FREEEEDDDDOOOOMMMM!!!
Holy he'll, today we had our first " legal" crossing into another country. To reach our goal of end-of-the-world first we had to cross through Chile. As you all now beths plight with vegetarianism has been frought with difficulties. So, we've begin packing lunches on long bus rides so as not to starve her as a result of the bus industry being in bed with the meat industry and supplying only meat for meals. This led to the following exchange at the border of Chile, while filling out the claim form, which stated, in no uncertain terms, "it's expressly forbidden to bring any fruit or animal products into Chile":
Jason: "Are you checking no to having fruit?"
Beth: "Of course."
J: "I think there are huge fines associated with smuggling them into a country."
Beth, the rebel: "No. They just say that. It'll be fine."
At which point she coerced me to check no on my form as well, which I hesitantly did, though thinking to myself: "salami, I'm glad Beth told me not to claim you, because I'm gonna eat you later.".
Oh, whatwickedwebswomanweave.
After a three hour delay at the border crossing, which saw one couple dragged off the bus in some Pinochetesque theatrics, we finally got called to duty (duty being to stand in line for another twenty minutes to get stamped into Chile). I brought along my sheet of lies, only for the Chilean border patrol to wave it aside as unnecessary. I breathed my sigh of relief (and, yes, my stomach gurgled it's own sigh of relief, or perhaps approval) and headed back to the bus.
The bus attendant signed my sheet and I got back on. Relief is a funny thing; it quickly transforms into curse words, then worry and eventually all blood seeping from your face, presumably directly to your heart, which is then pounding. For no less did I climb that last stair and see none other than Mr. Chilean Customs Agent standing guard at my seat. And relief began it's ugly transformation.
Be Cool. Cool as that godforsaken cucumber in my bag of contabando (alright, there was no cucumber, and I didn't say that, I told myself to lie, tell them--or rather have Beth tell them for me--I have a mental disability, or I don't speak english, as the instructions were also in english, anything really would suffice). So, I walked back and faced the inquisitor. I opened our backpack, then grabbed the first plastic bag and finally i grabbed the devil herself and let him look through the damn thing himself. I wasn't going to show off my fruits, if he wanted them he'd have to get them...and that he did. He gestured for me to throw them in the bag, then did his best Dale Vickers impression, looking disapprovingly at me for what seemed like seconds, maybe even more.
That's when the fun began. He asked me "how much," in English, which I took to be asking for a bribe. I'm poor, so played dumb, "for what?" He then seemed to take that as a "no" and made the appropriate fine threat, 500 of something, perhaps pesos, maybe dollars. I gave him the big eyes treatment, said "si?" and continued to apologize excessively, seemingly to no avail.
A this point he rattles on in some foreign language for a bit, and I turn to Beth to see if she knows what the hell he is saying. She doesn't, but my interest is sparked when he puts his hand on my wrist and makes a clicking sound. After I peed myself I turned and told him I'm sorry, I don't understand, for about the tenth time, and he looks at me, says "lo siento?" in his most condescending voice, and tells me "un momento," walking away as he does so.
Shit.
Methodically he searches the rest of the packs on the bus, leaving Beth in a state close to tears and me worrying. Finding nothing, he disappears and for a moment once again, relief. Then I see the bus attendent come upstairs followed by the Inquisitor. Attendent is looking around for someone and then I hear "ultima" which I presume is me, since we once again have been relegated to the back of the bus. Time slows, curse words flow, though only inwardly and mostly towards those damned nutrient rich things they call veggies and Attendent gets closer.
Then it happens, the seats closest to us begin to laugh. The Inquisitor breaks out in a slow, sinister smile and all I hear is the word relief, but not in English, in Spanish, and not the word itself, but rather the word tranquillo. And then I too break out in s grin, neither slow nor sinister, but full of that beautiful feeling of relief.
The bastard.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
How 2 Avocados and 3 Tomatoes Saved My Life (Beth´s Version of the Events)
Once upon a time, there was a nice little vegetarian girl who didn´t want to hurt any animals, despite being in the most hedonistic meat-eating country in the world. Amongst the barbaric carnivores on the bus, there was seldom an ítem for the Little Vegetarian to enjoy calorically. After travelling the length of the 7th largest country for a rough total of 100 hrs by bus, the Little Vegetarian and her boyfriend/prince/Project-to-save-from-the-dark-world-of-eating-animals, got wise and began to pack lunches and dinners for the long bus rides. With the excitement of Ushuaia, glaciers, penguins, hiking, and avocado & tomato in her heart, the Little Vegetarian eagerly boarded the bus FROM Argentina TO Argentina (NOT to Chile, the land of mean, fat border control guards. ) Little did that poor Little Vegetarian know, darkness loomed in the distance.
After inexplicably being trapped on the bus (like a cute little calf on a factory farm), not moving at the Chiliean/ Argentinian border (which you apparently must cross to get to Ushuaia), a dark, fat and hairy monster hereby referred to as DiabloGuarda tromped onto the bus to get customs papers despite the travellers lack of intention (or opportunity) to step on Chilean soil. ¨¡FEE FI FO FOM! ¡Me llamo DiabloGuarda!¨, the ugly monster said before taking the Little Vegetarian and her novio´s customs papers. As all good children know, in times of war (like Vegetarianos vs Carnivores) sometimes it is necessary to be slightly deceiptful to protect one´s morality and animals at large, so the Little Vegetarian took some slight liberties in forgetting to include the 2 avocados and 3 tomatoes on the customs form.
When DiabloGuarda and his nasty kharma discovered these blissful Godsends in the bag, horns sudddenly protruded from his skull and a great fire emerged around him. The Little Vegetarian´s novio, in a showing of great valor and romantic chivalry, crossed enemy lines to protect the Little Vegetarian by claiming the herbivore´s ítems were his own! With high cholestrol and clogged arteries (the result of the animals´wartime atomic bomb on the Carnivores), Diablo Guarda breathed the fire of intimidation on the Little Vegetarian and her novio. He even suggested they sell their souls to him in the form of a bribe, but the two lovers stayed strong in the name of honor of true greats like Wilbur, Flipper, and Nemo and repeated, ¨Lo siento (para los animales muerte en todo el mundo.)¨ DiabloGuarda, in a fit of fiery, red rage carelessly snatched the produce from the Little Vegetarian and her novio, not even taking caution not to bruise their heavenly flesh!!! Instead of screaming out in pain, the tiny fruits surrendered honorably. But the cruel and carelesss guard grabbed one avocado so forcefully that he pierced the skin and wounded the avocado, causing it´s mysteriously green flesh ´to touch his clawed fingers. DiabloGuarda hissed to the travellers, ¨¡Hasta la vista baby! ¡I´ll be back!¨(presumably to take the couple to a prisoner war camp or institute a hefty fine to help support the unjust cause of animal genocide on the nearby sheep and bovine farms.)
But as DiabloGuarda waddled his fat way up the aisle, something magical began to unfold. As DiabloGuarda wagged his wrinkled, smelly claws at other passengers, a small piece of green flesh clung tightly to his finger. Indeed! The fallen soldier with the irreprocable puncture wound inflicted by DiabloGuarda was not done fighting at all! Though DiabloGuarda tried his darnedest to continue to torture people, the scientifically proven benefits of the Omagical 3 Fatty Acid from the avocado began to seep into his skin, producing rather instanteous physical and emotional health benefits! By the time DiabloGuarda collected all the customs forms, he felt lighter on his feet and craved more of the magical fruits! Instead of continuing on with his malicious plan to inprison the Little Vegetarian and her novio, DiabloGuarda let the travellers go on in peace, instead choosing to run off the bus in the fastest manner possible to eat more of the most miraculous food in the world.
Though they missed their fruits (and the Little Vegetarian cried for quite some time from the fright of the incident), the travellers continued on their happy journey to live happily forever after (but not without first awarding the brave avocado the Purple Corazon.)
After inexplicably being trapped on the bus (like a cute little calf on a factory farm), not moving at the Chiliean/ Argentinian border (which you apparently must cross to get to Ushuaia), a dark, fat and hairy monster hereby referred to as DiabloGuarda tromped onto the bus to get customs papers despite the travellers lack of intention (or opportunity) to step on Chilean soil. ¨¡FEE FI FO FOM! ¡Me llamo DiabloGuarda!¨, the ugly monster said before taking the Little Vegetarian and her novio´s customs papers. As all good children know, in times of war (like Vegetarianos vs Carnivores) sometimes it is necessary to be slightly deceiptful to protect one´s morality and animals at large, so the Little Vegetarian took some slight liberties in forgetting to include the 2 avocados and 3 tomatoes on the customs form.
When DiabloGuarda and his nasty kharma discovered these blissful Godsends in the bag, horns sudddenly protruded from his skull and a great fire emerged around him. The Little Vegetarian´s novio, in a showing of great valor and romantic chivalry, crossed enemy lines to protect the Little Vegetarian by claiming the herbivore´s ítems were his own! With high cholestrol and clogged arteries (the result of the animals´wartime atomic bomb on the Carnivores), Diablo Guarda breathed the fire of intimidation on the Little Vegetarian and her novio. He even suggested they sell their souls to him in the form of a bribe, but the two lovers stayed strong in the name of honor of true greats like Wilbur, Flipper, and Nemo and repeated, ¨Lo siento (para los animales muerte en todo el mundo.)¨ DiabloGuarda, in a fit of fiery, red rage carelessly snatched the produce from the Little Vegetarian and her novio, not even taking caution not to bruise their heavenly flesh!!! Instead of screaming out in pain, the tiny fruits surrendered honorably. But the cruel and carelesss guard grabbed one avocado so forcefully that he pierced the skin and wounded the avocado, causing it´s mysteriously green flesh ´to touch his clawed fingers. DiabloGuarda hissed to the travellers, ¨¡Hasta la vista baby! ¡I´ll be back!¨(presumably to take the couple to a prisoner war camp or institute a hefty fine to help support the unjust cause of animal genocide on the nearby sheep and bovine farms.)
But as DiabloGuarda waddled his fat way up the aisle, something magical began to unfold. As DiabloGuarda wagged his wrinkled, smelly claws at other passengers, a small piece of green flesh clung tightly to his finger. Indeed! The fallen soldier with the irreprocable puncture wound inflicted by DiabloGuarda was not done fighting at all! Though DiabloGuarda tried his darnedest to continue to torture people, the scientifically proven benefits of the Omagical 3 Fatty Acid from the avocado began to seep into his skin, producing rather instanteous physical and emotional health benefits! By the time DiabloGuarda collected all the customs forms, he felt lighter on his feet and craved more of the magical fruits! Instead of continuing on with his malicious plan to inprison the Little Vegetarian and her novio, DiabloGuarda let the travellers go on in peace, instead choosing to run off the bus in the fastest manner possible to eat more of the most miraculous food in the world.
Though they missed their fruits (and the Little Vegetarian cried for quite some time from the fright of the incident), the travellers continued on their happy journey to live happily forever after (but not without first awarding the brave avocado the Purple Corazon.)
Friday, February 26, 2010
Penguin, Penguin, Where Forth Art Thou Penguin
Today we sold our souls. No, not fo earthly riches: no gold, euros, part of Jaime McCourt's settlement, or property in Montecito. No, we sold our souls for penguins. Today marked our first embarkation upon the first of not-so-many tour groups. But, it was for penguins, so we bid our souls ado, and jumped into the eurovan with nary a worry for our eternal life, only that of our earthly enjoyment.
We arrived by bus in the town of puerto madryn with the goal of walking peninsula valdses, claimed by lonely planet to be a wildlife gold mine, and thus booked another bus to the sleepy coastal town of puerto piramides--approximately half the size of carpinteria, with at least a third the life, that is until the tourist bus leaves around seven at which point the town literally shrivels up and dies. That's where the excitement was suposed to begin, so that is where we stayed, all with the hope of seeing "pinguinos."
The first day we showed up, went to our campground (located behind the gas station, second only to "located behind the bathroom of KFC," of places-I'd-love-to-camp-at), and went directly to the tourist information office to find out where to go to see penguins.
Long story short, the lady laughed in my face when I asked her, in pigeon Spanish, where to walk to see the little guys. Though we are here for the long hall, 80 kilometers is well out of my walking budget. We are not that lazy, we did the 5k to see the sea lion colony, where Beth recognized at least 10 runaways from San Francisco, but I digress. And that is how we came to take a tour with 15 septuagenarians in the wildlife goldmine that doubles as a tourist trap.
Beth says that penguins are people too (then again she says that pigs are people too, which makes me a cannibal...take that as you will) and I'm beginning to agree with her. Bonobos may be closest in terms of DNA, but penguins are just extremely small and extrodinarily dapper, midgets. They are the most entertaining creatures I've ever had the pleasure to watch in their natural habitat. I loved every second of our fifteen minute penguin pause-on-the-tour, even when Beth and I stretched it to twenty and were forced to chase after the bus because it didn't notice the only people under 70 weren't on it. And after all this I would not trade our guided herding for anything, except a 1.5 liter Quilmes and a rental car...but that's it.
Alternate Ending aks Beth's ending: Pinguinos are my friends. I love them so bad. The End!!!
Pictures to follow...when we have a real live computer.
Eat a penguin...
Squish a penguin...
Adopt a penguin...
Kiss a penguin...
Be a penguin!Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Notes From A Bus
Rules of the bus:
- Always shower, even if you cannot take s full-fledged watering, at least given the puerto rican shower a shot-this occurs when someone can smell themselves, but doesn't have access to a shower, thus dumps copious amounts of Stetson near armpits and other unsavory smell factories of the body. Unfortunately, ad with bathroom spray, the desired effect is seldom reached, usually leaving the intended beneficiary worse off, and creating future unexpected olfactory associations, such as vanilla and shit. Nonetheless, I personally would prefer vanilla to forever be associated with viscous BO, then to have sufferd through those ten hours on the bus. Side note: apparently in south america a purto rican shower us actually called a pollish shower, a name they refuse to alter to French shower, even with my relentless pleading. A synonym for gringo is also pollack. Oddly enough, I've yet to meet a Pole (is this really how you abbreviate a polish human being? No wonder they're so maligned).
- Eat two-day old, unrefridgerated hard boiled eggs because you are a vegetarian traveling on a bus in a country of meat. Oh, the sweet vengance though. That'll teach someone to not shower before a long bus ride. Lesson: don't try to out stink a Veggie on a bus, they don't kill animals-unfertalized eggs clearly not yet being an animal-but they'll murder your sense of smell.
- Have working night lights. The only reason you all are forced to read this nonsense is because some bus light changer-or as I like to call them, bus light engineer- was derlict in his/her bus duties. Instead of reading at 2am im forced to write nonsensical to-do and not to-do list about stank bus no. 9, with my shirt covering my now dead nostrils.
- Don't be white. Yes, me and Beth have been relegated to the back of the bus in some cruel (not in relative terms) twist of ironic North American fate. This is problematic because the engine is back here, because the wheels are further up and because I used to throw up on the merry-go-round...oh, and because being carsick coming out of a dengue zone has apparently confused Beth, who now believes she may be the latest victim of the 2010 Iguazu dengue epidemic.
- And don't drink...anything. One cause for bus delays here is overflows of the septic tanks which then have to be bailed out. We've yet to witness this 7th wonder of the fecal world, but then again we've just begun. Im still hopeful. What this does not do, however, is lend itself to pristine, mobile gas station-like bathrooms.
- Lastly, Don't bring a watch. We've had two bus rides so far and two prolonged stops. The first was for a mere hour in some back alley, at which time we were inexplicably hustled to a new bus. This last stop, locAted in the scenic intersection of two highways, last a bit longer: 5 hours or more, to be not-so-exact. We knew this was over when the hodge-podge of mechanics , including our driver and two guys who appeared out of nowhere in a beat-up old peugot, began tossing random parts, seemingly from the bus, into the brush alongside the highway. I'm no mechanic, but at least part of that mess looked like the muffler/cadillidac converter. This all landed not too far from where our plastic food trays were deposited the night before, so perhaps leaving your WWF card at the entrance might be a good idea as well.
Further Notes:
That last post was supposed to be up three days ago, apologies for the delay. We are alive, just camped for the first time and are currently writing this gratis from a bus station. Heading to puerto piramides in 15 minutes. Hope all is well at home.
- Always shower, even if you cannot take s full-fledged watering, at least given the puerto rican shower a shot-this occurs when someone can smell themselves, but doesn't have access to a shower, thus dumps copious amounts of Stetson near armpits and other unsavory smell factories of the body. Unfortunately, ad with bathroom spray, the desired effect is seldom reached, usually leaving the intended beneficiary worse off, and creating future unexpected olfactory associations, such as vanilla and shit. Nonetheless, I personally would prefer vanilla to forever be associated with viscous BO, then to have sufferd through those ten hours on the bus. Side note: apparently in south america a purto rican shower us actually called a pollish shower, a name they refuse to alter to French shower, even with my relentless pleading. A synonym for gringo is also pollack. Oddly enough, I've yet to meet a Pole (is this really how you abbreviate a polish human being? No wonder they're so maligned).
- Eat two-day old, unrefridgerated hard boiled eggs because you are a vegetarian traveling on a bus in a country of meat. Oh, the sweet vengance though. That'll teach someone to not shower before a long bus ride. Lesson: don't try to out stink a Veggie on a bus, they don't kill animals-unfertalized eggs clearly not yet being an animal-but they'll murder your sense of smell.
- Have working night lights. The only reason you all are forced to read this nonsense is because some bus light changer-or as I like to call them, bus light engineer- was derlict in his/her bus duties. Instead of reading at 2am im forced to write nonsensical to-do and not to-do list about stank bus no. 9, with my shirt covering my now dead nostrils.
- Don't be white. Yes, me and Beth have been relegated to the back of the bus in some cruel (not in relative terms) twist of ironic North American fate. This is problematic because the engine is back here, because the wheels are further up and because I used to throw up on the merry-go-round...oh, and because being carsick coming out of a dengue zone has apparently confused Beth, who now believes she may be the latest victim of the 2010 Iguazu dengue epidemic.
- And don't drink...anything. One cause for bus delays here is overflows of the septic tanks which then have to be bailed out. We've yet to witness this 7th wonder of the fecal world, but then again we've just begun. Im still hopeful. What this does not do, however, is lend itself to pristine, mobile gas station-like bathrooms.
- Lastly, Don't bring a watch. We've had two bus rides so far and two prolonged stops. The first was for a mere hour in some back alley, at which time we were inexplicably hustled to a new bus. This last stop, locAted in the scenic intersection of two highways, last a bit longer: 5 hours or more, to be not-so-exact. We knew this was over when the hodge-podge of mechanics , including our driver and two guys who appeared out of nowhere in a beat-up old peugot, began tossing random parts, seemingly from the bus, into the brush alongside the highway. I'm no mechanic, but at least part of that mess looked like the muffler/cadillidac converter. This all landed not too far from where our plastic food trays were deposited the night before, so perhaps leaving your WWF card at the entrance might be a good idea as well.
Further Notes:
That last post was supposed to be up three days ago, apologies for the delay. We are alive, just camped for the first time and are currently writing this gratis from a bus station. Heading to puerto piramides in 15 minutes. Hope all is well at home.
Goodbye Dengue, Hello Mr. Penguin
The Family!
Today marks our first month in Argentina, our third week in Puerto Iguazu, the 4th day since we celebrated Fat Tuesday and sadly (sadler?) our last day at Aunt Diane's house--which means she might be having her own Fat Saturday party here tonight, finally riding herself of Beth's Chancho boyfriend.
Since we didn't plan ahead, this is going to be short. We wanted to give a really big thanks to Aunt Diane who graciously allowed us to stay at her home and not only made us feel comfortable, but truly made us feel at home. The cousins were equally as welcoming, showing us around town, cooking us asado (barbeque) and risking life and limb to smuggle us across multiple borders. The falls were, as we said, ubelievable, but the family is what made our time in Iguazu special. So, thank you Sadler, thank you De La Horras and thank you to the three brothers' in law: Jose, Fabio and Diego who helped Jason to consume more beef and beer than he could have imagined and Beth to hate cow deaths more she thought possible.
We now head off to Ushuaia, leaving in our (red) wake Misiones and the Dengue Mosquito for the colder and less infectious Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego regions, and penguins, cute, harmless, little penguins. We'll be stopping off in Puerto Madryn for a couple of days of beach going and nature walks then to the end of the world. If we have more internet access we'll make a post. If we don't, you'll know that penguins are not as cute, innocent and harmless as we thought.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Happy...
Apparently they do celebrate Valentine's Day in Argentina. Who knew?Happy Valentine's Day, Happy Birthday to the Great Emancipator and Happy Birthday to the oh-so-great-giver-of-light, my mother, Greta Reynolds (yeah, that's right, her last name isn't Dickers either). Today is her Birthday and seeing as I can't be there to help her ring in the most important day (of my life), I was hoping that you all could give me a hand with that (as long as it is February 16th, any day after that and I cannot guarantee your protection, she is a gun touting citizen). As she has no idea this blog exist, I'm asking that anyone who has the time, desire or creative gumption to please write up a happy birthday email and send it to her. Her email address is as follows: greta@cybertime.net. Mama Dickers is pretty mellow, but leave her in her ignorance of this blog and try not to piss her off.
As far as what we've been up to, after the falls we've been taking it easy, mainly because it's been raining here off and on ever since our torrential rain experience. We've been spending a lot of time with her family and getting around town whenever the weather permits. Here's a bit of the local scenery we've been experiencing:
Beth and Me, after three weeks, as good as locals. Here we are on a Catamaran meandering through the Rio Parana, while a group of two-bit hustlers (hustlers being 8 and 15 year old Guarani kids) try to sell us their goods (In reality the hustlers are the boat people who have a thirty minute spiegl about how our ticket price goes to the education and health of the natives; meanwhile the kids have no shoes, no shirts, but matching shorts, clearly supplied by our benevolent boat gods--very generous indeed.). In other news, apparently the Parana River is the 7th largest in the world and opens up into the widest river in the world, the name of which I've forgotten, but the location of which is the delta right outside of Buenos Aires. You'll have to do your own leg work, or go on the Donate-To-Paraguan-Children boat tour.
Pizza de Bife, or beef topped with pizza sauce, basil, thick slices of mozzarella and some parm. Admittedly, I too experienced the gamut of emotions when hearing about this obvious bastardization of food. First, shock (Does such a thing exist? Or are they just toying with the American?). Then excitement (It worked for Kentucky Fried Chicken and Taco Bell, Macdonald's and Chevron, even Kmart and evil-incarnate herself, Martha Stewart. Why not apply synergy to pizza and beef?). Then apprehension (What if it is disgusting, what then? I haven't been this excited since I heard hover boards were real and look how that turned out.). Finally to jealousy (Does Argentina really trump U.S. in meaticulousness--meat ridiculousness?) And lastly, happiness (Thank god we have minds in this world that can create brilliant ideas such as meat pizza.).
Note: The name of the meat used here is motumba, which apparently is the portion of a cow between the skin and the ribs. It is supposed to be very tender, but it ended up being a bit chewy. For anyone equally as intrigued as myself, I'm guessing this could be amazing with a nice thin flank steak.
Yes, this is Beth's 7 year old 2nd cousin carrying beer home from the store. I participated only in an observatory role in the excursion to the corner store, as he was sent by his mother to go get beer. Because I thought the event needed to be documented I volunteered to accompany him. I tried to get a picture of him handing money to the cashier and receiving the beer (thus cutting out the homeless middleman of yesteryear--or when I was in high school) but was nervous of the potential shotgun hidden behind the register, aka I didn't want to offend the poor old lady handing him the beer while his lazy, and much bigger, companion sat with a stupid goofy grin and a camera in hand.
Thus ends the days following our trip to the falls and begins our last few days in Iguazu. Today is Monday...or Tuesday, I'm not exactly sure, and we are planning on leaving Iguazu on Friday to head down to Ushuaia. Purportedly the southernmost city in the world, it is probably going to take us about 4-5 days by bus, continuously, and then I get to frolick with Penguins, in nature (my real goal is to eat one, but don't tell any one). Needless to say, I'm excited.
Sweat Meter: As a result of extended periods of rain, the sweat meter is on hiatus and will be replaced by a guest appearance of The Meat Meter. Today's meat meter is surprisingly high, mostly due to increased exposure. New additions include: The aformentioned Pizza de Bife. The similiar, but arguably more tasty, Pizza de Pescado (I know nothing about fish, but this thing was a big river fish called a Boga and it basically looked like a giant Little Nemo, but even more appetizing), which included a tasty mixture of olive oil, oregano, lemon and some special Argentine fish seasoning, or Pesto Pescado as I've dubbed it. And lastly, but perhaps most urine-like, beef kidney. It's a good mixture of Goodyear and Portipotty; perhaps it would be best with lots of ketchup as opposed to salt, lemon and "natural" flavors. Future Forecast: Like the rain, a continuous flow of meat, meat and more meat with predicted difficulties getting out of bed, at least without my morning cup of meat.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
When a Man Loves a Waterfall (and a Woman)
You CAN drink the water and you are going to...Welcome to Disnature or Natureland; that’s what the sign welcoming you to Iguazu Falls should read. The falls are, ironically, one of the 7 new wonders of the world, or a finalist, it’s all quite confusing, either way they are in the discussion as one of the most amazing and beautiful natural sites in the world. And with my limited experience (Yucaipa Regional Park serving as my litmus test for natural beauty; www.yucaiparegionalparkistheshit.com, seriously, it does have a website) I would have to agree.
So far since landing at 9am in Buenos Aires, Beth and I have had the privilege of getting up just once before the unholy hour of 9am (one benefit of being unemployed, not to mention it’s cheaper to sleep in), Monday was the second time. As a result we prepared everything the night before, from making cheese sandwiches (yes, that’s right, I went veggie for a meal) to freezing about 15,000 bottles of water, we even had the bright idea of waterproofing our belongings for the day (in true cheap fashion, with ziplock baggies) as we heard that we could fjord the river (after buying flour and bullets at the store and killing three buffalo) to get to Brazil, illegally, and catch a glimpse of the Brazilian side of the falls; supposedly they are beautiful but nowhere near as grandiose. Unfortunately this turned out to be impossible, as a portion of Disney-Nature was closed for repairs (aka flooding in Brazil caused excessive water flow), but waterproofing still proved rather fortuitous for us, nonetheless.
WARNING: Extreme superlatives to follow. Apologies in advance, however, they are necessary to convey the experience. If allergic, please skip over all “awesomes, amazings and unbelievables.”
In spite of a clearly commercial skew to the park, Igauzu falls was unbelievably, awesomely amazing. Seriously it was, so far, our most amazing day. Our first day (yes, we were forced to come back a second day and not because of the half-off tourist deal—alright, maybe partly because of that) we managed to walk almost the entire park, seeing the famous Garganta del Diablo, the Salto San Martin and the series-of-falls-with-people’s-names-that-are-gorgeous-but-too-numerous-to-mention-here. Every stop, every fall, every vista left us in wonderment. I’m pretty sure that we took at least 200 photos, each one well worth the scarce memory card space. As I’m sure that I cannot express the beauty of these falls in words, I’ll let you look at the upcoming photos, which will also be inadequate, but the best we can do. My suggestion, come and visit and be sure to tell them I sent you (I get 1.5% commission on all referrals), or you could come visit in the next week and we’ll go with you…
My personal favorite part was about ¾ through the day when the clouds started rolling in and instead of struggling with the heat, as with the rest of the day, a crazy sub-tropical torrential rain came down upon us. The wind was blowing at 100 knots (no idea how fast that is), gusting through palm trees like a tropical storm and within what seemed like seconds we were soaked. It was the most relief I’ve had since finding out Beth’s aunt had air conditioning. We spent the next 45 minutes alternating between seeing the few remaining waterfalls, seeking shelter and letting the rain soak the sweat off of us. It was the perfect ending to the best day we’ve yet to have in South America.
A few notes:
- The only area we missed on our first day was the Macuco nature trail, which was the only dirt path we encountered the entire experience, and came with a brochure (in English) laying out escape plans if attacked by poisonous snakes, pumas or jaguars (no joke). This served its real purpose wonderfully, scaring the shit out of Beth, who only braved the trail thinking she would be able to snap a photo of a Toucan (which was about as prolific as the snakes, pumas and jaguars).
- The Cataratas (falls in Spanish) like many natural beauties, contain a great deal of native local lore. The Guarani Indians falls origin story revolves around an Indian warrior who incurs the wrath of the forest god by escaping with a girl whom the god lusted after. To prevent this from happening, and punish the warrior, the “forest god collapsed the river bed in front of the lovers, producing a line of precipitous falls,” which the woman fell over and turned into a rock, while the warrior morphed into a tree, left at the top of the falls to lament over his fallen lover. (I really should be quoting more of that, or at least citing my source, which is lonely planet’s 2008 Argentinian guidebook, page 221) In reality, the falls are a result of a lava flow that abruptly stopped, in what would later become a riverbed; Not nearly as exciting as a tree and a rock, if you ask me.
- Lastly, the reason the river was flooded was because there is a dam up river by the name of Itaipu, which is the largest hydroelectric dam in the world (2nd in electrical output to the Three Gorges Dam) and is controlled jointly by Paraguay and Brazil. If too much rain water comes down, they open the flood gates, thus affecting the area surrounding the falls and making it impossible for Beth and Me to once again illegally venture across national borders. The dam is fascinating, a great deal of social cost as well as issues regarding negotiations between Paraguay and Brazil for who gets what power (a power struggle?) and for what price lends itself to an interesting story. Google it.
Sweat Meter: Mild, with the chance of showers, and air conditioning.
So far since landing at 9am in Buenos Aires, Beth and I have had the privilege of getting up just once before the unholy hour of 9am (one benefit of being unemployed, not to mention it’s cheaper to sleep in), Monday was the second time. As a result we prepared everything the night before, from making cheese sandwiches (yes, that’s right, I went veggie for a meal) to freezing about 15,000 bottles of water, we even had the bright idea of waterproofing our belongings for the day (in true cheap fashion, with ziplock baggies) as we heard that we could fjord the river (after buying flour and bullets at the store and killing three buffalo) to get to Brazil, illegally, and catch a glimpse of the Brazilian side of the falls; supposedly they are beautiful but nowhere near as grandiose. Unfortunately this turned out to be impossible, as a portion of Disney-Nature was closed for repairs (aka flooding in Brazil caused excessive water flow), but waterproofing still proved rather fortuitous for us, nonetheless.
WARNING: Extreme superlatives to follow. Apologies in advance, however, they are necessary to convey the experience. If allergic, please skip over all “awesomes, amazings and unbelievables.”
In spite of a clearly commercial skew to the park, Igauzu falls was unbelievably, awesomely amazing. Seriously it was, so far, our most amazing day. Our first day (yes, we were forced to come back a second day and not because of the half-off tourist deal—alright, maybe partly because of that) we managed to walk almost the entire park, seeing the famous Garganta del Diablo, the Salto San Martin and the series-of-falls-with-people’s-names-that-are-gorgeous-but-too-numerous-to-mention-here. Every stop, every fall, every vista left us in wonderment. I’m pretty sure that we took at least 200 photos, each one well worth the scarce memory card space. As I’m sure that I cannot express the beauty of these falls in words, I’ll let you look at the upcoming photos, which will also be inadequate, but the best we can do. My suggestion, come and visit and be sure to tell them I sent you (I get 1.5% commission on all referrals), or you could come visit in the next week and we’ll go with you…
My personal favorite part was about ¾ through the day when the clouds started rolling in and instead of struggling with the heat, as with the rest of the day, a crazy sub-tropical torrential rain came down upon us. The wind was blowing at 100 knots (no idea how fast that is), gusting through palm trees like a tropical storm and within what seemed like seconds we were soaked. It was the most relief I’ve had since finding out Beth’s aunt had air conditioning. We spent the next 45 minutes alternating between seeing the few remaining waterfalls, seeking shelter and letting the rain soak the sweat off of us. It was the perfect ending to the best day we’ve yet to have in South America.
A few notes:
- The only area we missed on our first day was the Macuco nature trail, which was the only dirt path we encountered the entire experience, and came with a brochure (in English) laying out escape plans if attacked by poisonous snakes, pumas or jaguars (no joke). This served its real purpose wonderfully, scaring the shit out of Beth, who only braved the trail thinking she would be able to snap a photo of a Toucan (which was about as prolific as the snakes, pumas and jaguars).
- The Cataratas (falls in Spanish) like many natural beauties, contain a great deal of native local lore. The Guarani Indians falls origin story revolves around an Indian warrior who incurs the wrath of the forest god by escaping with a girl whom the god lusted after. To prevent this from happening, and punish the warrior, the “forest god collapsed the river bed in front of the lovers, producing a line of precipitous falls,” which the woman fell over and turned into a rock, while the warrior morphed into a tree, left at the top of the falls to lament over his fallen lover. (I really should be quoting more of that, or at least citing my source, which is lonely planet’s 2008 Argentinian guidebook, page 221) In reality, the falls are a result of a lava flow that abruptly stopped, in what would later become a riverbed; Not nearly as exciting as a tree and a rock, if you ask me.
- Lastly, the reason the river was flooded was because there is a dam up river by the name of Itaipu, which is the largest hydroelectric dam in the world (2nd in electrical output to the Three Gorges Dam) and is controlled jointly by Paraguay and Brazil. If too much rain water comes down, they open the flood gates, thus affecting the area surrounding the falls and making it impossible for Beth and Me to once again illegally venture across national borders. The dam is fascinating, a great deal of social cost as well as issues regarding negotiations between Paraguay and Brazil for who gets what power (a power struggle?) and for what price lends itself to an interesting story. Google it.
Sweat Meter: Mild, with the chance of showers, and air conditioning.
Dos Hermanas
Salto con arbol -- right side of the many-named-falls.
Panorama of devil's asophagus (left) and the many-named-falls (right).
Technical term: The Devil's Asophagus
Nature's airconditioning.Garganta del Diablo or Devil's Throat
Monday, February 8, 2010
3 Countries, 1 Night
Can't see u
s so well? Join the club. Neither could the Brazilian or Paraguayan border officials.
Al Capone. Jack the Ripper. Ted Bundy. Bonnie and Clyde. And now, proudly introducing your favorite infamous criminals, Beth Sadler and Jason Vickers. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly now join the ranks amongst the most notorious criminals in history after successfully entering not one, but two countries illegally in the amazing span of only 4 hours. We snuck past Parguayan guards brandishing machine guns and Brazilian border control with the ease of hardened criminals without breaking a sweat (okay, maybe Jason sweat a little.) With a few close encounters, or perhaps we just thought they were close, we eventually made it back into Argentina safely after a great night out breaking the law. To give credit where credit is due, we'd like to get a big South American shout out to our connections: Erica "Zodiac Killer"de la Hora, Lisa "I'll Put One in Your Eye" de la Hora, and "Dumping-Diego," who braved the Paraguayan bathrooms without a whiff of fear, for acting as our accomplices and partners in crime.
It was a crazy night filled with hamburgers, Brazilian Quesadillas (somewhere between Spanish and Portuguese the Brazilians mixed up taco and quesadilla, because this tasted nothing like the deliciousness of a Mexican quesa-dilla), cerveza and Paraguayan gas stations (We like to think of them more as prisons, since they are guarded as such) like we never knew possible.
Foz de Iguasu, our first victim and located in the great country of Brasilia, was full of life and music. Carnival is right around the corner and the nightlife seemed to be bustling. We crossed the border relatively easily as the border guards apparently had better places to be, like drinking, carousing, or possibly celebrating some saints of some sort. We ate some appetizers and imbibed some wonderful beer, although more because they were icey cold then because they were significantly better then, say, Budweiser. Our formerly mentioned, and fully street honed, accomplices knew all the in's-and-out's, and Jason was able to try his first fried chicken Brazilian style...and half an hour later his first hamburguessa, or file (in Portuguese), Brazilian Style--I think he's fully embraced his Choncho nickname (sobrenombre).
After that we headed to the giant bazaar called Ciudad del Este, located in the apparent center of Paraguayan black markets. The trifecta of Foz, Puerto Iguazu and Ciudad del Este (according to the guidebook) is the second biggest border region for the infamous"import/export" businesses in South America, which is to say besides our nerves, there was nothing preventing us from entering into Paraguay illegally from Brazil. We only were able to see the main drag, consisting of about a 1,000 street side vendors, as stores would be too grand of a word for this little shops with pull-down metal doors, seemingly for security purposes. The town, besides the gas station, was relatively dead (Jason compared the hopping gas station to the nightlife in Yucaipa, in which the only place to find out anything going on was at the 76 gas station) and had an aire of dirtiness yet unseen to these travelers. Jason is now more intrigued while I am completely uninterested. (Just for a frame of reference, outside of a McDonald's everything else within the mile and a half (2.4 km) strip were all vendors and the Brazil and Argentina go-to for any electronics, knicknacks, or just plain junk. One of our accomplices claims that more money exchanges hands here than in all but two other places in the world: Hong Kong and Miami--this is as yet unverified by the Internet.)
All in all it was an excellent night and besides a few rather small indiscretions like jaywalking, we are now able to check-off the first of many illegal activities to be had on this trip. (just joking, for me at least.)
Jason "Dickers" joke about being illegal after being called Mexican by my cousin-in-law all night long: How do you smuggle two North Americans across the border? No, not by trunk, nor by little red balloon and ex-lax, or with 300 other North Americans in the back of one 10" Uhaul. Nope, you just have to choose the right North Americans.
South American Mafia (with Beth on the lookout)
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Holy Cow!
Yes, I've found God and he lives in Argentina. This is the anti-India capital of the world, where all things edible are a direct decendent of the oh-so-holy ungulate, the Cow.
The most popular edibles here are beef and sweets, and I don't like sweets. Any cut of beef you want--called bife in Argentinaa--can be found and from all I've had the pleasure of experiencing, everything is fantastic (No, I've not tried the Rocky Mountain, or Andean, Oysters yet). In general, I'm not particularly beef crazy. I love a good burger, will gorge on some braised beef and have made it my life goal to eat a steak for free at one of those brilliant eat-a-40oz.-steak-in-one-hour-with-10-sides-and-get-it-free establishments, but sans those universal loves, I prefer little baby sheep and pigs.
That might not be true much longer as I'm sure you've gleaned from the fact that every post revolves around beef. The beef here has a certain gamey quality, a biproduct (I'm guessing, someone can help verify this while bored at work) of the Argentine Gaucho method of ranching, which entails allowing the cows to roam free amongst the plains eating grass at their own pace. Shockingly enough, this seems to lead to some tasty beef, anything from steak and ribs to morcilla and chorizo (which is sausage and tends to be predominantly beef here, whereas in the States pork seems to be our main sausage component, sans perhaps the devilishly healthy Trader Joe's).
Anyhow, here is a short series of photos depicting my journey through this beef mecca, one in which I've come around to the more antiquated ideas of religion, such as: Polygamy (more than one cut of beef on my plate at a time), the Eucharest (Morcilla, or blood sausage is amazing, especially with bread, which is simply called Morcipan), Tithing (alright, not so true, but the standard tip, or propina, in Argentina is 10%) and Crucification (you'll have to see the picture).
Polygamy: From the grill to my plate.
The Eucharest: I think blood sausage speaks for itself. 
Crucifixation: perhaps a bit too far with the analogy, not to mention I think these are pigs.
Bife de Costilla: Beef ribs, admittedly enjoyable, but I'll take Texas BBQ pork ribs any day of the week.
Bife de Chorizo: Jugos = juicy = medium rare = heavenBonus Material: Chicken
Argentinian kids just don't know how luck they are, asking for chicken instead of Bife de Chorizo?
Me singlehandedly keeping the chicken business alive: a bakers dozen chicken hearts.
Argentinian kids just don't know how luck they are, asking for chicken instead of Bife de Chorizo?
Me singlehandedly keeping the chicken business alive: a bakers dozen chicken hearts.Friday, February 5, 2010
Escandaloso = Scandalous
Adult is a relative term.
This is about all things scandalous and when I say scandalous (since we really only have one of these stories) I mean all things adult. So, if you are not an adult, which is to say you are either pre-menstrual or can't grow a modicum of hair on your upper lip (that's you Gordon), you might want to ask a parent for permission. Note: When refering to penne in this post I am not referencing the cut of pasta used for many a wonderful Italian dish, but rather a certain member of the male species.
Beth's battle with vegetarianism--I mean Beth's plight in finding vegetarian cuisine in a mainly beef eating country, has been more farcical and comical than I could have imagined. Instead of being outraged, indignant, or even simply baffled, people have tended towards a genuine, if innoncent, curiousity--picture Beth as the traveling circus and the Argentines as the small town people starring in wonderment. This has led to the regular assortment of questions, such as: Why? How come? How do you not starve? and, What do you end up eating? The other day, however, was the first (besides from the Heaven's Gate Vegans Beth worked with) in which we received a question regarding sex, and from her cousin's husband, no less.
As we were enjoying our Roquefort and 3 cheese pizzas, Beth's cousin's husband, Jose--who speaks Portuguese, Guayarni (the biggest native Paraguayan Indian tribe) and Spanish, but almost no English, asks his wife Jenny a question. She burst out laughing and then attempts to interpret the question, or rather series of questions, which goes something like this: "If you do not eat meat, how do you have sex? Must Jason dress up his penne? Paint it different colors? Wear a costume? Make it look like a vegetable?" At which point the entire table turns its creative attention to my penne. Many wonderful suggestions were made to help fool Beth into thinking that she is and will continue to be a vegetarian, including painting my penne orange to resemble a carrot, giving him a green skin to mimick the cucumber (not sure if this was a veiled reference to contraceptives) and creating a costume to dress him up as a zuchinni--my only solace in this discussion was that no one came up with the idea of using papas fritas, or french fries, as a possible disguise. Ironically enough, in this Catholic of Countries, abstinence was not mentioned once as a possible source of vegetarianism.
Not my penne.That was the scandalous story, this is one of brilliance, kind of. It's hot here, miserably hot in the summer. Beer gets hot quick, like take-it-out-of-the-fridge-and-five-minutes-later-you-have-beer-tea hot. (note: beers here are sold in 1.5 liter bottles. Basically everyone here drinks 40's, which is another reason I love the place.) So, they designed a portable beer cooler, which looks something like an ice cream maker, acts like a keg, all the while enabling the consumption of cold beer, outdoors in the oppressive heat. Kind of Amazing.
How it works is that you connect two 1.5 liter bottles of beer to the top of the outside. you fill the inside with ice, you then pump the beer through a series of tightly wound coils that are surrounded by ice, which render the beer ice cold when it spits out at the other end of the Chopp and into your glass. Brilliant. I was thinking of investing in a bunch of these to bring back to the states and help pay for this trip, but I'm convinced this product is going to land on an as-seen-on-t.v. ad in the next few years or that the development of a 5 ounce beer will render it completely uselees (in conjunction with the more conventional beer cooler, of course). Either way, it's been a source of great pleasure for both of us so far, as you can see.
Yeah, that's right, Budweiser. I want Quilmes, Brahma, even Inebeck, her family wants Budweiser. Not that I'm complaining.
Lastly, because there are no more adult stories to share, periods are not called periods here. No, when you are on that time of the month you are on your "days." Which they have conveniently and creatively titled their brand of tampons, as well. Oh, and ano is not to be confused with año, one is anus the other is year. So, if you are like me and forget the enye (ñ) you might accidentally tell someone happy birthanus instead of happy birthday; though I'm not sure if that is offensive, I'm pretty sure it has the potential to be.
Sweat Meter: High, but for the Chopp, which gives me momentary respite from my internal heater, meaning it gets me buzzed. I sweat the same, I just don't know it...
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Viviando El Sueno en Puerto Iguazu
After 4 days of my family spoiling us with empanadas, asado (bbq), veggies, pasta, and air-conditioning, we are already getting quite accustomed to the high-life here in this quaint, jungle-town of Puerto Iguazu. The greenery is a stark contrast to the concrete of any large city (like Buenos Aires), and we are happy to be enjoying the more relaxed lifestyle of small town life. Our days so far have been filled with laughing with my gregarious family members and asado like you never knew possible. Being a vegetarian in Argentina is akin to being from outerspace (common questions I have received from family: 1.) Well, you eat chicken though, right? 2.) No?!? Then you must eat fish, no? 3.) No cow, no fish, no chicken! Then why did you come to Argentina?). Despite my foreign eating habits, I have been very well accommodated.
Jason has been well-received by my family as well, despite being referred to as "El Concho" (the pig) for his messy eating habits and tendency to sweat more than the average individual (or average five individuals put together.) Our Spanish learning curve has experienced a rapid incline with the help of my family and the town's willingness to "repite mas despascio. " Not to say there have not been numerous opportunities for us to be completely lost in conversation, some more humorous than others. (If you have the fortune to make it here one day, please do not say "Me gusta la penne", as Jason did to my cousin's 10-year-old's daughter and 8-year-old-son, lest you are looking for some naked male entertainment. As we learned after much laughter, penne is both the name of the popular cut of pasta as well as a very private part of the male anatomy.)
Here are some pics of some of the things we have been up to in Puerto Iguazu so far:
Jason enjoing the asado on our 1st night with Jose and Diego. These huge parillas (or grills) are typical in each home here in Argentina.
Hito Argentina (or Three Frontiers), 2.5 blocks from my aunt's house, is an amazing point where 2 rivers (Rios Parana and Rio Iguazu) meet and divide the 3 countries: Argentina (where we are standing), Paraguay (far left), and Brazil (center, to the right of the river in the photo.) Each country has a small obelisk on their waterfront. You can see Argentina's here.
My cousins, Lisa and Erika, and their husbands took us here to Lago Uru-guaye, a nice watery respite from the heat. The shore has many quinchos (little huts made of straw and wood) to catch some shade and barbeque under.
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