a lovely
city that is actually the second largest in the country. Oktoberfest was quite
the cultural blending of Argentine meets German (now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> made for some interesting accents) and we had quite a bit of
fun trying various beers and watching various performances of German(ish)
origin. (The CanCan dancers were questionable, though it made for probably the
best Paul picture ever – Paul being my friend who believes in awkward
selfies/photos with anyone/anything that’s made remotely awkward by his goofy
grin – and this all the better because he dragged poor embarrassed Ryan into it
too). </span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N1XxhaTj6IQ/URh98AldOMI/AAAAAAAAAW8/2YtRtisKf9k/s1600/DSCN2107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N1XxhaTj6IQ/URh98AldOMI/AAAAAAAAAW8/2YtRtisKf9k/s320/DSCN2107.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yessssss</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Strawberry beer was my favorite, but due to the price of the beer and
the relentless rain that started to pour, we headed back to the main city a
little earlier than expected. This actually made for one of the more exciting
events of the night, which was the nail-biting mini-bus ride back in which Ryan
and I seated ourselves in the front row, then proceeded to cling on to one
another as the extremity of the weather became more apparent (as in torrents of
rain, lightening, and hydroplaning).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A tip from your
friendly Argentine mini-bus driver – If ever your windshield fogs up due to the
20 some passengers in your care and you don’t have a Defraust option (come on
now these are Renaults were talking about), don’t hesitate to pull out a towel
and wipe down the windshield on the inside. Do not stop driving. Do not slow
down. Just use quick fluid movements while standing over the steering wheel in
order to clear your windshield and continue driving through any freakish,
hellish storm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Watching our bus
driver do this I could only think of the giant dam we had crossed over to get to
the festival and the giant drop on the side we would be crossing on. Poor Ryan’s
fingers were probably crushed from my gripping them. Luckily we managed to make
it back safe and sound (must have been all the good ale the driver sampled).
Just kidding!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Buscando Nemo was
another highlight of this trip (Finding Nemo in Spanish) and resulted in
hilarity from us Estadounidense folks that had the Argentines scratching their
heads wondering where the humor was. Some things just don’t translate (right
dad?) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oui missiour!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lots of sightseeing of the city was fun for all of us including an array of art museums and beautiful churches.</span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rJENZ1vUSWo/URh99Omqb1I/AAAAAAAAAXI/ru-FCOr3wFw/s1600/DSCN2113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rJENZ1vUSWo/URh99Omqb1I/AAAAAAAAAXI/ru-FCOr3wFw/s320/DSCN2113.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the adorable citizens of Córdoba</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-je7r4iVqKBI/URh97o2jfPI/AAAAAAAAAWw/EpNqJG6gGEY/s1600/DSCN2095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-je7r4iVqKBI/URh97o2jfPI/AAAAAAAAAWw/EpNqJG6gGEY/s320/DSCN2095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the beautiful churches of Córdoba</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F5J0J-UxWKk/URiAQ3T6OEI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/ygu0uvJwrnk/s1600/DSCN2173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F5J0J-UxWKk/URiAQ3T6OEI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/ygu0uvJwrnk/s200/DSCN2173.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We also found a sweet park that featured an art project with 200 large circles commemorating the bicentennial of the city. (Big kid playground anyone? Ryan and I think so.)</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9U4nNCvBCQ/URiAPq9pTyI/AAAAAAAAAYE/A614cymY388/s1600/DSCN2142.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9U4nNCvBCQ/URiAPq9pTyI/AAAAAAAAAYE/A614cymY388/s200/DSCN2142.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0b_tLUrhgEc/URiAQggElfI/AAAAAAAAAYM/pB2dHTgx01s/s1600/DSCN2174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0b_tLUrhgEc/URiAQggElfI/AAAAAAAAAYM/pB2dHTgx01s/s200/DSCN2174.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hRw3sbaFaI8/URh9-94vF9I/AAAAAAAAAXY/w-yskdH6-9c/s1600/DSCN2187.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hRw3sbaFaI8/URh9-94vF9I/AAAAAAAAAXY/w-yskdH6-9c/s400/DSCN2187.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I also committed my first act of graffiti-ing.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another nondescript
memory from Cordoba was a fun night out dancing late on the town before leaving
for home in Mendoza. Lisa learned in this instance how Vodka affects her and
how she should probably not drink that much again to avoid the silliness that
ensued. Ryan agrees (though he does a marvelous job of keeping track of me
somehow when I’m bound and determined to meet and be friends with everyone in
the club).
But that’s enough of that story…</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">October also consisted
of Mom and Dad arriving in Mendoza (see their guest post below) as well as
general day-to-day hilarity with the Chicas (we never stop inventing ways to be
silly and have fun) as well as adventures with Ryan (such as adopting two stray
dogs via hot dogs and playing with them in the park all night). Ryan and I also
joined a local swimming pool along with my incredible friend Erin Hecht in
order to prepare for our Aconcagua trek (more on that later). I subsequently
proved my athletic ability in this way while humbling my run-twelve-miles-a-day-baseball-tennis-football-soccer-playing-heck-of-an-athlete-boyfriend.
He’ll be able to do a full 50 meter free soon enough!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Stay tuned for more
blogs in the future (though I know they may come far and in-between). Up next:
Sola in Bariloche – Lisa takes a week to herself to explore Argentina’s Lake
District in Northern Patagonia. (Sneak peek photo below).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pRfHbLuIUT8/URiBJyb5iZI/AAAAAAAAAYg/GINcbWVOEbU/s1600/DSCN0006_01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pRfHbLuIUT8/URiBJyb5iZI/AAAAAAAAAYg/GINcbWVOEbU/s640/DSCN0006_01.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-27142064658662656062012-12-21T12:16:00.003-08:002013-04-14T21:51:29.114-07:00I'll Be Home for Christmas<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Five months ago I
started out into a journey of a lifetime. I was excited and nervous, happy yet
homesick. Now I find myself once again in Miami, humming to the Christmas
carols being played throughout the airport and savoring my Chinese takeout.
Everything is so blatantly different from Mendoza, and I find myself already
experiencing reverse culture shock. The most obvious of these shocks is the
language. I hadn’t realized how much I’d learned to like hearing Spanish all
around me and now I’m startled by the fact that I can understand perfectly what
others are saying (and no, lady in security behind me, nobody but your friend
wants to hear about your latest plastic surgery). When I do hear Spanish I
strain to hang on to its melodic tones and even surprised the Hispanic woman
who served me my Orange Chicken by ordering in Spanish. Luckily Miami provides
a nice cushion in this way, just as it provided my first slap in the face when
I entered the international terminal five months ago.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My experience in
Argentina will undoubtedly be one of the highlights of my life and there are a
multitude of memories and stories I have yet to record on this blog. Therefore
I offer this disclaimer: the writings of Lisa en Argentina will continue (if
just for my own personal record and amusement) though I am, indeed, no longer
en Argentina.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If you should care to
continue following my ramblings however, such titles as these will soon be
appearing:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">October: A crazy month
in review</span></b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sola in Bariloche</span></b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The November Trilogy:</span></b><br />
<ol>
<li><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Road Trip! Lisa Braves
Six Hours of Argentine Highway Driving</span></b></li>
<li><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aconcagua – Reaching Base
Camp of the Western Hemisphere’s Highest Mountain</span></b> </span></b></li>
<li><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Beaches of Chile</span></b></li>
</ol>
</div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Election, Finals,
and Thanksgiving in Argentina</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and of course…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nTZv5tH0CDE/UNTDiv0PgUI/AAAAAAAAAU8/jULCnH6AUz8/s1600/DSCN2485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nTZv5tH0CDE/UNTDiv0PgUI/AAAAAAAAAU8/jULCnH6AUz8/s640/DSCN2485.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>The Two Badass Blondes
of Colorado Show Patagonia how it’s Done.</b> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All these (and
potentially more) are still to come, so stay warm, have a wonderful holiday
season, and if you should like, check out my continued ramblings as I finish up
some of my favorite stories from my five unforgettable months abroad. Time to
board for home sweet home!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-86937880507640217402012-11-10T17:52:00.000-08:002012-11-10T17:59:27.641-08:00The Gringo Parents Meet Argentina - Guest Blogger - Ken Parker<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoPlainText">
Well, we recently returned to our local maelstrom from
our respite in Mendoza, after 10 days and 11,000 miles. Oh, did I mention we
saw Lisa there??</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgK81ceo9j4/UJ7-CthAc2I/AAAAAAAAAUQ/FkeanPU_1DY/s1600/DSCN2311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgK81ceo9j4/UJ7-CthAc2I/AAAAAAAAAUQ/FkeanPU_1DY/s320/DSCN2311.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My social work class is not nearly as difficult as flying internationally</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Yes, we highly recommend that if you visit a foreign
country where you can't speak a word, you should send and advance scouting
party down there 3 months in advance to make the proper preparations, become
fluent in the lingo, and learn the points of interest within easy distances.
This was Lisa's job!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here's a quick day-by-day diary.</div>
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<br /></div>
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1) Saturday: Leave midday for the Denver airport. There,
the first seeds of destruction are sown by an American Airlines baggage clerk
who told us we could not check our bags clear to Mendoza, but had to pick them
up in Santiago (Chile) and hand-port them to the LAN airline desk. (Wrong!!) We
did as she said, unfortunately. The weird AA printer also printed out some
paper fragments that constituted our itinerary, updated since LAN had changed
some key flights a day or so before. (Surprise!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then spent around 2 hours on the cell
phone calling Expedia and AA to find out what was going on. Long story short,
we got out of Denver basically on time, but the flight to Dallas was delayed by
bad weather. When we got there we had less than 30 minutes to change to the
next AA flight. Luckily, they moved our arrival gate to the same terminal as
the departure, so we had to (literally) run 400 yard (17 gates) to our next
flight. Pant! Gasp! We departed basically on time, wondering if our luggage
made the connection. Now to settle in for 9.5 hours of airborn pleasure...</div>
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<br /></div>
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2) Sunday morning we approached Santiago, and landed
basically on time.</div>
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However, the LAN connection was moved up, so we had
around 90 minutes to find it, but first, get our bags. Where are they?? We got
to the LAN desk and the girl there (barely fluent) assured us our bags would be
transferred, but we needed to stay at her desk to get our new bag tags. This
would take a while, but as she called the baggage desk, I (barely) heard her
say to ship them to Cordoba, not Mendoza. EGADS! I showed her our tickets and
she (sheepishly)called back to get them on the right plane. Sheesh! Our tags
arrived about 15 minutes before departure and we raced to the security area,
which was empty, and then to our gate (luckily) close by. We took off basically
on time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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3) Later Sunday morning we climbed over the Andes
Mountains which were mostly visible above the coastal fog. WOW, they are really
big and really snowy/icy, with prominent glaciers. COOL! After around 45
minutes we were on the other side, coasting into Mendoza. Lots (LOTS!) of
vineyards easily visible from the air. We slid into Mendoza, basically on time.
Then there was the customs line, and our fears about our luggage to contend
with. Long story short, we got into the country and (Voila') found our bags!!!
Around another corner (and X-ray station) we found Lisa! Hooray!</div>
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<br /></div>
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4) Lisa, like a mother hen, shepherded us to the taxi
line, and off we went to central Mendoza. Just like that. No language problems!
Around 25 minutes later (and 60 pesos) we were at our hotel, a very small
boutique hotel with just 11 rooms. Very nice, more like a B&B. We met
Walter and Amir, our hosts who became very helpful friends. Then Lisa took us
to lunch at an outdoor café. The weather was perfect, and Sundays in Argentina
are very laid-back.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LmufmNHSO_Q/UJ797p0ViVI/AAAAAAAAATg/mqYbSVVv-Z0/s1600/DSCN2250.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LmufmNHSO_Q/UJ797p0ViVI/AAAAAAAAATg/mqYbSVVv-Z0/s320/DSCN2250.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad meet "The Chicas"</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoPlainText">
We then found an ATM for our first (of many) Peso
conversions. No problems.</div>
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Rough rule of thumb: $1(US) is 5 Argentine pesos.
Weirdly, they use the $ sign too.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
5) Later that day after unpacking and figuring out our
hotel, Lisa took us, and the 6 (SIX) boxes of Jiffy Corn Bread mix we lugged
down, to her host mother's home (Dina is her name). It's about 20 minutes by
shank's ponies.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
We soon learned we would do a LOT of walking that
week...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we met a bunch of Lisa's
friends and her host family (Dina, son Rodrigo and his son, 'Jim'). The
excitement was immense, over the 6 boxes of cornbread mix. Lisa has promised
everyone "Corn Pancakes" and off she and her friends went to get
cooking. They ordered out Empanada's for us Gringos. They were really good!
Amazingly, all the pancakes, empanadas and 18 eggs were consumed -- not a crumb
left over!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch at the bodega</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoPlainText">
6) Monday, Lisa arranged a bike ride day for us south of
town out in wine country. We were picked up and transported maybe 10 miles to a
bike rental place (Hugo's) and we picked out our trusty steeds. The road headed
west. It was very narrow (like 18 feet with no shoulders) and infested with 18
wheelers and busses, but otherwise peaceful and tranquil. We decided to head to
the end of the route and work our way back. The first stop was an olive orchard
where they raise and bottle olive oil. Our host there was a very nice local
girl who spoke English very well. We got a tour and had some snacks. We then
headed back, to sample some wineries along the way. That's when my bike broke
down, and we found ourselves walking on that same road, pushing our bikes.
After a mile or so we found a gas station, but like any</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
7/11 here, they had no tools. A helpful truck driver
attempted to fix my bike with his toolset, but could not. Luckily, the station
attendent called the rental place, and Hugo came out a few minutes later with a
new bike for me, so we soldiered on to the Tempus Alba winery for lunch. The
Andes mountains loomed in the distance, all snowy white as we lunched on the
deck. Really nice. We got back to Hugo's without futher
incident and then back to Mendoza. Lisa had been at class that day, and we had
dinner with her and some friends (as we did most nights). Dinner often starts
around 10pm.</div>
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<br /></div>
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7) Tuesday, Lisa took us into the (large!) foothills to a
Hot Spring resort.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O0r52VmWkg8/UJ79-qDCBjI/AAAAAAAAATw/gC-3mLpx7eg/s1600/DSCN2257.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O0r52VmWkg8/UJ79-qDCBjI/AAAAAAAAATw/gC-3mLpx7eg/s320/DSCN2257.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I told them they were large...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We took a bus up there and paid a modest fee to get in.
(This saved us a bundle over what the hotel wanted to set us up with.) Very
nice. The foothills west of Mendoza are tall (probably 12,000 feet) and very
dry, like Nevada. From Mendoza itself you cannot see the snowy Andes behind the
foothills.</div>
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<br /></div>
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8) Wednesday, Lisa sent us on a hiking trip, starting
with a van ride to a sporting company's base camp in the foothills. From there
a group of us split into rafting, horseback riding, zip-lining and hiking
groups. Jana and I had our own private hiking guide and we rode up the road a
ways to a very non-descript pullout where we jumped out and started (straight)
up the mountainside to a hidden trail. This then began to follow a small but
very swift brook (spring fed) and after a while we came to a nice waterfall.</div>
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After some pictures, we took another route back to the
road where the van was waiting. Back at the base we had lunch, and later
returned to Mendoza. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking in the Andes</td></tr>
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A note about the countryside: very pretty, with lots of
trees (irrigated) along both sides of each road. There is apparently no such
thing as a road without shade. And the wineries are everywhere, probably 1,000s
of square miles; a huge operation.</div>
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9) Thursday, we stayed in town. Lisa took us to the large
park that contains one of the local universities (60,000 students). While she
went to class, we took a quick tour that brought us up to the top of a
"hill" on the west side of town (3,000 feet high) where there is a
monument to the liberator (San Martin) of three South American countries. A really big,
cool sculpture sat on top. The guide spoke English, and he devoted his skills
to 2 words: "twenty minutes", meaning the time to view the
sculpture. Oh, well...</div>
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10) Friday, we went to the local shopping district (oh
Joy!) and browsed around, and had lunch at a local café. We kept things simple
that day.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad drinking mate</td></tr>
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11) Saturday, Lisa took us to the bus station and we got
a local bus (many stops) to a town south of Mendoza, where we picked up a
cab to the Salentein Bodega (winery). This is a spectacular location but
because of of the overcast, we could not see too much of the Andes, which are
quite near and very white. We took a tour of the winery after lunching there.
Nice. And the cabbie waited for us to take us back to town. He spoke great
English, had lived in New Jersey for a while and his son was in Tulsa Oklahoma
learning to be a pilot. He gave us the local 'color'. An express bus took us
home again.</div>
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12) Sunday, we had a picnic in the big park and spent
some time at Dina's, learning about "Ma The" (a tea custom from the
aboriginal peoples); all very laid back.</div>
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13) Monday, this was our day to get ready for our return,
and Lisa had her spanish class. Because of a special project that day, her
class was learning about local music customs, so we went along and sat in the
back of class. One presentation involved bringing in a local singer to
present some folk songs. This young man could put Pavorati to shame -- we
expect to see him on TV some day. Very interesting...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LpnJHolYrpc/UJ7-A2r5pJI/AAAAAAAAAUA/0VJOT07iPbg/s1600/DSCN2295.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LpnJHolYrpc/UJ7-A2r5pJI/AAAAAAAAAUA/0VJOT07iPbg/s320/DSCN2295.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing Mom and Dad around Parque San Martín</td></tr>
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14) Tuesday, Lisa stayed the night in our room for our
6am rising time to get to the Mendoza airport (after breakfast). She saw us to
the LAN desk and off we went to Buenos Aires. Note, LAN had rescheduled our
original flight to land in BA AFTER our AA flight was due to leave, so we had
to untangle that mess earlier. Once we got to BA, we had to take a hired car to
cross the town to get to the international airport. But that went smoothly and
we eventually got onto our AA flight to Dallas. Ironically, that flight headed
west back over Mendoza and turned north near Santiago, so we retraced those
miles for 11.5 hours of fun-packed flying (over the newly forming Hurricane
Sandy), a bit bumpy.</div>
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15) Wednesday, we got to Dallas at 6am, and then Denver,
and finally Fort Collins around noon, and still too early for bed, after 32
hours...</div>
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What a trip!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OfEZfGIcq9c/UJ7-DiT7Y1I/AAAAAAAAAUY/KXgHw13k44I/s1600/DSCN2319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OfEZfGIcq9c/UJ7-DiT7Y1I/AAAAAAAAAUY/KXgHw13k44I/s400/DSCN2319.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting the Plazas in the city centro</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous gates of Parque San Martín</td></tr>
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-ken and jana-</div>
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Ok so now for the real story... just kidding! Overall I thought Mom and Dad did really well faring in a country where they don't speak the language, dinner starts at 10 and lasts 2 hours, and toilet paper is quite the commodity. For me it was fun pointing out all the things I've become used to and seeing their reactions, such as slow waitresses, lots of walking, and the craziness of Argentine drivers.</div>
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That being said, dad did fail to mention the story of the "Monkey Cafe" where thanks to a little miscommunication on my part, we ended up with an enormous array of food (usually shared by like 8 people) and including such lovely dishes as cow tongue and other squishy looking things. He also didn't mention how we improvised doggy bags by using the plastic bags their souvenir t-shirts had come in to scoop the ham, salami, cheese, and finger sandwiches into to save for later (hence why dinner was not mentioned that night). We left the cow tongue, etc. (Dela I know this is a crime).</div>
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We also had an Argentine Asado dad forgot to mention, where mom and dad got to sample all the best Argentine beef cuts and I tried the kidney. There will not be a repeat of that experience.</div>
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Mom also got spoiled a bit as Mother's Day happened to fall during the time that they visited (it is spring in Mendoza). So I brought over a rose and some wine to share and cuddled with my mommy who I missed so much. I'd say they planned the perfect time to be here. </div>
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Mom and dad also got to witness Lisa drinking (Gasp!) which also led to some generally hilarity at the restaurant Anna Bistro where, after some porch + wine relaxation at the hotel, we shared a bottle of wine <i>then</i> were given champagne in honor of my birthday (we were celebrating a little late). Mom and I may have been finding things a bit too funny by the end of the night and I think my favorite moment was when we got back to the hotel and mom decided it'd be fun to put my ski goggles on and surprise me in the bathroom. Epic.</div>
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And they also met Ryan. You can ask them about that personally, but I think he passed the test. :)</div>
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Couldn't be more proud of my Gringo parents for pushing themselves out of their comfort zone and traveling to a country they'd never considered a vacation destination. Sure the bathrooms may not have TP or functioning toilets but hey! It's all a part of the experience right? (Mom's rolling her eyes right now I just know it).</div>
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Gotta love my gringo parents!</div>
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-Lisa en Argentina</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-21386795006955668852012-10-29T18:53:00.001-07:002012-10-29T18:59:51.766-07:00Can You Spot the Trend?As we all anxiously await my parents' guest blog, I thought it would be fun to provide a little intermission brain teaser for all of you who follow my ramblings. Especially if you've caught up on all the latest entries you may have better luck at earning the most points in this game, but I'm not going to make it easy.<br />
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There are three levels to this game. If you figure it out in the first level, you receive 100 points. The second level is a little easier, and if you find it within these sets of photos you receive 50 points. The third level is easiest and if you finally guess it here you receive 20 points. If you don't get it at all... don't worry. I'll still explain at the end.<br />
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All you have to do is spot the trend in the following photographs. <br />
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Ready? <br />
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Level One (Hardest)<br />
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Still stuck? Move on to Level Two...<br />
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Still not sure what's happening here? Move on to Level Three...<br />
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If you guessed at any point during the game "Hmmm, this one guy seems to be popping up a lot..." you found the trend! His name's Ryan, and he's shown up in a few of my past blogs as well. Our love for anything outdoors brought us together week one, and since then it's been a progression of spending a lot of time together, (mostly planning adventures and trips). But then he got up the courage to go dancing with me, and was willing to spend time with me and my girlfriends (this is really quite daunting). It was when he decided to join my Tango class that I started to figure it out and a few weeks later we were happily holding hands through a government protest of 5,000 people marveling at how crazy the whole situation was.<br />
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You see, Ryan goes to DU, I've just never met him before, and now we're both pretty smitten.<br />
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So now it seems I get to bring home one heck of a souvenir along with all the memories we've already made. Guess sometimes you have to travel halfway around the world to find someone who's been right under your nose the whole time. Que suerte!<br />
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-Lisa en ArgentinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-62751825032894096982012-10-25T17:27:00.001-07:002012-10-25T17:30:17.872-07:00The 'Rents Visit Argentina! (Also known as, that one country in South America we'd never thought of visiting before)As many of you know, my parents were considering visiting me wherever I decided to study abroad this semester. It all sounded like a dandy excuse to travel to them, that is while they were imagining the shores of a Spanish beach, or the cathedrals of Italy, or the cozy English countryside. That's when I started throwing out this whole "full-emersion Spanish!" and "Latin America!" business which put a little pause in their step. South America? Do we <i>really</i> want to go there?<br />
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I remember when I was debating which program to choose and my parents were very much hinting that they'd like me to study in Costa Rica, in part because it's closer to the States. Me being who I am though, I had very much made up my mind I was going to Argentina, almost 3,500 miles further south. How did I convince them?<br />
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"Mom, would you rather visit me in a jungle full of snakes? Or in wine country in the foothills of the Andes?"<br />
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No more convincing necessary.<br />
<br />
Months later, I found myself anxiously waiting at the international arrivals gate at the small airport here in Mendoza. I was trying to distract myself by watching this adorable little girl about three years old dressed in a cute skirt and pigtails hop around the waiting area, seemingly amazed by her ability to rise 2-inches off the floor. This was much preoccupying her (and me) when out of the secure area comes a familiar face. "Mommy!" She screamed and went running up to a tall woman who dropped all her bags to swoop her little girl up into her arms.<br />
<br />
Yup. I got a bit choked up. And low-and-behold, seemingly ages later, I see two familiar faces myself and basically repeat the exact same scene (minus jumping into mom or dad's arms, since I'm a wee bit larger than a three year old). It was crazy to think that after months and months of discussion and planning and buying plane tickets and Spanish-English guidebooks that they were actually here, in my adopted country of Argentina. Let the shenanigans begin.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MabjhbjnIHM/UInX4Nv4H8I/AAAAAAAAAQI/h-LZQczNt-k/s1600/DSCN2472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MabjhbjnIHM/UInX4Nv4H8I/AAAAAAAAAQI/h-LZQczNt-k/s400/DSCN2472.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No look! They're really here! (At las termas hot springs in the Andes) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
As for the actual events of the week, I leave that up to my guest writers, my two wonderful Gringo parents who will update you on our adventures just as soon as the jet lag wears off. Stay tuned!<br />
<br />
- Lisa en ArgentinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-22938348266697669192012-10-12T13:12:00.001-07:002012-10-12T13:15:56.972-07:00Cooking in Argentina (AKA How to Creatively Salvage Food in 10 Steps)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During the grueling
process of trying to figure out what to pack for my 5 month adventure abroad,
one thing that I thought would brilliantly supplement my experience in another
country would be to bring my recipe cards and try to cook a few of my favorite
dishes. Key word: try. I finally got my chance to do so in the form of my host
brother’s birthday because I knew chocolate cake was his favorite and I had
brought down my recipe for this cake:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Triple
Chocolate-made from scratch-double layer cake…</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rgnb1O89pCg/UHhwohefwlI/AAAAAAAAAN0/6QNFYnGHXKc/s1600/DSCN1224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rgnb1O89pCg/UHhwohefwlI/AAAAAAAAAN0/6QNFYnGHXKc/s400/DSCN1224.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made it last
Christmas for my family and yes, it was as delicious as it looks. So I set my
mind to making the same thing for Rodrigo’s birthday party, regardless of the
fact that it’s one of my most complicated recipes (two index cards worth).
Here’s how that went.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y3aYlyjIdB4/UHh6YH4IY7I/AAAAAAAAAPs/8CWDnA5Bfzc/s1600/Snapshot_20121009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y3aYlyjIdB4/UHh6YH4IY7I/AAAAAAAAAPs/8CWDnA5Bfzc/s200/Snapshot_20121009.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 1: Translating
ingredients, converting units of measurement & making the shopping list –
This cake has quite a few interesting ingredients and the most challenging part
of this step was not only using the internet and various English-Spanish
dictionaries to translate the ingredients, but also explaining to my host mom <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i> I needed both Baking Soda and Baking
Powder (which also turned into a mini chem lesson) and that Nesquick powder was
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> a sufficient alternative to
unsweetened cocoa. Basically I was not only facing a language barrier, but also
a very serious cultural barrier about how to make cakes. This would be a
reoccurring theme throughout my endeavors.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 2: Buy
ingredients – Once I had my grocery list made, I headed to the local Vea to buy
the needed items. Luckily my friend Yona came along for Spanish/emotional
support and together (plus the help of one nice man who’d lived in Jersey for a
few years) we compiled the necessary items, or rather, what we believed was the
closest Argentine version to the necessary items. Unfortunately the store
didn’t have papel manteca (wax paper).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 3: Find papel
manteca – Worried about how my cake rounds would come out of the pan without my
trusty wax paper, I decided to try a few different places that could possibly
have wax paper. First I had to wait for siesta to end, but then I realized it
was Sunday, so long story short I had no luck finding the paper within walking
distance. Rodrigo then took me to Walmart (yes, sadly it does exist here) where
alas, they too did not have wax paper. This then marked the end of my hunt for
papel manteca (because if Walmart doesn’t have it who does right?) but I did
purchase Spiderman party hats for my brother, who was quite ecstatic at my
generosity.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mfhq4BBKJ6g/UHhyJuLT7aI/AAAAAAAAAOE/U_LhO7Dx2po/s1600/DSCN1451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mfhq4BBKJ6g/UHhyJuLT7aI/AAAAAAAAAOE/U_LhO7Dx2po/s320/DSCN1451.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 4: Make cake
rounds – Americans are very much rule followers. We have our recipes, we have
our measuring cups, we have our measuring spoons, we have our timers and our
clearly marked oven dials. Argentines are not so exact. A “tasa” is the closest
thing to a “cup” here and even that depends on whose house you’re in and which
water glass or coffee mug the owner hands you saying, “that’s about a tasa, más
or menos.” So basically my measuring of the ingredients came down to
eyeballing, which as we all know can be quite disastrous in the fine art of
baking. I was starting to get nervous. It also doesn’t help that “sour cream”
here tastes more like a combination of cream cheese and milk and also that measuring
spoons are non-existent. Nonetheless I persevered and luckily with the help of
my host mom’s electronic mixer (thank goodness she had one) and my trusty co-chef
Yona, the batter actually turned out a nice consistency and tasted like, well,
chocolate cake batter (how this happened is still up to debate).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 5: Light the oven
– Fortunately up till now my host mom was away visiting with friends so Yona
and I successfully commandeered her kitchen and were well into my recipe. The
only downfall was that we had no one to show us how to light the oven, because
yes, like the stove it too is a gas appliance. I had seen Dina do this once or
twice before, but I was definitely a bit nervous as causing explosions of fire
in your host family’s house is usually frowned upon. Yona and I schemed for a
bit debating how to turn on the gas (luckily we were able to narrow down which
dial did this fairly quickly) and then did our best to experiment and figure
out the mechanism to do so. This was amongst much squealing and giggling as
well as a lot of sniffing to decide if we were in fact actually turning on the
gas to light the oven. Finally we figured out we had to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">push</i> the dial and I bravely lit the oven without burning anything.
(Dad this is once again a sign that I am no longer afraid of matches/fire).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 6: Set the oven
temperature – My recipe calls for 350 degrees Fahrenheit which in and of itself
is not helpful since everything down here is in Celsius, but the greater problem
was that the oven dial (and the coinciding temperatures) had worn off, so
setting the oven temperature also became a matter of guesstimation, which, if I
added it up right, meant that 99% of my recipe thus far was reliant on this
technique, “Is this sour cream? Guess so.” “Is this a cup? Looks about right” “Is
this 350 degrees? Sure!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 7: Remain calm –
With the oven successfully lit and cake batter inside (hopefully cooking)
things seemed well on their way and I was starting to feel little sparks of
hope again that maybe, just maybe, this cake would actually be edible. Then
Dina came back home. Right away she started asking questions about how things
were going and after 10 minutes of banter watched over my shoulder as I checked
the cake in the oven. Not surprisingly (in part because I had to use a tall
glass baking pan) the middle of my cake was not wanting to cook. Exasperated I
closed the oven and started brainstorming when from behind me Dina says, “Have
you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> baked a cake before?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For anyone who’s… well…
at all interacted with me, you know I can get a bit defensive. I froze, translating
and retranslating in my mind what she said. “Mamá” I said turning to her, “you
know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything </i>is different here
right? The ingredients, your oven, the measurements…” “A tasa’s a tasa” she
responds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Luckily an Argentine
friend of the family that was over for the festivities saved Dina from the
onslaught of English/Spanish words I was about to throw at her about how a “tasa”
changes from place to place anywhere you go in Argentina, much less trying to
make the conversion work from a cup which is very exact in the United States.
After that, I decided to ignore Dina as I continued cooking, only giving her
short answers when she needed something and trying to keep my patience. I was
trying so hard and I could NOT believe she didn’t understand how difficult this
project was. It gave me all the more motivation to salvage my cake and make
things work.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IvNqtDiLCxk/UHhxpqADWbI/AAAAAAAAAN8/VGRNJT5ug5I/s1600/DSCN1448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IvNqtDiLCxk/UHhxpqADWbI/AAAAAAAAAN8/VGRNJT5ug5I/s320/DSCN1448.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 8: Salvage the
cake rounds – As I mentioned, the first cake round was not cooking in the
middle, and it didn’t seem like it ever would, so I eventually took it out and
put the second round in in a much wider, shallower glass dish, praying this
might bring better results. After it had cooled some, I decided to dump out my
first round to see what I could salvage and was pleasantly surprised that it
had cooked more than I expected, in fact it actually looked like a cake round
(see picture at left). Ok so maybe it was a slightly mutant cake round, but hey
it was circular in shape and had volume so still better than expected! Then I
pulled out the second round, which had cooked much better, and after it “cooled”
(no such things as cooling racks here) I dumped it out too. Alas, this is when
I needed my trusty papel manteca because large chunks of this round stuck to
the pan. Looked like my vegetable oil spray and flour concoction as a
substitute would only go so far.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LmMbBtij7rs/UHhzFILDHtI/AAAAAAAAAOY/rZ2tQgZhhmw/s1600/DSCN1457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LmMbBtij7rs/UHhzFILDHtI/AAAAAAAAAOY/rZ2tQgZhhmw/s320/DSCN1457.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But wait! After some
creative reconstructive surgery using the pieces left in the pan and smooshing
the round into a more, well, round shape, I was pleasantly surprised to find
that not only did my second cake round look like a cake round, it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the same size</i> as my first cake round! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argentine baking
system – 0</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lisa’s creativity – 1</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 9: Put the cake
together – after hand making whipped cream, into which I folded milk chocolate,
and then making the dark chocolate glaze, it came time to construct the final
product. I was so nervous to move my nicely recreated cake rounds, but (whilst
holding my breath the whole time) I managed to flip the first atop the second
round with whipped cream mixture squished nicely in between. With much fanfare
then, I made Rodrigo watched as I poured the dark chocolate glaze over the top
of the cake and spread it over the sides. Finally completed! And while I will
say it was not quite the beauty I made for Christmas last year, (rather a more
Frankenstein version), I was still darn proud of that cake and given that all
the parts tasted good alone (cake rounds, whipped cream milk chocolate filling,
and dark chocolate glaze) I was banking on it being a pretty fabulous concoction
altogether, Argentine baking system aside.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UThq0csxC4I/UHhzjtAn7LI/AAAAAAAAAOk/JuL2E4mzKqQ/s1600/DSCN1466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UThq0csxC4I/UHhzjtAn7LI/AAAAAAAAAOk/JuL2E4mzKqQ/s200/DSCN1466.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLB2mrg9u8A/UHhz-aOympI/AAAAAAAAAOs/psm1wkrE6x8/s1600/DSCN1467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLB2mrg9u8A/UHhz-aOympI/AAAAAAAAAOs/psm1wkrE6x8/s200/DSCN1467.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbiF7QlOgqI/UHh0azAt7uI/AAAAAAAAAO0/iNcB7DQGcSE/s1600/DSCN1476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbiF7QlOgqI/UHh0azAt7uI/AAAAAAAAAO0/iNcB7DQGcSE/s320/DSCN1476.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Step 10: Blow out the
candle! – All the frustration, all the anxiety, and all the work was worth it
for this picture below, Rodrigo blowing out his birthday candle on my,
made-from-scratch triple-chocolate birthday cake. Unfortunately at this point
it was about midnight and as I was fighting a cold and could hardly swallow
(another detail that made the whole process a little less enjoyable) I could
hardly keep my eyes open. I succumbed to my bedroom before the first piece was
distributed, praying everyone would enjoy it, but too exhausted to try it
myself.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ELv3jRzm0Dg/UHh1OHqn9AI/AAAAAAAAAPA/3R9XyTeRaQw/s1600/DSCN1483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ELv3jRzm0Dg/UHh1OHqn9AI/AAAAAAAAAPA/3R9XyTeRaQw/s640/DSCN1483.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bonus Step: Make
amends with host mom – While lying in bed, so ready for sleep, I heard a quiet
knock at my door and Dina asking if she could come in. “Sí, mama” I say,
running through my head what she could possibly want now. “Your cake was
amazing” she said, “I ate two pieces and everyone loves it” and she gave me a
big hug. I hugged her back, thankful for this little acquiesce on her part.
Guess I know how to make a cake after all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gBIaTItj0LI/UHh1vSQyWDI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/4ZsbxByGqEI/s1600/Snapshot_20120902_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gBIaTItj0LI/UHh1vSQyWDI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/4ZsbxByGqEI/s320/Snapshot_20120902_2.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next morning, I
woke up late still feeling pretty crummy and set to work on some Spanish
assignment in my PJs. Rodrigo this time tapped on my door holding a piece of my
cake and some tea for my breakfast. He was so appreciative and said everyone
enjoyed it. Satisfied, I finally got to sit back and try my Frankenstein
monster of a cake, which tasted like a triple chocolate-made from
scratch-double layer cake – amazing.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gcYEeEBDeQA/UHh1tfThcxI/AAAAAAAAAPI/T8vnLeuuc0A/s1600/DSCN1486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gcYEeEBDeQA/UHh1tfThcxI/AAAAAAAAAPI/T8vnLeuuc0A/s320/DSCN1486.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A testament to this
fact is that only the small section seen in the photo at right was left over
from the party (and the store-bought cake Dina had bought was untouched). I
told my girlfriends there was a little left for them to try, but by the time
they made their way over to my place (about noon) the rest of it was already
gone. “You’ll have to make it again!” they said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ready for round two of
Lisa in the kitchen Argentina?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">P.S. A few weeks later
Dina overfilled her glass cake pan with batter and it bubbled over while
baking. It was all I could do to resist saying, “have you ever made a cake
before?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argentine baking
system – 0</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lisa’s creativity –
infinity</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-83191914191308992292012-09-12T11:53:00.004-07:002012-09-12T11:58:54.694-07:00Lisa’s First Love in Argentina – A Hollywood Worthy Tale<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While in Argentina, my
first priority has not been finding an Argentine boyfriend. There are a few
reasons for this:</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<ol>
<li><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Cubata - The
Argentine mullet which is still very much in style and sported by a large
population of would-be attractive men. </span></li>
<li><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Smoking – cheap,
popular with many men, and total turn-off. </span></li>
<li><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Argentine male
population’s complete disregard for the fact that no, I am not like the girls
in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American Pie</i>, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American Pie 2</i>, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">EuroTrip</i> or wherever else you get your impression of US women.</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Other girls here have
very much been on the prowl and found themselves quite the plethora of
interested Argentine men, cubata or no cubata. One even set herself up a dating
profile page on Argentina’s version of Match.com and had over a hundred
interested parties in the first <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">day.</i>
Me? I’ve just been happily ignoring the cat-calls and stares, that is, until I
met Hugo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is a continuation
of my previous blog, “Three Incredible Chicas” because the following all
occurred on the same bus we had to fight to get onto (only casualty,
Alexandra’s pride). So without further ado… the story of Hugo ladies and
gentleman.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After finally
clambering onto the bus, we four girls collapse into seats (Yona and I in one
row and Lorri and Alexandra behind us) still unable to breathe through fits of
giggles. It didn’t help that our 300 pound friend was sitting a few rows up
oozing over one of the single seats by the window and fueling our hilarity as
we relived Alexandra’s poor luck of an encounter with him. We were lucky to get
seats though as more and more people crowded onto the bus, filling the aisle
with bodies – the less aggressive folks who were going to have to stand the
whole bus ride back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We were sitting
towards the front of the bus, so just as the last handful of people were paying
their fares and pushing for railing space, four Argentines get on the bus and
head for the last open standing room, right next to our seats. There was one
blondish guy (definitely not naturally blonde), one guy with enormous ears, one
guy who looked a little older than the others, and Hugo…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">…who was the most
beautiful Argentine we’d ever seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Clean shaven, cubata-free,
beautiful brown eyes and with quite the dashing smile I think I heard Lorri and
Alexandra audibly sigh behind me. Of course these four guys are quite taken
with the sight of us girls (clearly foreign) and are staring curiously, and
naturally Yona starts talking to them. And by “them” I mean Hugo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argentines are very
friendly people and with nothing better to do and a long bus ride ahead, Hugo
and Yona start happily chatting away. She explains we’re exchange students and
we all introduce ourselves. I’m completely content at this point to just let
Yona talk, at least I have a legitimate excuse to stare at Hugo now and admire
without the pressure of using my brain. Over the course of their conversation,
Yona learns (and relays to the rest of us) a lot about Hugo and his friends,
here’s a quick recap:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo – Non-smoker,
training to be a police officer, birthday August 22<sup>nd</sup> (no
seriously), turning 22 years old, a little shy, knows very little English, and
still takes the cake for most gorgeous Argentine we’ve seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo’s Friends – Wait…
on second thought, we only got to know Hugo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As you can see, Yona’s
pretty good at getting to know people, language barrier or not, and every now
and then I would try to pop in some intelligent phrase or question in Spanish,
but mostly I just smiled and stared. During one of the lolls in conversation
though, Hugo suddenly looks at me and says in broken English, “I love your
eyes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">New recap:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo – Non-smoker,
training to be a police officer, birthday August 22<sup>nd</sup>, turning 22
years old, a little shy, knows very little English, still takes the cake for
most gorgeous Argentine we’ve seen… and he’s suddenly flirting with me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh dear god.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Next came the
onslaught of questions and flirtatious small talk all of which was made far
more difficult primarily by Hugo’s thick Argentine accent, but also by Lorri
and Alexandra taking full advantage of Hugo’s lack of English skills by
commentating on all the proceedings. Here’s an example:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo: What kind of
music do you like? (Looking at me and blushing)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yona: All sorts
actually! Music is so interesting and I love all sorts of genres,
particularly….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Lisa breathes sigh of
relief because now I KNOW I understood the question and have time to formulate
a response. Meanwhile…)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lorri/Alexandra: Don’t
mess this one up Lisa. Music’s super important here! Op! He just sneaked
another glance your way!! Stop turning red, you look like a tomato! Say you
like any music he’d sing to you… (dissolve into fits of laughter).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lisa: I like lots of
music too. (Tomato status reached at this point). Coldplay, The Beatles…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo: Greenday?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lisa: Sí! (We both
blush and look away from each other).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This occurred various
times with a variety of questions Hugo was brave enough to ask me and which I
relied on Yona to translate:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What’s your favorite
color?</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His:
orange like the sunset</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mine:
yellow like sunflowers (he was very excited about this response)</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you like coca-cola?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you like Mendoza?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you like to dance?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And Ale and Lorri’s
personal favorite…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you like cops?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Oooooo!! Tell him you
like a man who can protect you! And that you have a thing for handcuffs!” (More
laughter and general hilarity as I try not to burst out laughing myself). I
think I managed to say something about how cops are important for the security
of the community and that I admire people who take on such a dangerous job.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There was only one
time I tried to be really flirtatious, and here’s how that went:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What languages do you
speak?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yona: “Spanish,
English….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile I ask Lorri
and Ale if I should use the one pick-up line I know, that I’m fluent in “body
language” (as in I know how to move on a dance floor).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ale and Lorri: “Do
it!!! Just say ‘expresión corporal’! Oh my gosh this is going to be so good!!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Confidence fully
built-up by my cheerleaders behind me, when Yona finished her spiel about the
difficulties of learning Japanese, I started listing off what languages I knew…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Spanish, English, and
expression corporal”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo: Oh! Sign
language?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Damn. Now I’ve just
undermined a very difficult language used to communicate with the
hearing-impaired. Awesome. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I decided to stop
flirting after that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3NFHKkdW9ow/UFDZRr61JqI/AAAAAAAAANc/L4CQHCUaXl0/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3NFHKkdW9ow/UFDZRr61JqI/AAAAAAAAANc/L4CQHCUaXl0/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Hugo is the attractive one closest to Yona and I. Sorry the picture quality is not ideal.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo and his friends
got off the bus ahead a few stops before us, but not before Lorri and Alexandra
burst into song “It’s getting hot in here! (So hot!)…” leaving me fully
humiliated and dying of laughter at the same time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At this point, I
thought I was home free, but unfortunately the four of us missed our connecting
bus to Mendoza due to all the weekend traffic. We plopped ourselves down on
some benches and reenacted our favorite moments from my attempt to flirt and
Hugo’s attempt to get to know me. This brief intermission was duly interrupted
when, low and behold, Hugo and his friends come casually sauntering up to us
(me turning red instantly). Turns out they’re taking the later bus to Mendoza
too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For a little while,
the scene looked very much like that of a junior high lunch room. – a group of
girls all huddled together, a group of guys all huddled together and much
sneaking of glances between the two. Hugo was too shy to come over and talk to
me, regardless of his friends’ bantering, and I frankly just didn’t have the ability
(Spanish was completely escaping me at this point).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Instead, my friends
and I decided to show off a little of our “body language” (not to be confused
with sign language) by practicing a little Tango. We stand up and start going
through the moves, and sure enough, the guys start curiously watching us.
Lorri, god bless her, knew the steps for the man and did her best to “make me
look good” for my on looking suitor. Eventually, the awkwardness was broken
enough for us to ask if any of them danced Tango to which they responded that
Tango is more the dance of Buenos Aires, and that instead, they prefer Folclore
– the dance of the guachos. “Oh so you all dance folclore?” “Yes,” answered the
guy with the big ears, “but Hugo’s the best out of all of us.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Quick Review: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Hugo – Non-smoker,
training to be a police officer, birthday August 22<sup>nd</sup>, turning 22
years old, a little shy, knows very little English, still takes the cake for
most gorgeous Argentine we’ve seen, and he’s a folclore master….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why don’t you just try
a little harder to make this guy perfect God? Hmmm?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At this moment,
fortunately, my Spanish speaking ability came back to me and I (much to my own
surprise) asked if he could give me a quick lesson, and, sure enough, in the
middle of the bus depot I learned some folclore from the most gorgeous
Argentine man I’ve met. (See photo for proof). Key to folclore? Don’t take your
eyes off the eyes of your partner. It seemed we’d come full circle with the
whole “eyes” theme.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2g0QBzuj2Pk/UFDZQjTaE8I/AAAAAAAAANU/-2B_zvZjMVc/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2g0QBzuj2Pk/UFDZQjTaE8I/AAAAAAAAANU/-2B_zvZjMVc/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I swear I'm dancing. I would never just walk away from this guy...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Unfortunately Hugo and
I couldn’t spend all night staring at each other and dancing in the bus
station, and soon enough our buses came to take us home. We were in separate buses
to get back, but from the window Hugo and I blew kisses to each other and drew
hearts on the windows, (with much hurrahs from my girlfriends and the same from
his guy friends). By the time our buses pulled out from the station and I could
finally start digesting what happened, I found that I really couldn’t. The whole
experience was way too much like a movie:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Boy meets girl on bus.
Boy expresses his affections to girl. Girl and boy reunited in bus terminal.
Dance traditional dance whilst staring into each other’s eyes. Boy and girl
part after expressing their love for one another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Isn’t that the plot of
some Hollywood film? I have to think so, cus there’s no way that’s my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In fín, I never saw
Hugo again after that, which I’m grateful for because my inability to speak
with him would have undoubtedly turned into some version of Cyrano de Bergerac
with Yona being my wing man (not that she has a big nose). Nope. That one night
was enough of an adventure for me with the men of Argentina, but one last
thought…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">…thanks dad! Seems
like I wasn’t such a “victim” of heredity this time!! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>XD</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-42779294178329930632012-08-27T20:44:00.000-07:002012-08-27T20:44:00.044-07:00Three Incredible Chicas<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I first decided
to come to Argentina through the IFSA Butler program, I was determined to meet
and hang out solely with Argentine friends for the purpose of learning Spanish.
This was of course before I realized that:</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argentines
speak very quickly</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Argentines
have a very unique accent that is difficult to understand</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I don’t
understand how anything works here</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My level
of Spanish really IS at the fourth grade level</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’m very
shy when trying to speak a second language</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All these realizations
added up to one thing, wanting any friend! Luckily I was blessed instead with
three.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yona, Lorri, and
Alexandra have become my lifelines here in Argentina. They: </span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Speak
Spanish at a level I can mostly understand</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Teach me
what I don’t understand</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Are happy
to figure out how things work here with me (and laugh hilariously at ourselves
when we mess it up)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Allow me
to vent when my brain is exhausted of Spanish</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Provide me
an incredible ab work out with all the laughing I’ve been doing (see photos for
examples)</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--pt8wo1XLYo/UDw8ERJxTBI/AAAAAAAAAMg/UCmqRvzLZB8/s1600/DSCN1160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--pt8wo1XLYo/UDw8ERJxTBI/AAAAAAAAAMg/UCmqRvzLZB8/s320/DSCN1160.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Alexandra is from New
York, Yona is from New Mexico, and Lorri from North Carolina. We all come to
the table with different strengths and ways to learn from each other. For
example Yona’s the best at Spanish and making Argentine friends, Lorri’s the
best at making any moment hilarious, and Alexandra is always looking out for us
all whilst dancing constantly. I bring the mountaineering and trip planning
expertise which results in trips like this past weekend to Menzano Historicó
where we laughed constantly, met some Argentine men, and danced <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">todo al tiempo</i>. It was definitely quite
the weekend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SubuK-u8ekk/UDw7nabF_0I/AAAAAAAAAMY/o9xJQjuWZXY/s1600/DSCN1128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SubuK-u8ekk/UDw7nabF_0I/AAAAAAAAAMY/o9xJQjuWZXY/s320/DSCN1128.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of my favorite
stories from the trip was actually as we were leaving, but to fully understand
the story, I suggest you watch the following video to understand some of the
differences between Argentina and the US. Just substitute the US for the EU and
Argentina for Italia, and pay special attention to the part about the “queue.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzQuuoKXVq0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzQuuoKXVq0</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In case you were unable
to load the video, basically Argentines do not abide by standard US “line rules.”
As in waiting in them. Instead, they are very good at the “forma fila” part,
but not so good at staying in line. This phenomenon resulted in one of the most
hilarious dramas the four of us have had yet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9da34M_io38/UDw8hY1SI9I/AAAAAAAAAMs/IyHr_5YsItg/s1600/DSCN1176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9da34M_io38/UDw8hY1SI9I/AAAAAAAAAMs/IyHr_5YsItg/s320/DSCN1176.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Actors:</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leading lady –
Alexandra, who’s about 5 foot and thus casually known around Mendoza as “la
nenita” (the little girl)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Supporting Actress –
Myself, who has a tendency to be aggressive and take control of situations (but
you already knew that)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Chorus – Yona and
Lorri dying of laughter the whole time</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Antagonist – One 300
pound man trying to get on the bus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Story:</b> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had decided
that the four of us should get to the bus station to head home about 20 minutes
prior to when the bus was scheduled to arrive for fear of the crowds that would
likely be thinking the same thing. Sure enough, we were near the front of the
line, but I just knew, looking at the crowd of people behind us, it was going
to be a bit of a fight to actually keep our status as “near the front.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sure enough, only 30
minutes late, the bus finally shows up and the ruckus began. Everyone surged
forward to the open bus doors (a gap about 4 feet wide) and tried shoving their
way onto the vehicle, a process made slightly safer by the driver taking
tickets and making change at the driver’s seat. Otherwise I’m sure we would
have been trampled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Determined to keep our
place in “line” I started shouldering my way towards the doors, Alexandra,
Lorri, and Yona in tow. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to these people!” I
shout, starting the first bout of a series of uncontrollable laughter from the
four of us. Finally I reach the bus and grab hold of the left railing,
successfully blocking the stream of bodies trying to push their way onto the
bus. Ahead of me is the antagonist, the huge 300 pound man (as a sidenote a
very odd sight indeed as many people here are very fit), who is literally
taking up the full 4 feet of doorway. It was just the break I needed actually.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Keeping my body turned
against the crowd, I look down at Alexandra and say, “Ok nenita, we gotta get
you on this bus!” thinking my friend would undoubtedly not make it through the
throng otherwise. “Once this guy moves, I’m pushing you forward since I can
hold them back!” Yes. I had a game plan. Yona and Lorri were already in fits of
laughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And, just as planned,
when our 300 pound friend moved one stair forward, I pushed the crowd back and
pulled Alexandra toward the stairs… maybe a bit too fervently as she smooshed
cheek first into his upper thigh and lower butt. Yona and Lorri completely
dissolved into laughter and a few Argentine locals joined in with the hilarity
as we all watched poor Alexandra waving frantically to find the railing whist
attached at the face to this guys’ bulk, pressed there by the crowd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Before too long the
guy moved another stair up and I successfully got Alexandra on the bus, but not
before we all had tears in our eyes from laughing so much, Argentines included.
Alexandra was a total sport about it of course, and it remains one of our
favorite stories to tell (the second will come in my next blog post).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Needless to say, I’m
ecstatic to have met these girls and I’m so lucky to be experiencing Argentina
with them. More stories to come!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0dnfvweMcI/UDw8852JnfI/AAAAAAAAAM0/2AYkPwZ0eFQ/s1600/DSCN1199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0dnfvweMcI/UDw8852JnfI/AAAAAAAAAM0/2AYkPwZ0eFQ/s640/DSCN1199.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-27239970757503826012012-08-21T19:03:00.000-07:002012-08-24T11:48:02.153-07:00It’s not Photoshop... It’s the Andes!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mDHbfud_B4k/UDQlj8HPICI/AAAAAAAAAI4/GIYzDpjT9mk/s1600/Panorama+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mDHbfud_B4k/UDQlj8HPICI/AAAAAAAAAI4/GIYzDpjT9mk/s640/Panorama+1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since coming here,
I’ve had the goal of making it up into the mountains at least once every
weekend. Ambitious? Probably so, but so far I’ve done just that and wanted to
give some of the highlights of those various excursions here. (Warning, this
may be a longer blog as a result).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ve also tried to do
my best to photograph the scenery here, which never ceases to leave me
speechless. I’ll wake up from a nap on the bus, turn to look out the window,
and my jaw drops at the sight. Mountains, valleys, rivers, rocks, canyons… the
vistas are just so astounding. I’ve decided the best way to describe this range
of mountains is “violent.” When you think about the tectonic action happening underneath
Chile that has created this range, it’s exactly that, and has resulted in some
of the most intense cliff faces, craggy spires, and jutting rocks I have ever
seen. The mountains are naked of trees, which seems to make their intensity
that much more raw. My Rockies seem so much more tranquil after visiting this
range and hopefully you can tell why through my photographs…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Las Termas</span></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2jgqATKsw8/UDQlyvg3XiI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Ya873KN6jmU/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2jgqATKsw8/UDQlyvg3XiI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Ya873KN6jmU/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0UNgRZw_NA/UDQmKzzwZgI/AAAAAAAAAJI/NJEL7NICwp8/s1600/DSCN0733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0UNgRZw_NA/UDQmKzzwZgI/AAAAAAAAAJI/NJEL7NICwp8/s200/DSCN0733.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We visited a hot
springs in a nearby town (about an hour south west) that boasted beautiful
natural pools among the stunning setting of an Andean valley. Hot springs are
fairly frequent along the range (again due to the violent tectonic action
happening below) and the ones we visited served for a very relaxing, enjoyable
day for under $20US. You can see the setting and how much my friends and I
enjoyed it in the pictures at left and right.</span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Las Leñas</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tDH3k-cudeY/UDQoYqPA1nI/AAAAAAAAAJc/ZKDwMq7mvfg/s1600/DSCN0813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tDH3k-cudeY/UDQoYqPA1nI/AAAAAAAAAJc/ZKDwMq7mvfg/s200/DSCN0813.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MEMjovHYxZs/UDQn-lH0iPI/AAAAAAAAAJU/RiiJkGDIZu0/s1600/DSCN0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MEMjovHYxZs/UDQn-lH0iPI/AAAAAAAAAJU/RiiJkGDIZu0/s200/DSCN0809.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fOTUiA_FeZo/UDQpg_6W64I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/k6WbGiMcKak/s1600/DSCN0831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fOTUiA_FeZo/UDQpg_6W64I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/k6WbGiMcKak/s200/DSCN0831.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dubbed the best skiing
in South America, Las Leñas was a huge destination for me coming to Argentina.
Unfortunately, however, the Andes have had the same snow season Colorado just
suffered through and we unfortunately couldn’t partake in the terrain which Las
Leñas is famous for – specifically enormous chutes funneling down from the top
of the peaks. Instead, we dabbled with the other tourists, most of which had
very questionable skiing ability (one guy completely forgot to get off the
lift).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-feXfDmmQ218/UDQpHeytVqI/AAAAAAAAAJw/0gZkMP4Y4PY/s1600/DSCN0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-feXfDmmQ218/UDQpHeytVqI/AAAAAAAAAJw/0gZkMP4Y4PY/s320/DSCN0827.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to the South Face (the black dot is a person)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the highlights
of the resort was an unexpected thrill for my friend Ryan and I whilst trying
to get on a ski lift. You see, we ski up to the lift, scan our passes, then
notice that the ground a few feet ahead is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">moving</i>.
It’s not snow. It’s a conveyor belt. Baffled by this concept we both start
hollering in English about this new absurdity whilst my German friend Sabastein
looks at us wondering what all the commotion is about (apparently this is
normal in Germany). We got on the lift fine, (though Ryan thought for sure we
were going to fall off the end of the conveyor belt before the lift picked us
up) and after recovering dubbed it, “the magic carpet.” We went on that lift a
few times more just for kicks and giggles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pT2Lcn51xoA/UDQpvQEfNlI/AAAAAAAAAKE/MC_kjIK8pMs/s1600/DSCN0853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pT2Lcn51xoA/UDQpvQEfNlI/AAAAAAAAAKE/MC_kjIK8pMs/s320/DSCN0853.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last look back at the resort</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">By the end of the day,
Ryan and I went hunting for something more interesting than watching tourists
crash on bunny slopes (then casually skiing around them), and found a challenge
in The South Face. Sorry North Face, your branding means nothing down here
where the sun curves to the north making the South Face the dangerous side.
Ryan and I found this slope (see picture above) which was nice and icy and
very steep. It was technically “closed” and was suggested to “ski at your own
risk,” which we happily did. The first time down we actually broke a sweat, and
excited to find something interesting, decided to do the run again. About
halfway down I hit a branch or something because the next thing I know my ski
is off and I’m sliding down the hill on my hip (one of the pitfalls of ice).
Managing to stop myself finally, (only casualty: a fingernail), I had to hike
back up the hill to get my ski, and then stomp a trench for my ski to get it
back on. I took this whole experience to mean that Las Leñas was also upset I
couldn’t try her more intense runs, because if I had, they probably would have
kicked my butt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Touché Las Leñas. Touché.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="ES">Parque
Aconcagua</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps my confidence
comes from my trip to Kenya, (hey if I can survive Nairobi, I can do anything
right?) but I have this uncanny ability now to make travel plans and go to
remote (and awesome) places. This was definitely true of my adventure to
Aconcagua which occurred this past Friday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AvUT2dI23h8/UDQ3LuWqXoI/AAAAAAAAAKY/_0JZfc-hnmM/s1600/DSCN0921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AvUT2dI23h8/UDQ3LuWqXoI/AAAAAAAAAKY/_0JZfc-hnmM/s400/DSCN0921.JPG" width="285" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Backstory: Cerro
Aconcagua is the largest peak outside of the Himalayas. Standing at 22,841
feet, it dwarfs all other mountains in the western hemisphere and is widely
attractive to hikers worldwide since its north face has very little technical
difficulty and can be summited without oxygen (I may or may not have looked
into this option myself). Needless to say, with my love for climbing mountains,
I wanted to see this thing. So I call up my friend Ryan (who’s probably cursing
himself for ever saying “call me up whenever you want to do something outdoorsy…”
) and we headed up into the mountain wilderness to the national park of
Aconcagua.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4400dU4jLAQ/UDQ3POhlrzI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OXApfeEzKR0/s1600/DSCN0948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4400dU4jLAQ/UDQ3POhlrzI/AAAAAAAAAKg/OXApfeEzKR0/s320/DSCN0948.JPG" width="228" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was quite a ways up
the mountain pass that I realized I had no idea where we were supposed to get
off the bus, or, in fact, where we were at all. Determined to find this
mountain, I brazenly approached the bus driver at the next stop and assaulted him
with my broken Spanish explaining that I wanted to get to Parque Aconcagua and
showed him my bus ticket. I then learned that our stop was closed. By the
police. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQcA98LFpHM/UDQ37UCdFnI/AAAAAAAAAK0/29IxMJULYMs/s1600/DSCN0962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQcA98LFpHM/UDQ37UCdFnI/AAAAAAAAAK0/29IxMJULYMs/s400/DSCN0962.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But never fear! says
the bus driver, and he offers to drop us off at the park entrance just a little
ways farther down the road (which I think justifies my timing for panicking about
our stop). He does exactly this and pulls away on the highway, leaving Ryan and
I standing in the middle of Andes, not another soul in sight.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oLeFncWzGhY/UDQ3mWkzJrI/AAAAAAAAAKo/JPNlY5tembA/s1600/DSCN0957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oLeFncWzGhY/UDQ3mWkzJrI/AAAAAAAAAKo/JPNlY5tembA/s200/DSCN0957.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mountains, snow, blue
sky, repeat. Everywhere we looked we were surrounding by towering peaks and
white nothingness. It was a wonderful and overwhelming experience all at once.
The visitor center wasn’t open yet, so we followed snow packed footprints up
the trail to get a look at Aconcagua. Rather anticlimactically, she was
shrouded in clouds and never revealed her South Face, which is the very
dangerous climbing route and which we otherwise would have been able to see
from the loop we took. Bummed, Ryan and I threw some snowballs and entertained
the local bird population for a while hoping the clouds would break before heading
back down. We weren’t so lucky. At the Visitor Center (which was finally open)
we talked to the Ranger about other hikes to the mountain and came up with a
new goal: a three day backpacking trip to base camp of the south face, just
over 14,000 feet. Summiting the mountain may be another few years in the
future, but I can at least get a taste hopefully this coming November when we
accomplish this goal. Because we will, Aconcagua, we will.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gfx6SiZE1zU/UDQ4VBqBtYI/AAAAAAAAAK8/x6IZRY1UBLA/s1600/DSCN0968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gfx6SiZE1zU/UDQ4VBqBtYI/AAAAAAAAAK8/x6IZRY1UBLA/s640/DSCN0968.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She eluded me this time, but not in the future...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Puente del Inca</span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6hb8rih850/UDQ4eEG4EQI/AAAAAAAAALI/AxGnZe_z1gU/s1600/DSCN0969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6hb8rih850/UDQ4eEG4EQI/AAAAAAAAALI/AxGnZe_z1gU/s320/DSCN0969.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nbd...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This famous historical
site was very much a total accident that occurred as a result of Aconcagua
being shrouded in clouds. The bus driver had directed Ryan and I to go back
down the highway to the little town Puente del Inca in order to be picked up
for the return ride home (I confirmed this multiple times in Spanish to be sure
we wouldn’t be spending the night lost in the Andes). So after leaving the
visitor center, Ryan and I hit the road down to Puente del Inca, just casually
walking along this barren highway with the ferocity of the Andes range as a
backdrop. You know, casual.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was as we were
coming up to the town that I saw the colored rocks and started to get curious. “What’s
over there?” We went to investigate, and bam! I recognize the natural bridge
and old bath house my guide books had mentioned and which I had once thought, “well
that would be cool to see!”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HMuwL_H7peY/UDQ66gVlCqI/AAAAAAAAALQ/fugd98BRoMY/s1600/DSCN0976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HMuwL_H7peY/UDQ66gVlCqI/AAAAAAAAALQ/fugd98BRoMY/s320/DSCN0976.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Puente del Inca is a
famous hot springs that was once visited by Incan kings who lived in the range.
It was considered a sacred and healing place by them and I loved imagining
their presence in that place. It wasn’t hard to do given the magical colors of
the rocks, created by the hot spring’s minerals. The bath house which you see
was constructed some time later and was visited by Charles Darwin during his
travels in Latin America. He was studying geology in the area (a perfect venue
I might add) and took relaxation in the springs.The bath house was
permanently closed to preserve the bridge and for some kind of safety reasons
(the sign was in Spanish sorry) in… any guesses?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sw3wFXb-Qc4/UDQ7BNWSuxI/AAAAAAAAALY/fppJuyMYMMc/s1600/DSCN0987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sw3wFXb-Qc4/UDQ7BNWSuxI/AAAAAAAAALY/fppJuyMYMMc/s320/DSCN0987.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2007. My host mom even
bathed there before they closed. This blows my mind because the structure looks
so much more like a ruin. It must be the mineral deposits, but it looks eerie
to me in its abandoned state. I imagine the ghosts of Incan kings haunting the
structure. Maybe they still sink into the water hoping to warm their rattling
bones. *Shiver*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was an amazing
experience to happen upon this place and I loved the historical significance of
it. Ryan and I were happy to head home though (yes, the bus did pick us up as
planned) since the sun went behind the clouds and the temperature plummeted. On
the way back I got a few shots of the range that attempt to capture its beauty,
though this really will never be possible. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWtqI6zr3sw/UDQ7mVyrFGI/AAAAAAAAALg/TPv-UORVHtc/s1600/DSCN1031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-i-DmChjTk/UDQ75HLowwI/AAAAAAAAAL4/xWSLB_a5qks/s1600/DSCN1064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-i-DmChjTk/UDQ75HLowwI/AAAAAAAAAL4/xWSLB_a5qks/s320/DSCN1064.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ULhQCBHae8M/UDQ7sw1GBQI/AAAAAAAAALo/RD0AlzLztzk/s1600/DSCN1040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ULhQCBHae8M/UDQ7sw1GBQI/AAAAAAAAALo/RD0AlzLztzk/s320/DSCN1040.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWtqI6zr3sw/UDQ7mVyrFGI/AAAAAAAAALg/TPv-UORVHtc/s1600/DSCN1031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWtqI6zr3sw/UDQ7mVyrFGI/AAAAAAAAALg/TPv-UORVHtc/s320/DSCN1031.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EuLt1shV-Fc/UDQ7zWNEi6I/AAAAAAAAALw/Xp8khTxAeK8/s1600/DSCN1050.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EuLt1shV-Fc/UDQ7zWNEi6I/AAAAAAAAALw/Xp8khTxAeK8/s640/DSCN1050.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A phenomenon that happens here is
what I’m calling “cloud windows.” Because the Andes are so enormous, the clouds
usually separate at about their torso. This means that when the clouds briefly
part, you can see the white slopes dotted with crags of rocks and cliffs, but
their caps are lost in the upper altitude clouds. It makes for quite the
double-take situation when you realize what you’re looking at is indeed a
window into the range beyond, but you can’t even see the tops of the peaks. I
attempted to photograph this while coming home from Aconcagua while the sun was
setting, and hopefully you can see or at least imagine the affect. There really
are no words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_46YigxBFm4/UDQ9dmr6tsI/AAAAAAAAAME/QNyPC9Hw5Hw/s1600/DSCN1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_46YigxBFm4/UDQ9dmr6tsI/AAAAAAAAAME/QNyPC9Hw5Hw/s640/DSCN1084.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">More adventures to come…</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I continue to work
at my goal of heading into the mountains each weekend, I’ll do my best to
continue cataloguing my adventures. Words gotten out that I have this uncanny
ability to organize, so I have a plethora of friends willing to accompany me. Who
knows where I’ll end up next!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">-Lisa en Argentina</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-32206097459936512142012-08-13T17:24:00.000-07:002012-08-13T17:31:28.071-07:00The Hunt for Classes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as you may recall (it took me a second to remember too) I’m
here to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">study</i> abroad, which
inherently means I need to attend classes at the local university. I actually
have the choice of attending classes at two different schools here in Mendoza,
Universidad de Cuyo (student population 30,000) and Universidad Congresso
(student population 1,000). The first two weeks of the semester are designated
as “shopping” for us exchange students, so that when we realize we don’t want
to take Organic Chemistry in Spanish we can still switch out and try something
else instead (like Ceramics). I’m now one week into this process and think I’ve
come to a conclusion about what classes I’ll be taking for the next 15 weeks,
but shopping for classes was certainly a necessary component to reaching this final
goal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The contestants when I first started classes on Monday were
as follows:</div>
<ul>
<li>Advanced Spanish Language (required, so end of story there)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Tango (for beginners mind
you)<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Violence Control and Social Work</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>History of Social and Political Ideas</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let the shopping begin!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well I missed my Tango class (anti-clamactic I know. A
better story would have been I met an incredible Argentine man whose suave
moves enabled me to discover my hidden Tango talent and my instructor insisted
we enter a competition which we won and my gringo self became the new love of
Argentina for her graceful Tango moves… but that’s not quite what happened).
Part of shopping is actually discovering how disorderly and crazy classes are
here in Argentina and a series of misinformation resulted in my showing up two
hours late for my Tango class. Oops. Nonetheless I think I will thoroughly enjoy
learning the dance of Argentina and so I’ve decided this one’s a keeper. Total
price so far: 5 Credits</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Violence of Control and Social Work was interesting because
I’m the only exchange student in the class. I think I understood maybe 25% of
what was said and at one point the professor said, “Am I speaking Japanese or
do you understand?” Ah irony. Regardless of the difficulty of the course, I
think I’m going to hang on to it, just because I find the content interesting
(how do we control violence within our socially constructed societies) and
because I need to push myself. Total price so far: 10 Credits</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cCR8PRZbFKo/UCmaQUAB7LI/AAAAAAAAAIg/8TKLy01UgdA/s1600/Snapshot_20120810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cCR8PRZbFKo/UCmaQUAB7LI/AAAAAAAAAIg/8TKLy01UgdA/s400/Snapshot_20120810.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
History of Social and Political Ideas is not, in fact, the
history of Argentina. It’s analyzing Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates and how
they relate to our society today. In both this class and my social work class,
I amused myself by “taking notes” which was really more of making statements
with question marks after them because I wasn’t sure if that’s what the
professor actually said. I also made some commentary (see photograph for
example). This helped me keep my cool while the professor lectured for three
hours but at the end of the class, I decided it was a no go because a) Aristotle
is hard enough in English and b) it’s an 8am class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
New Addition! History of Argentina and Latin America. I
found this course to replace my other “history” class and I think it’s going to
be very interesting. Since I’m living in this country, I should probably better
understand it’s history and so I’m looking forward to attending this class
throughout the semester. Total Price: 15 Credits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here’s where I stand now:</div>
<ul>
<li>Advanced Spanish Language – Easy understanding level. I’m
with all IFSA students and our teacher treats us like we’re in elementary
school, which is true language wise, by repeating everything and speaking
slowly.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>History of Argentina – Medium understanding level. There’s a
high percentage of students in the class from out of the country so the
professor does a good job of speaking slowly for us, but still without boring
the other students in the class. I usually understand 60% of what he says.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Tango – Easy understanding level. Luckily I’m fluent in body
language.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Violence in Social Work – Hard understanding level. I want a
class I’ll really have to push myself in and this is it. I understand maybe 25%
of what is said right now. Wish me luck!</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This concludes Lisa’s shopping period here in Argentina and luckily,
I don’t have class Tuesdays or Fridays which brings me to the conclusion that I
ended up with some pretty sweet deals. I’ll keep everyone posted on how things
go!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Lisa en Argentina</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-60911555879010914052012-08-07T17:50:00.002-07:002012-08-07T17:54:50.153-07:00The First Venture Westward<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uQ0O0SjD8nU/UCGwmdRhFVI/AAAAAAAAAIM/XQ4Pj4zA-Ac/s1600/Los+Andes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uQ0O0SjD8nU/UCGwmdRhFVI/AAAAAAAAAIM/XQ4Pj4zA-Ac/s640/Los+Andes2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since arriving in Mendoza, I’ve been aching to get into the
mountains. From the city, they appear as dark blue forms jutting into the
horizon, their huge outlines hinting at their majesty but also the fact that
they’re just out of my reach. On a clear day, you can see slightly clearer the
rocks and brush that adorn their faces, but for the most part they just sit and
tantalize me, using the sun as a sort of finger beckoning me towards them as it
crosses the sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If there’s one thing I can say I’ve gained over this past
week or so, it’s confidence. When I arrived in Buenos Aires, the thought of
talking to local Argentines was simply terrifying (I mean they would respond in
Spanish for Pete’s sake!) but since then, I’ve talked to all sorts of cashiers,
bus drivers, professors, and total strangers when lost. It’s not so much that
my Spanish has improved, it’s just that I have the confidence now to try, even
though I still speak like a confused fourth grader. I may speak poorly, but now
I’ve embraced that I speak poorly. It’s not like they’d ever confuse me for a
local anyway. Lol</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CdhMIFMdd54/UCGu6OfduxI/AAAAAAAAAHM/01gJnX7qpT4/s1600/DSCN0684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CdhMIFMdd54/UCGu6OfduxI/AAAAAAAAAHM/01gJnX7qpT4/s320/DSCN0684.JPG" width="320" /></a>So where all this is leading is I decided to go to a local
tour group and excursion place in the city and chat with them about the many
trips they offer. I’d researched the company ahead of time and had lots of
questions, and luckily the lady at the store was very sweet. Once I got the
spiel on how excursions work, it didn’t take me another minute to sign up for
mountain biking for that weekend “level = difficult” and got two of my guy
friends to go with me. Finally my dreams of venturing into the Andes were to
come true!<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9am on Sunday morning, I was picked up from my house by
the tour van and taken westward to their park in the mountains. As the dark
blue forms creeped closer, I noticed larger, grander forms behind them, white
capped and scraping the sky. Los Andes. Seems the dark blue forms I’d been
seeing were only the foothills.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KOaDu2-bw8A/UCGvGh1-FyI/AAAAAAAAAHU/8UMgejI3_2w/s1600/DSCN0693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KOaDu2-bw8A/UCGvGh1-FyI/AAAAAAAAAHU/8UMgejI3_2w/s320/DSCN0693.JPG" width="320" /></a>As we continued upwards (gaining elevation fairly quickly
much to the exhaustion of our minivan) the terrain continued to become more
grandiose. I’ve decided it’s sort of like Arizona meets Colorado. The foothills
are covered in low brush and cactus (Cuyo and Mendoza are considered arid
desert) but then the larger peaks are snow covered and so enormous it makes me
think of home instantly. But these mountains are not to be trifled with. My
14ners at home that I love so much are a weensy bit small in comparison to these
monsters. The range we biked under hosted a few 16,000 foot peaks and not far
yonder sat an 18,000 footer who would calmly look down 4,000 feet at my
mountains if it were located in Colorado.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mpQEDOcY62U/UCGvQghGV7I/AAAAAAAAAHg/88VvtVDNBwY/s1600/DSCN0695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mpQEDOcY62U/UCGvQghGV7I/AAAAAAAAAHg/88VvtVDNBwY/s200/DSCN0695.JPG" width="200" /></a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ya, they’re a tad bit large.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Biking in this scenery was absolutely incredible. Each time
I looked up I had to remember to look back down in order to come home with both
front teeth still intact. The clouds too have this incredible ribbon-like
quality that made the sky look like a water color painting. It’s like the tops
of the mountains were running their jagged fingers through the clouds and separating
them into strands. So beautiful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9ZYZ1lATdpk/UCGvomSkKQI/AAAAAAAAAHo/O765nDIddY4/s1600/DSCN0698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9ZYZ1lATdpk/UCGvomSkKQI/AAAAAAAAAHo/O765nDIddY4/s320/DSCN0698.JPG" width="320" /></a>The biking itself was, well, interesting. We dubbed it “river
biking” because most of the time we were in a dried up river bed. At other
times, it was not so dried up. Haha! Needless to say I got very good at biking
in sand and learning how to correct when your bike is fishtailing or refusing
to go where you want (the solution is to pedal faster). Ryan, Alexander, and I
had a great time and couldn’t have been happier, regardless of the sand, and
water, and mud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNX51uHwwiQ/UCGwGV0kMRI/AAAAAAAAAHw/rYtJr-hniuk/s1600/DSCN0704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNX51uHwwiQ/UCGwGV0kMRI/AAAAAAAAAHw/rYtJr-hniuk/s200/DSCN0704.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mRROPMfUf50/UCGwd1xvb0I/AAAAAAAAAH8/B7d-Xe4f7-o/s1600/DSCN0706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mRROPMfUf50/UCGwd1xvb0I/AAAAAAAAAH8/B7d-Xe4f7-o/s200/DSCN0706.JPG" width="200" /></a>Once we returned to the excursion park we decided to indulge
in an asado (Argentine BBQ) on the restaurant deck overlooking the reservoir
and the mountains. $20US per person got us salamis, empanadas, cheeses, bread,
salad, meat that melted in our mouths, and dessert plus a bottle of local wine
to share. We were very happy river bikers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, I can’t wait to go back and love the Andes immensely.
It was a huge factor in my coming here and it’s living up to its acclaim!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FqNtkOnJt7s/UCGwksvNr7I/AAAAAAAAAIE/mltTa64JMW0/s1600/DSCN0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FqNtkOnJt7s/UCGwksvNr7I/AAAAAAAAAIE/mltTa64JMW0/s640/DSCN0717.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Lisa en Argentina</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-28686215872483876652012-08-04T19:00:00.001-07:002012-08-04T19:05:29.875-07:00Legal in ArgentinaParental Advisory: Mom and Dad, if you don't want to hear about the craziness of the nightlife of Argentina, I suggest you skip this one. Don't worry! I think the only laws I broke were minor traffic violations (if those exist in Argentina, which is doubtful). But more on that later.<br />
<br />
As previously mentioned, time in Argentina is much different than in the
United States, so as I progress through this timeline, do not panic about how late things are, this is completely normal.<br />
<br />
So let's get to the good stuff.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>12:15am - I head out to the bars with one of my friends where we meet a bunch of other IFSA students at William Brown Irish Pub. One glass Stella Artois is consumed by me.</li>
<li>1:20am - We all head to PPTH Bar & Club where they pronounce us too young to enter (must be 23 for women, 25 for men). Culture shock no?</li>
<li>1:30am - We venture forth to Break Bar where I see a group of other IFSA students who ask me to join them. My close friend's host brother (who shall be called Brother Mario) was leading the crew in a round of Tequila shots. He's over 30 years old, sort of looks like Adrianne Brody and has already consumed half a bottle of wine and ?? shots. He's surrounded by IFSA students who all happen to be female. Coincidence?</li>
<li>1:45am - I take my first shot in my life (Dela you should be proud it was Tequila) which actually wasn't too horrible. It was also my last shot of the night. (I'm taking this whole drinking thing slowly). It involved licking salt of your hand, downing the shot, then sucking on a lemon wedge. I like the lemon part the most.</li>
<li>2:00am - Brother Mario decides he's going to get us into PPTH Bar & Club after all (I'm very skeptical about this).</li>
<li>2:10am - We get into PPTH Bar & Club (wha? how? still not sure).</li>
<li>2:15am - Brother Mario buys more drinks for my friends who at this point, in my expert opinion, should not be drinking more (but we all know how expert I am).</li>
<li>2:30am - We commence to the dance floor. I've got to hand it to that DJ, he sure can play a good set! We danced and sang (a lot of the music was mixed US and Latino) and fended off very persistent Argentine men. Don't worry Grandma, I have a lot of practice at this from clubs in Denver.</li>
<li>3:45am - One of my friends isn't looking too good. A little drunk, tired, stumbling, and super annoyed by all the attention, (she's tall and blonde and parts a sea of Argentine men in a way that would make Moses proud) we take her downstairs to have some water and sit for a bit at one of the lounge booths. I fully recognize my complete sobriety at this point (as in things aren't quite as funny anymore)</li>
<li>4:00am - Return upstairs to find Brother Mario taking full advantage of one of my other friend's fairly inebriated state by dancing and kissing her frequently. This is when I lose almost complete respect for Brother Mario as I've noticed how his persistent drink purchasing and drinking himself has set him up for a pretty easy make-out situation with any of my super cute, American friends. Needless to say we intervened on that one pretty quick and informed Brother Mario it was time to head home.</li>
<li>4:01am - Brother Mario says he'll drive us all home. This is when I lose complete respect for Brother Mario. Coldly, I inform him I will be driving and that he'd better hand over the keys. He looks at me dubiously "but it's stick!" "No hay problemo!" I respond. No way am I going to let this drunk man drive any of my friends home or should I say "home." I was definitely worried about his intentions at this point.</li>
<li>4:30am - Getting drunk people from place to place is sort of like herding cats, but finally everyone gets into the car (Brother Mario still dubious about my ability to drive stick).</li>
<li>4:31am - Lisa advances onto the streets of Mendoza (much to the incredulity of Brother Mario) where traffic laws don't really exist, lanes don't exist, and I've got six people crammed into a tiny beat up Chevy and I may have been the only one wearing a seat belt. Here I must say, thanks mom and dad for making my bucket list dream of driving in another country come true by providing stick lessons and a manual vehicle. I used extreme caution (intersections are very much first come first served as far as right of way). I'm also proud of the fact that I've learned the city well enough to drive and find my way around. I think all the walking helps.</li>
<li>4:45am - Dropped all my friends off and drove myself home, Brother Mario in the passenger seat. He insisted on driving his car back to his house because he didn't want it to get stolen. Fine by me if he wants to kill himself, he just can't kill my friends.</li>
<li>5:15am - Finally crawled into bed. First night out in Mendoza = success! (Success is determined by everyone getting home safely, minimal law breaking, and remembering the whole thing).</li>
</ul>
I should make a note here, travelers in Argentina can use their home country driver's licenses for up to three months in Argentina. So me driving was legal as well! And of course the drinking age is 18, so I remain a total rule follower. Bring on the next adventure!<br />
<br />
-Lisa en ArgentinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-5565438898511283282012-08-03T11:47:00.001-07:002012-08-03T11:47:08.241-07:00The Sights of Mendoza<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q62fIA7rQS8/UBwXo7ODz2I/AAAAAAAAAGA/yrPyGBYOulA/s1600/DSCN0627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q62fIA7rQS8/UBwXo7ODz2I/AAAAAAAAAGA/yrPyGBYOulA/s320/DSCN0627.JPG" width="320" /></a>I’ve come to love my new home here in Mendoza as I begin to
settle in and digest the fact that it is indeed home for the next five months.
Most impressive are all the trees that grow throughout the city and
particularly in the Parque de San Martin. It’s winter here, so many of the
trees don’t have leaves, but nonetheless I can just imagine what the city will
look like once all the trees are leafing out. There are many plazas within the
city such as La Plaza Independencia, La Plaza Italia, La Plaza España, etc. which
all showcase a variety of water features and gorgeous trees and statues. For
safety reasons I haven’t been taking my camera with me most places, but
hopefully in the future I’ll be able to snap some photos of more of these
plazas. I particularly like the Plaza España because it has beautiful tile work
around the fountains. Overall I think the plazas are a wonderful breath of
fresh air and I hope once classes start I can meet classmates in one of the
plazas to study and share matte. </div>
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cClwb-ukM-o/UBwZJKrfrqI/AAAAAAAAAGU/BjbKtDj0GpI/s1600/DSCN0610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cClwb-ukM-o/UBwZJKrfrqI/AAAAAAAAAGU/BjbKtDj0GpI/s200/DSCN0610.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cHtklZfqYl0/UBwYwqdY7jI/AAAAAAAAAGI/e85R2JSnxto/s1600/DSCN0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cHtklZfqYl0/UBwYwqdY7jI/AAAAAAAAAGI/e85R2JSnxto/s200/DSCN0607.JPG" width="150" /></a>The other amazing feature of the city previously mentioned
is the Parque de San Martin which is very close to my house. The park features
many different elements, including monuments, lakes, statues, fountains, a zoo,
soccer fields, tennis courts, and much much more. It’s pretty much enormous. I’ve
gone there a couple times just to walk around and enjoy the sights with friends
and it’s just so beautiful! One element I absolutely can’t wait to see in the
summer is a part of the park called La Rosada because it’s absolutely covered
in roses. Rose bushes, roses climbing white columned terraces over the walkways,
beautiful statues and benches everywhere… in my imagination I can completely
visualize it in the summer and I can’t wait!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7JlEn9RHItM/UBwaPVGRxsI/AAAAAAAAAGc/up0bfYYW21M/s1600/DSCN0636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7JlEn9RHItM/UBwaPVGRxsI/AAAAAAAAAGc/up0bfYYW21M/s1600/DSCN0636.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7JlEn9RHItM/UBwaPVGRxsI/AAAAAAAAAGc/up0bfYYW21M/s200/DSCN0636.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qeEawhUMaIg/UBwamPFP3fI/AAAAAAAAAGo/shyNURDU9Qo/s1600/DSCN0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qeEawhUMaIg/UBwamPFP3fI/AAAAAAAAAGo/shyNURDU9Qo/s200/DSCN0643.JPG" width="200" /></a>The park also extends westward enough that it starts gaining
elevation into the mountains. The high point of the area is el Monumento al
Ejército de los Andes which features a sculpture celebrating San Martin and his
Army of the Andes. It was erected in 1914 and was quite impressive! From the
vantage point of the monument we could see the mountains much more clearly than
in the city as well as many wineries nestled against the foothills.
Unfortunately we visited the spot during the afternoon and photographs were
difficult with the sun, but in the morning I would love to return and watch the
Andes come in full view. My heart aches to get into the mountains and I’m doing
my best to make sure that happens this weekend!</div>
<br />
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Ciao for now!</div>
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<br /></div>
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-Lisa en Argentina</div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ad8CWjrpN48/UBwbBkhztpI/AAAAAAAAAGw/uE_OxfVUXI0/s1600/DSCN0664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ad8CWjrpN48/UBwbBkhztpI/AAAAAAAAAGw/uE_OxfVUXI0/s640/DSCN0664.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-77551567397206347152012-08-01T18:11:00.002-07:002012-08-01T18:17:00.895-07:00The First Big “Oops!”<br />
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<a href="http://i1118.photobucket.com/albums/k609/lufivaz/micros.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://i1118.photobucket.com/albums/k609/lufivaz/micros.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Once when I was in the second or third grade, I made the
mistake of falling asleep on the bus on the way home from school. I was so
tired I didn’t wake up until after my stop, when most other people were off the
bus. Terrified, I started panicking thinking I for sure was going to have to
sleep on the bus and go to school in the same bus the next day. Fortunately the
bus driver noticed me and (of course) took me back to the right stop where mom
was anxiously waiting. Crisis averted! Little did I know the same scenario
would take place approximately 10 years later here in Argentina.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The truth is, the buses here are insane. They’re not quite
at the same status as the mutatos of Kenya, but luckily there I had Wiclif
chaperoning us around everywhere. Here, I’m trying to figure things out for
myself and… well the best way to learn is through mistakes right?</div>
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<br /></div>
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As a brief introduction to the insanity of Mendoza public
transportation, I’ll give you a quick overview. There are 12 different bus
circuits here, and each of the twelve has different buses with different
routes. So circuit 5 has buses 72 and 74 which is how I get to la Universidad
de Congresso, but also has buses 54 and 51 which takes you God knows where. And
there are 12 circuits!! I can also use circuit 3 to get home… I think. So you
see how crazy this is.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To add to the madness, you have to push a button to get off
the bus at the correct stop, which is difficult when:</div>
<ol>
<li> there are ten million
people on the bus (an approximation) squashed around you </li>
<li> you have to be
constantly aware of those ten million people around you for pitpockets, </li>
<li> the
buses are stick shifts and the driver’s goal is to knock as many people to the
floor as possible, making anything but holding on for dear life pretty much
impossible, </li>
<li>you speak the local language at about the level of a second or
third grader.</li>
</ol>
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At this point, I’m sure you know where this is going.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I’m on the bus, craning to see where I should get off,
but between all the variables listed above, “oops!” I watched my street pass by
in a blur. I decided I’d just wait till the next stop (they are fairly
frequent) and walk back a little ways except that no one else near the button
apparently live anywhere by me. So, just like so many years ago, I
watched as the scenery I knew melted away and I enter a part of town not even on
the local map.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.alsurinforma.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Micros-Mendoza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://www.alsurinforma.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Micros-Mendoza.jpg" width="320" /></a>Unlike 10 years ago, I tried to remain calm and made up my
mind that I’ll just wait and see where this bus takes me. I figured it was on
some kind of circuit and would eventually take me back to town. I was also a
bit sketched about the neighborhood and the bus made frequent stops in areas
that I didn’t recognize. At many stops, the signs were completely worn and it wasn’t even possible
to see which other buses, if any, frequented there. I also had a lot to lose. I
had my camera with me from a tour I’d taken early with my IFSA program AND my
passport as I had to make photocopies for my Visa.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Staying on the bus was my best bet I figured, but as the bus
traveled farther and farther west and north, I started to get more scared. How
big was the route? More and more people started trickling from the bus, until
finally, I was the last person still sitting there when…</div>
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<br /></div>
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…we pulled into the bus depot. It wasn’t a circle; it’s a
line with an ending. Totally embarrassed, I asked the driver if we were going
to return to the city center. “No” he said, but taking pity on me (the deer in
the headlights look probably helped) he spoke with the other bus drivers and
decided to head back on his route right away to take me back to my stop. With
relief we picked up more people on the way back and I started to recognize
places along the way. Many times the driver greeted youth who got on the bus
and seemed to be friends with many of them. That was the moment that I thanked
God for putting me on that particular bus with a driver who has a soft spot for
young people. Who knows where I would have ended up otherwise?</div>
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<br />
In the end, I didn’t have to spend the night on the bus,
just like I had feared when I was in elementary school; I just had to admit a big
oops on my part to a very friendly bus driver. Looking back, I’m still really
glad I stayed on the bus. What an adventure!</div>
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<br /></div>
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-Lisa en Argentina</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-43057335818092271552012-07-31T20:08:00.001-07:002012-07-31T20:09:24.498-07:00En Mendoza!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z8CkVxPqlaI/UBic6xxCKOI/AAAAAAAAAFs/sSuexZmZ2xM/s1600/DSCN0576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z8CkVxPqlaI/UBic6xxCKOI/AAAAAAAAAFs/sSuexZmZ2xM/s320/DSCN0576.JPG" width="320" /></a>Finally the big day arrived for the quick flight to
Mendoza and Spanish 24/7. Jose, our program director, has quite the system for delivering
us to our families at the airport. No really. He calls himself a stork. This is
how it all happened…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kKGq7Qssq8A/UBiayoGyafI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/KsUnCKLB-88/s1600/DSCN0583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>…We picked up our bags from the carousel and stacked our
various pieces of luggage on the trolley carts, which are free in the Mendoza
airport. This was quite the adventure for the other passengers on our plane who
then had to negotiate a sea of trolley carts, luggage, and nervous American
students speaking Spanglish. After all the other passengers had cleared the
area, Jose instructed us to get in line to put our luggage through a screening
process (customs in country?) then one-by-one, he delivered us through the
sliding double doors to our hungry host families craning to see us from the
other side. I’m sure the whole time they were thinking “is that one mine? Maybe
that one?” as we struggled with our luggage and nerves.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, it was quite Harry Potterish as we all
stood in line with our trolley carts waiting to be delivered. From my point of
view it looked like Jose was instructing each student with their trolley cart
exactly how to run at the brick column to get to Platform 9 ¾ and when the
glass doors opened it really was magical hearing the cheers and hollers from
the host families excited to claim their students. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was towards the end of the line (second to last actually)
and when I reached Jose he informed me that my host family wasn’t there yet,
they were stuck in traffic, which keeping with my Harry Potter simile was like
finding out I’d been mistaken for a wizard when in actuality I was just a
muggle. I was definitely bummed. But never fear! Because when my host brother
arrived he was very apologetic and so, so nice to me. I was instantly ecstatic
once again to be in Mendoza and (incredibly) speaking Spanish!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FcGVif_7_wI/UBibuMOSseI/AAAAAAAAAFk/D3u1eHAMMgw/s1600/DSCN0676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FcGVif_7_wI/UBibuMOSseI/AAAAAAAAAFk/D3u1eHAMMgw/s320/DSCN0676.JPG" width="320" /></a>For the past few days now, I have been speaking 90% Spanish
with my family, friends, IFSA folks, and Argentinos. The first day especially
this was very exciting, but has since become exciting and extremely exhausting.
I think I’ve been traveling too much recently because I can literally feel my
brain booting up like a plane’s engine, slowly gaining power as I register
words and complete sentences and speak my thoughts until… MALFUNCTION! and everything
shuts down. My subconscious comes over the intercom and informs my neurons, “we’ve
got a very difficult verb construction here, looks like it may be a few moments
before we can prepare for takeoff” at which time I stare blankly at my host mom
or friend utterly confused. It’s frustrating, but that’s just how it’s going to
be as I climb basically the Longs Peak Diamond Face equivalent of a learning
curve. Oh well, c’est la vie! </div>
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<br /></div>
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Crap. That was French.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Lisa en Argentina</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. Best mess up moment so far = I pointed to my head
saying “cerveza” instead of “cabeza” thus calling my brain a beer. My brother
loved it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G8bm4z13B1A/UBibSRBZ_AI/AAAAAAAAAFY/mhuxkq4d6U8/s1600/DSCN0589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G8bm4z13B1A/UBibSRBZ_AI/AAAAAAAAAFY/mhuxkq4d6U8/s400/DSCN0589.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-86660905057671266542012-07-29T16:19:00.000-07:002012-07-29T16:29:32.404-07:00The Sights of Buenos Aires<br />
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</div>
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IFSA Butler planned two days for sightseeing in the city before
we leave for Mendoza so we can relax and get to know the culture and history of
this beautiful city. Naturally I took my camera everywhere and was quiet the
gringo tourist, but I’m so glad I did! The city is beautiful and I was happy I
got to capture some of its famous attractions for myself.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-miEPpgbXAKY/UBW6BSdK-3I/AAAAAAAAACs/yPLpN0OEEAg/s1600/DSCN0356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-miEPpgbXAKY/UBW6BSdK-3I/AAAAAAAAACs/yPLpN0OEEAg/s320/DSCN0356.JPG" width="320" /></a>For example, we saw the inside of the Catedral Metropolitana
de Buenos Aires, which just about took my breath away. The mausoleum of San
Martín (Argentina’s national hero) is here and of course I had to take a
picture with one of the guards of his army (a more ceremonial army than active)
which as you can see in the picture at right, he thoroughly enjoyed. Below are
a few of my other favorite pictures from the church. The left is one of the
many chapels. This one was called the Capilla de San Luis Gonzaga. The middle
picture is from the mausoleum of San Martín. And the last photo is the main
alter of the church, which was so beautiful, but very hard to photograph.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_uGboXxVhQo/UBW6iE6ztAI/AAAAAAAAAC0/LwQX6yUycJM/s1600/DSCN0373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_uGboXxVhQo/UBW6iE6ztAI/AAAAAAAAAC0/LwQX6yUycJM/s200/DSCN0373.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I2heTzQa_BM/UBW5RFk0gPI/AAAAAAAAACY/gRIXoCXq3NY/s1600/DSCN0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I2heTzQa_BM/UBW5RFk0gPI/AAAAAAAAACY/gRIXoCXq3NY/s200/DSCN0296.JPG" width="150" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9Bk7htv5j04/UBW5pAyWWuI/AAAAAAAAACg/J2wjXD9V52c/s1600/DSCN0326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9Bk7htv5j04/UBW5pAyWWuI/AAAAAAAAACg/J2wjXD9V52c/s200/DSCN0326.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cIVxJHJWj2Y/UBW8WdqAIcI/AAAAAAAAADI/cETC8M3hHL0/s1600/DSCN0431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cIVxJHJWj2Y/UBW8WdqAIcI/AAAAAAAAADI/cETC8M3hHL0/s200/DSCN0431.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-asxle3iOWwc/UBW7swMU9rI/AAAAAAAAADA/1x8AYoYxfcs/s1600/DSCN0422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-asxle3iOWwc/UBW7swMU9rI/AAAAAAAAADA/1x8AYoYxfcs/s200/DSCN0422.JPG" width="150" /></a>We also went to La Boca, a neighborhood near the mouth of
the River Plate (boca is Spanish for mouth). The immigrants that lived there
built their homes from the dock after it closed. They couldn’t
afford bricks so they bought the paint that others discarded for cheap. Hence you get
yellow, green, blue, and many other colors on the metal buildings. Some people
still live in the apartments, but it’s mostly a tourist attraction now with
shops, restaurants, and many locals dancing the tango for donations.</div>
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0rGoin7FZCE/UBW9SGBwkZI/AAAAAAAAADU/CkKOmWZMJgA/s1600/DSCN0491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0rGoin7FZCE/UBW9SGBwkZI/AAAAAAAAADU/CkKOmWZMJgA/s320/DSCN0491.JPG" width="320" /></a>After lunch and all this touring, a group of my new friends
and I went to a cute little wine bar in a different part of the city. Yes, I
drank a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, which was very difficult to order not because
of my aversion to alcohol so much as my inability to use anything but a Spanish
accent when I’m speaking and thinking in Spanish. Luckily the waiter forgave
me. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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That night after orientation, we had dinner on our own, so I
went with another group for pizza at a restaurant close by. Afterwards, we
determined that we only had one night left in Buenos Aires, so better make the
most of it! Argentine time is very different than the United States when “going
out” for the night, as in clubs don’t open till 2:00am. Like total champs
though, we went to a bar at about midnight where we met some nice local
Argentine men (who my more advanced Spanish-speaking friends totally chatted
up). They eventually used their connections to get us into Club Kiko with VIP
access and no cover charge. We danced until after 3am when I finally went back
to the hotel. We had a 7:30 wake-up call the next morning, but it was
incredible!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eHw-ZjF3V5U/UBW-QUnDCGI/AAAAAAAAADc/R1ApcSnD3cc/s1600/DSCN0509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eHw-ZjF3V5U/UBW-QUnDCGI/AAAAAAAAADc/R1ApcSnD3cc/s320/DSCN0509.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XmWg-dcj1w0/UBW-uS0ysRI/AAAAAAAAADo/tGp5W1hkU3Y/s1600/DSCN0513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XmWg-dcj1w0/UBW-uS0ysRI/AAAAAAAAADo/tGp5W1hkU3Y/s200/DSCN0513.JPG" width="150" /></a>The next morning was more sightseeing with a slightly less
active crowd than the club the night before at the Recoleta Cemetery and Nuestro
Senorá del Pilar Church. The church is the oldest in Buenos Aires, founded in
1732 and was so beautiful. The cemetery was incredible also. I hadn’t ever seen
anything like it! We saw the mausoleums of multiple Argentine presidents and
other famous Argentines. One very creepy story was that of one girl who was
buried in a coma. She suffocated of course, and when they reburied her they put
a statue of a girl in nightgown trying to open a door with no handle (see below)
Worst nightmare anyone? I tried to be artistic with my pictures in the cemetery,
because it was so beautiful and ornate. Definitely an incredible place!</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfegIbVQBP4/UBW_1p46GXI/AAAAAAAAAEE/8idmySmuDnQ/s1600/DSCN0546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfegIbVQBP4/UBW_1p46GXI/AAAAAAAAAEE/8idmySmuDnQ/s200/DSCN0546.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TCY7x65JMlA/UBW_g0n7CbI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6Rsmms5gBNY/s1600/DSCN0531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TCY7x65JMlA/UBW_g0n7CbI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6Rsmms5gBNY/s200/DSCN0531.JPG" width="150" /></a> <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNmP3hGT94E/UBXAGhyVc4I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/bzQRzOsxfks/s1600/DSCN0548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNmP3hGT94E/UBXAGhyVc4I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/bzQRzOsxfks/s200/DSCN0548.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p_lBC2Q-ScE/UBXAelZn7LI/AAAAAAAAAEY/GxxUBPdh8tc/s1600/DSCN0554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p_lBC2Q-ScE/UBXAelZn7LI/AAAAAAAAAEY/GxxUBPdh8tc/s200/DSCN0554.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9KxiRLnlus/UBW_IgldNRI/AAAAAAAAADw/U6gOwFS-CBk/s1600/DSCN0524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9KxiRLnlus/UBW_IgldNRI/AAAAAAAAADw/U6gOwFS-CBk/s200/DSCN0524.JPG" width="200" /></a> </div>
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After lunch, our time in Buenos Aires was over and we headed
to the airport for Mendoza. I’ll never forget this city and all its sights and
history. Now it’s on to the real challenge, Spanish 24/7 and living with a new
family for five months. It still hasn’t hit me that this isn’t a vacation, it’s
a new life in a different country. I’ll let you know when that moment does
occur, but for now, I’ll leave you with just a few more shots of the beautiful capital
of Argentina!</div>
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<br /></div>
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-Lisa en Argentina</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yD7Im8Thq7Y/UBXD1PxBWII/AAAAAAAAAE8/8BTXcRDgVM0/s1600/DSCN0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yD7Im8Thq7Y/UBXD1PxBWII/AAAAAAAAAE8/8BTXcRDgVM0/s320/DSCN0561.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YAc29X62w5k/UBXDb0pxj0I/AAAAAAAAAE0/5E5i0z_FhWY/s1600/DSCN0409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YAc29X62w5k/UBXDb0pxj0I/AAAAAAAAAE0/5E5i0z_FhWY/s320/DSCN0409.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ujVTbjU2WVY/UBXDAmzN2oI/AAAAAAAAAEo/kXjzTqZa7co/s1600/DSCN0291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ujVTbjU2WVY/UBXDAmzN2oI/AAAAAAAAAEo/kXjzTqZa7co/s320/DSCN0291.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-38382505430968434592012-07-26T19:29:00.001-07:002012-07-29T14:38:16.416-07:00!Estoy Aqui!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZAqN8dwM72U/UBH65hnTjpI/AAAAAAAAAB8/kpRMyv8un3k/s1600/DSCN0264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZAqN8dwM72U/UBH65hnTjpI/AAAAAAAAAB8/kpRMyv8un3k/s320/DSCN0264.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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I have arrived in Buenos Aires after a long flight of 8
hours and restless sleep. I met up with the other folks in my program, about 30
students from around the country, and were thrilled by how much in common I
have with a lot of them. We’re all fast friends in the making!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yeBnwzuntdI/UBH6rFkLd_I/AAAAAAAAABs/qBzbOKwJ0co/s1600/DSCN0233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yeBnwzuntdI/UBH6rFkLd_I/AAAAAAAAABs/qBzbOKwJ0co/s320/DSCN0233.JPG" width="240" /></a> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was particularly lucky to meet a fellow who has been in
Buenos Aires for about a month now and was happy to get the rest of us
oblivious gringos around town sightseeing. The architecture here would thrill
Aunt Holly and I love the beautiful façades and rising spires. It’s winter here
in Argentina, yet the day felt like it was in the low 60s and thus was pretty
comfortable. Definitely a nice change after 100 degrees in Colorado.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xYeDxpnFi3U/UBH6yBu3M2I/AAAAAAAAAB0/5KSBjRaTPBM/s1600/DSCN0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xYeDxpnFi3U/UBH6yBu3M2I/AAAAAAAAAB0/5KSBjRaTPBM/s320/DSCN0239.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The highlight of today was visiting the Plaza de Mayo where
the madres de la plaza meet every Thursday to protest the human rights abuses
the military regime of Argentina committed from 1976-83. Around 13,000 people
disappeared. The demonstration was a powerful symbol of the turmoil still felt
by many Argentines about their government, their country, and the future of
both. The woman I managed to capture in this picture is a somber reminder of
the struggle this country has had to face in its efforts to present itself on
the global stage. She and the other mothers quietly chanted the names of those
who had disappeared while slowly circling around the Pirámide de Mayo in front
of the Casa Rosada where the President has her offices.</div>
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Today we also learned in orientation all about the amazing opportunities
that we’ll have in Mendoza, including free gym and library access, free theatre
passes, Argentine cooking classes, and of course access to some of the most beautiful
mountains around (after the Rockies of course). While we’re here in Buenos
Aires our orientation is in English so we don’t miss any critical information
and can relax and be tourists before the challenge of full-emersion begins in a
couple days. I find myself so excited to learn Spanish now that it’s all around
me, and I can only hope I can keep my patience and not get too frustrated as I
try to become fluent as fast as possible. The brief times I do communicate with
Argentines I get flushed and excited, seemingly one step closer to being part
of this amazing culture.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sifb_n2FZpw/UBH74M46gHI/AAAAAAAAACE/zWpEP0UDvc0/s1600/DSCN0223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sifb_n2FZpw/UBH74M46gHI/AAAAAAAAACE/zWpEP0UDvc0/s320/DSCN0223.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div>
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I sign off for now, and leave you with a wonderful picture
of Argentine empanadas. Yum! The food here is definitely delicious, albeit they do
serve dinner around 10pm.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Love you all!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa en Argentina</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-30020467991267521382012-07-25T14:57:00.000-07:002012-07-25T15:00:00.219-07:00A Note on Airports<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m currently sitting in MIA in the land of palm trees and
humidity levels best described by Dave Barry as feeling like someone has “thrown
a wet towel over your face.” No really, it almost feels hard to breath.<br />
</div>
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<a href="http://static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Turbulence_91bbed_2908459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Turbulence_91bbed_2908459.jpg" width="456" /></a>But as I sit here waiting for my plane to Buenos Aires (4
hours and counting!) I decided I had to write a little blub about the hilarity
of airports. Perhaps I’m just overly excited about my destination and that has
made this trip far more thrilling and funny to me, but ever since Mom and Dad
dropped me off this morning at DIA, I’ve been finding entertainment in just
about everything.</div>
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For starters, as we climbed out of Denver headed for Miami,
I noticed that we seemed to level off sooner than I expected, headed straight
for a cloud which I think we could have easily cleared had we gone just a bit
higher. Of course entering this cloud resulted in turbulence, and I couldn’t
help wondering if the crew up front was pulling a move like the Gary Larson
cartoon shown at right. I’m no pilot, but it would seem to me that flying
straight into a cloud would be great cover for “more turbulence.”<br />
</div>
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Next, I had to pull out my Sky Mall magazine, which always
entertains me. Here are some of the more hilarious of the items available for
purchase:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>Bling Dental Products: The Diamond Ultrasonic
Toothbrush – My favorite part was the before and after photos of a woman who
had used the product. The only difference was that she was wearing bright red
lipstick in the “after” photograph. Nicely done Bling Dental.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>LitterKwitter: “Potty train your cat faster than
most people can potty train their kids” – I’d like to think this advertisement
is claiming as fact that cats are indeed smarter than humans.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>Hot Dog Leash: “It’s
funny even if you don’t have a weiner dog. If you do, then it’s hilarious!” –
No comment</li>
</ul>
</div>
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Then I entered the part of the magazine which uses “The” in
front of every article, as if you should have heard of the product a million
times and its world-wide famousness and usefulness is obvious. For example “The
Genuine Navy Seal Watch” which would probably stand up to this description if
not for the next item, “The Genuine Bamboo Tiki Bar,” which sort of steals its
thunder.<br />
</div>
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My favorite item though? “The Peeing Boy of Brussels” Statue
& Fountain. I would attach the picture, but I’m sure your imagination is
doing far better.<br />
</div>
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Finally, flying into Miami, I noticed Floridian civil
engineers have thought it smart to paint “Merge” with large arrows pointing to
which lane motorists should change to on their highways. I couldn’t help but
wonder if this novelty would be affective in California. What do you think Jim
Parker?<br />
</div>
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In all seriousness, I’m so excited to be in Miami especially
because so much Spanish is already happening all around me! I’m thinking it
will be a nice transition. The next time I post I’ll be in South America! Can’t
wait!<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa en Argentina<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. A quick shout out to the big burly black man who shared
a row with me and is the proud owner of a pink and purple flower print JanSport
backpack. You don’t know me, but you’re my hero.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025447380308282725.post-15694033433234380232012-07-19T14:47:00.000-07:002012-07-19T15:16:21.681-07:00An Introduction<a href="http://www.robertneralich.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/vinedos-mendoza1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://www.robertneralich.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/vinedos-mendoza1.jpg" width="320" /></a>Heart pounding, eyes wide, I put down the phone. The timer on the digital display says 22 minutes and I'm all smiles. I just had my first conversation with a local Argentine, my host mom Dina Hernandez, and for 22 minutes! This would be superfluous of course if it didn't come with a) a heck of a phone bill, and b) the fact that it was all in Spanish, which is my main motivator for traveling south of the equator for five months.<br />
<br />
Ever since my first mission trip, which was to Juarez, Mexico, I've craved to be fluent in Spanish. I love the Latino culture, I love the beauty of the language, and more than anything, I love the idea of being connected to another community through a common identity of communication. Thus, my dream of fluency blossomed via DU (University of Denver) where 80% of students study abroad. You see, I do this thing where I set a goal, in this case full-immersion Spanish in my study abroad program of choice, then go through all the paperwork, red tape, long nights, etc. to set myself up for it, somehow all without consciously realizing how tough the final challenge will be. So now, after applications, essays, and two years of college level Spanish instruction I find myself heading speedily towards my final goal - full-immersion in Mendoza, Argentina. Suddenly my brain seems to be questioning my tough determination all those applications so long ago, can I really do this?<br />
<br />
22 minutes later I'm beginning to think I can, and it's lifted me to a whole new level of excitement. Aside from full-immersion Spanish, including classes at the local university with other Argentines and staying with Dina, I'm also in one of the most beautiful places in Argentina. Mendoza is in wine-country in the foothills of the Andes on Argentina's western border and is a hot tourist spot for many Latin Americans. (For proof, see photo above). Activities nearby include hiking, whitewater rafting, zip lining, and mountain climbing (Aconcagua is not far from Mendoza) not to mention bike and wine tours and innumerable cultural and historical opportunities. In short, the community I'm about to be a part of will provide its challenges, but will also provide incredible opportunities for learning, growth, and discovery and I plan to take full advantage of them all.<br />
<br />
Through this blog I'll relay the challenges and adventures that I'm sure to experience for the next five months, along with a multitude of pictures so be sure to check in often! :) Also, if you would like to send anything, the address to use is:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Myriad Pro";">Lisa Parker</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Myriad Pro";">c/o José Mostafá</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Myriad Pro";">Rivadavia 122 7˚76</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Myriad Pro";">5500 Mendoza</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Myriad Pro";">Argentina</span></div>
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<br /></div>
To everyone that's helped me get to this point, thank you so much for your
support and encouragement. I couldn't do it without you!<br />
<br />
Let the adventures begin!<br />
- Lisa en ArgentinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09277064593591415450noreply@blogger.com2