Did you ever find what you were looking for?
Sometimes you hear a song or a new album by an artist you like and it just grabs you. It´s hot. It´s got it going on, and before you know it you´re head is bouncing and your feet are moving. But other times you hear something by a musician you thought you knew and loved, one you thought you understood and it´s completely unlike what you expected. You thought they were zigging and it turns out they were a-zagging. And you walk away confused not knowing what to think.
And sometimes that bit of art just sticks in the back of your mind. It just kinda eats away at you. And you go back to it time and time again and maybe what you think and feel changes with every listening. And you struggle with it, and you ponder about it, and when you least expect it a song jumps into your mind and you feel like maybe you have an idea of what they´re talking about, and it´s like you just heard it for the first time.
Lauryn Hill started out humbly before she exploded beyond belief. She and the Fugees broke all kinds of records, she killed us softly with that voice of hers. When she went solo she was still dropping killer beats and doing that thing she did. But you could kinda feel the change coming on. She sold millions or records and collected more than a handfull of Grammy´s.
But when she came out with her Unplugged 2.0 album it was entirely different than what I think anyone expected. Gone were the finely produced rhythms and enchanting vocals. It was just her and an acoustic guitar and her bracelet jangling along for accompanyment. Her voice cracked, her fingers missed the chords she was strumming, she stopped and started in the middle of songs and broke down and cried as she played. The lyrics were hard to follow, deep and introspective.
Critics and fans couldn´t agree on anything. Some piled on the critical praise, some though she must be having a nervous breakdown. But as I reflect on that album now I think it must be among the most courageous things any artist has ever put out. She wasn´t what she was supposed to be, she kept it real by ignoring everything everyone thought she should be doing and defining her own path.
That album is raw and open like Dylan´s ¨Blood on the Tracks¨ It´s defying the same way Beck´s ¨Sea Change¨was. It´s like when Bruce Springsteen went to Nebraska or when Cat Stevens gave up music altogether because he didn´t believe in it anymore. It´s like when Nirvana started the whole Unplugged trend by doing what they weren´t supposed to. Or like when Marvin Gaye asked What´s Going On, or Charlie Parker started playing with strings.
I haven´t heard much from Lauryn since that album came out. I don´t know what she´s up to, but I suspect she found that piece of mind she was looking for. And if not Lauryn, you know it´s just right there, all you gotta do is reach out and grab it.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Pain sure brings out the best in people, doesn´t it
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
No Regrets
As our group of not-so-merry travellers rode along the Bolivian landscape in our 4x4 jeep along with our guide and cook we took in the scenery that unfolded before us. Beyond every pass another spectacular view point presented itself, more unique and awe-inspring than the once before it. A diversity lagoons, packs of wild llama and apaca, thermal springs and rolling mountains that I simply couldn´t imagine picturing anywhere else but the southwest corner of Bolivia.
But after 3 consecutive 7 hour days packed in a jeep, journeying through the desert that burned us during the day and froze us at night, suffering the affects of altitude sickness that the local medicine couldn't seem to alleviate and wanting for a hot-shower there wasn´t a lot of cheer to go around. We idly glanced at the towering cacti, the vivid rolling rock faces and the perfect snow capped volcanos set amongst the painted desert. The Brazilian girls continued jabbering away in Portuguese but the Canadian guy and I had run into a lull in our conversation. My thoughts turned once again to how fast I could make it to Lima if providence worked in my favor.
I´ve seen more splendid sights in the past several months than I previously thought possible. And while every beautiful mountain, ever winding river and every white-sand beach made me stop and ponder the masters plan that created these sights none of them tortured my thoughts the way a single human soul did.
I´d started this four-day trek not knowing where my next destination would be, but hoping and dreaming that somehow fate and fortune would find a way to deliver me back to where I wanted to be most. Arrogance, pride and insecurity kept me from absolutely throwing caution and reason to the wind and doing the inadvisable. But I told myself to be patient, not to fret about what I couldn´t control and wait and see what the world presented me. Those words brought me comfort but I still found myself imagining what messages might await me once I was finally connected back with civilization. No matter how I tried, I couldn´t control the anxiety that boiled inside.
The fourth day of our journey we finally came to the Salar de Uyuni. The largest, highest salt flat in the world. All of us were in a little better mood after a decent night sleep and finally having had a shower. The Korean girl even managed to make a few jokes and jump into the conversation. And when we found ourselves in the middle of the 12 thousand square kilometer, 8 meter deep, remnant of a long forgotten sea we forgot our trifling complaints and marvelled at this surreal sight.
This great salt flat is nothing like I previously imagined. And I continued to be shocked at the thought that this scene wasn´t known throughout the world and recognized as the one of a kind spectacle that it was. As we stopped and lunched at the Isla de Pescado, an ancient coral reef that died and gave way to a land of mass jutting above the flat stretches of salt that seemed to go on forever, dotted with towering cacti older than the civilization that now protected it, that for thousands of years lay at the bottom of an ancient sea which vanished once the neighboring volcanos forced this entire region towards the heavens, we counted our fortune and being able to witness this sight ourselves and knew that no words or pictures could convey what we were seeing with any sense of justice.
We eventually made it to the end of our journey to the uninspiring town of Uyuni and our group of 5 travellers agreed to spend the night before heading our own seperate ways tomorrow. We found a hostel and a hot shower and figured out tickets to our next destination and made plans for dinner. My thoughts once again turned to what messages could possibly be awaiting.
My Dutch friend Joost who I met in Cuba gave me some excellent advice not too long ago. He told me that when you experience magic in its truest form you only have two options. You can try to recapture that magic or not. If you try and fail, you will certainly be disappointed. If you succeed there is no limit to the rewards that await you. But if you never try at all you will certainly spend the rest of your life regretting your decision.
When I finally checked my e-mail the message I had been hoping for was there. I already knew that Joost was heading back to Cuba. And now so was I, coincidently during the same dates. But I of course was not heading to see him. I was venturing of to chase a lightening bolt, hoping it would strike twice in the same spot.
As our group of not-so-merry travellers rode along the Bolivian landscape in our 4x4 jeep along with our guide and cook we took in the scenery that unfolded before us. Beyond every pass another spectacular view point presented itself, more unique and awe-inspring than the once before it. A diversity lagoons, packs of wild llama and apaca, thermal springs and rolling mountains that I simply couldn´t imagine picturing anywhere else but the southwest corner of Bolivia.
But after 3 consecutive 7 hour days packed in a jeep, journeying through the desert that burned us during the day and froze us at night, suffering the affects of altitude sickness that the local medicine couldn't seem to alleviate and wanting for a hot-shower there wasn´t a lot of cheer to go around. We idly glanced at the towering cacti, the vivid rolling rock faces and the perfect snow capped volcanos set amongst the painted desert. The Brazilian girls continued jabbering away in Portuguese but the Canadian guy and I had run into a lull in our conversation. My thoughts turned once again to how fast I could make it to Lima if providence worked in my favor.
I´ve seen more splendid sights in the past several months than I previously thought possible. And while every beautiful mountain, ever winding river and every white-sand beach made me stop and ponder the masters plan that created these sights none of them tortured my thoughts the way a single human soul did.
I´d started this four-day trek not knowing where my next destination would be, but hoping and dreaming that somehow fate and fortune would find a way to deliver me back to where I wanted to be most. Arrogance, pride and insecurity kept me from absolutely throwing caution and reason to the wind and doing the inadvisable. But I told myself to be patient, not to fret about what I couldn´t control and wait and see what the world presented me. Those words brought me comfort but I still found myself imagining what messages might await me once I was finally connected back with civilization. No matter how I tried, I couldn´t control the anxiety that boiled inside.
The fourth day of our journey we finally came to the Salar de Uyuni. The largest, highest salt flat in the world. All of us were in a little better mood after a decent night sleep and finally having had a shower. The Korean girl even managed to make a few jokes and jump into the conversation. And when we found ourselves in the middle of the 12 thousand square kilometer, 8 meter deep, remnant of a long forgotten sea we forgot our trifling complaints and marvelled at this surreal sight.
This great salt flat is nothing like I previously imagined. And I continued to be shocked at the thought that this scene wasn´t known throughout the world and recognized as the one of a kind spectacle that it was. As we stopped and lunched at the Isla de Pescado, an ancient coral reef that died and gave way to a land of mass jutting above the flat stretches of salt that seemed to go on forever, dotted with towering cacti older than the civilization that now protected it, that for thousands of years lay at the bottom of an ancient sea which vanished once the neighboring volcanos forced this entire region towards the heavens, we counted our fortune and being able to witness this sight ourselves and knew that no words or pictures could convey what we were seeing with any sense of justice.
We eventually made it to the end of our journey to the uninspiring town of Uyuni and our group of 5 travellers agreed to spend the night before heading our own seperate ways tomorrow. We found a hostel and a hot shower and figured out tickets to our next destination and made plans for dinner. My thoughts once again turned to what messages could possibly be awaiting.
My Dutch friend Joost who I met in Cuba gave me some excellent advice not too long ago. He told me that when you experience magic in its truest form you only have two options. You can try to recapture that magic or not. If you try and fail, you will certainly be disappointed. If you succeed there is no limit to the rewards that await you. But if you never try at all you will certainly spend the rest of your life regretting your decision.
When I finally checked my e-mail the message I had been hoping for was there. I already knew that Joost was heading back to Cuba. And now so was I, coincidently during the same dates. But I of course was not heading to see him. I was venturing of to chase a lightening bolt, hoping it would strike twice in the same spot.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Bolivia at long last
After spending a few more days exploring Northern Argentina I decided to cross into Bolivia. The border was only a short 5 hour bus ride from Jujuy and I spent just about all of it staring out the window the landscape unfolded.
Both the Argentinean and Bolivian customs and immigrations were suprising efficient. The border town of Villazon however did not seem to have much to offer, and my plan was to get out of there quick. I was hoping Villazon wasn´t representative of the rest of Bolivia.
I knew I wanted to explore the Solar de Uyuni, the highest salt flat in the world. It seems like there are a lot of sights in Bolivia that are prefaced with ¨the highest blah blah blah in the world.¨ I suppose that´s because Bolivia is pretty high, must be the coca leaves they sell freely in the markets.
But I found out that the train to Uyuni didn´t run on tuesdays and that left me with the option of waiting around for another day or taking the a collectivo across the dirt roads for 7 hours. But a friendly Bolivian who noticed the disappointed look on my face suggested I head to Tupiza instead, only two hours away by collectivo. Lots to do and see he assured me. And since the Lonely Planet seemed to confirm this idea I hopped on the next bus out of town.
Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, and everything I passed by proved to be a testament to that fact. And of course that means everything regarding tourism is quite cheap. When I arrived at the nicest hostel in Tupiza I was told a dorm room was 20 Bolivianos ($2.50) per night, but I could get a private room with a private bath for 35 Bolivianos ($4.50). So I decided to splurge.
Tupiza is a charming little town set among the broken rock face of the surrounding mountains. It´s main claim to fame is that it was the scene of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid´s last heist before they were gunned down just a few 100 kilometers away. I´m constantly amazed when I realize how small this world has become in the last several years, but it´s stranger still to think it´s been small enough, long enough that two characters that I unequivacably associate with the Wild West met there fate in Southwestern Bolivia a 100 years ago.
The next day I arranged for a guide to take me on horseback through the same canyons and valleys that those two outlaws rode through so many years ago. This was actually my first experience being on a horse amazingly enough. There was that 15 minute pony-ride in Colombia but that hardly counts.
Horses are great animals, but the steering can be a little tricky. It´s like they have a mind of their own. 2nd gear was pretty unconfortable but when that horse kicked it into a gallop the ride got real fun real fast. I found myself annoyed once again that I´d lost my camera in Buenos Aires, one of these days I really must buy a new one.
The good part about the 5 hour ride around Southwest Bolivia is I may no longer have to worry about whether or not I want to have kids, I´m not sure I can procreate anymore, saddle sores are no joking matter.
Tomorrow I head off on a 4 day jeep trek across the Solar de Uyuni, I´m not really sure what to expect but I hear the salt flats are a sight to be seen. So far, Bolivia is treating me pretty well.
After spending a few more days exploring Northern Argentina I decided to cross into Bolivia. The border was only a short 5 hour bus ride from Jujuy and I spent just about all of it staring out the window the landscape unfolded.
Both the Argentinean and Bolivian customs and immigrations were suprising efficient. The border town of Villazon however did not seem to have much to offer, and my plan was to get out of there quick. I was hoping Villazon wasn´t representative of the rest of Bolivia.
I knew I wanted to explore the Solar de Uyuni, the highest salt flat in the world. It seems like there are a lot of sights in Bolivia that are prefaced with ¨the highest blah blah blah in the world.¨ I suppose that´s because Bolivia is pretty high, must be the coca leaves they sell freely in the markets.
But I found out that the train to Uyuni didn´t run on tuesdays and that left me with the option of waiting around for another day or taking the a collectivo across the dirt roads for 7 hours. But a friendly Bolivian who noticed the disappointed look on my face suggested I head to Tupiza instead, only two hours away by collectivo. Lots to do and see he assured me. And since the Lonely Planet seemed to confirm this idea I hopped on the next bus out of town.
Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, and everything I passed by proved to be a testament to that fact. And of course that means everything regarding tourism is quite cheap. When I arrived at the nicest hostel in Tupiza I was told a dorm room was 20 Bolivianos ($2.50) per night, but I could get a private room with a private bath for 35 Bolivianos ($4.50). So I decided to splurge.
Tupiza is a charming little town set among the broken rock face of the surrounding mountains. It´s main claim to fame is that it was the scene of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid´s last heist before they were gunned down just a few 100 kilometers away. I´m constantly amazed when I realize how small this world has become in the last several years, but it´s stranger still to think it´s been small enough, long enough that two characters that I unequivacably associate with the Wild West met there fate in Southwestern Bolivia a 100 years ago.
The next day I arranged for a guide to take me on horseback through the same canyons and valleys that those two outlaws rode through so many years ago. This was actually my first experience being on a horse amazingly enough. There was that 15 minute pony-ride in Colombia but that hardly counts.
Horses are great animals, but the steering can be a little tricky. It´s like they have a mind of their own. 2nd gear was pretty unconfortable but when that horse kicked it into a gallop the ride got real fun real fast. I found myself annoyed once again that I´d lost my camera in Buenos Aires, one of these days I really must buy a new one.
The good part about the 5 hour ride around Southwest Bolivia is I may no longer have to worry about whether or not I want to have kids, I´m not sure I can procreate anymore, saddle sores are no joking matter.
Tomorrow I head off on a 4 day jeep trek across the Solar de Uyuni, I´m not really sure what to expect but I hear the salt flats are a sight to be seen. So far, Bolivia is treating me pretty well.
Monday, May 22, 2006
One step closer to something or other
I first heard about San Salvador de Jujuy when I was lying on the Ipanema beach. The Argentinean guy I met there, Flaco, lives in Jujuy. As we were parting ways he told me I should come to Jujuy when I´m in Argentina and get a hold of him.
Well after a 12 hour bus ride from Cordoba I did make it to Jujuy. Unfortunately I had long since lost the little piece of paper that had Flaco´s e-mail address and phone number. That wasn´t too suprising seeing as I have lost my fair share of things while I´ve been travelling. My wallet, my ATM card, my camera (I bet you were wondering why you haven´t seen any pictures lately, huh?) and most recently my comb.
I also ran out of shaving creme and have kinda just decided to let that be. I won´t worry about shaving or combing my hair for a while. I think it gives me a crazed look that I kinda like. Plus I´m hoping my new beard keeps me warm as I meander through the unforgiving mountain ranges passing autumn by.
After spending 25 hours in busses of one form or another and another 15 hours hiking in the last 3 days my body was letting me know it was not a fan of this itinerary. So when I got to Jujuy and heard about the thermal springs only an hour away I was sold. The one-hour turned to almost 2 when factoring in how long it took to figure out directions and waiting for the collectivo to come.
But I´ve been promising myself to not press and just let things happen in their own good time. And soon enough I was at the Termas de Reyes overlooking a beautiful valley. The termas turned out to be water piped from a thermal spring high up in the mountains into a couple of swimming pools by the city. But it was amazingly relaxing nonetheless.
My body had began complaining a few days ago and I could pinpoint every sore spot to a root cause. The side of my knee where I bit it on my mountain bike a couple years ago. My right shoulder from where I wiped out swimming on the Ipanema. My back where I hurt myself playing basketball countless ages past.
But as I soaked in those mineral waters everything started feeling like new again. I even got a chance to swim again for the first time in since I was in Brazil. It was nice to know that I hadn´t forgotten everything I´d learned, and giving it all a couple months to sink in seemed to work fairly well.
Tomorrow I was planning on figuring out how to get to Bolivia and what to do once I got there. There was this poster in the common area of the hostel I was staying at that caught my attention too, La Quebrada de Pucamarca and I was going to work on checking that out. I keep finding myself awe struck at the scenery I pass. The world we inhabit it truly a remarkable place, there´s no place I´d rather live.
I first heard about San Salvador de Jujuy when I was lying on the Ipanema beach. The Argentinean guy I met there, Flaco, lives in Jujuy. As we were parting ways he told me I should come to Jujuy when I´m in Argentina and get a hold of him.
Well after a 12 hour bus ride from Cordoba I did make it to Jujuy. Unfortunately I had long since lost the little piece of paper that had Flaco´s e-mail address and phone number. That wasn´t too suprising seeing as I have lost my fair share of things while I´ve been travelling. My wallet, my ATM card, my camera (I bet you were wondering why you haven´t seen any pictures lately, huh?) and most recently my comb.
I also ran out of shaving creme and have kinda just decided to let that be. I won´t worry about shaving or combing my hair for a while. I think it gives me a crazed look that I kinda like. Plus I´m hoping my new beard keeps me warm as I meander through the unforgiving mountain ranges passing autumn by.
After spending 25 hours in busses of one form or another and another 15 hours hiking in the last 3 days my body was letting me know it was not a fan of this itinerary. So when I got to Jujuy and heard about the thermal springs only an hour away I was sold. The one-hour turned to almost 2 when factoring in how long it took to figure out directions and waiting for the collectivo to come.
But I´ve been promising myself to not press and just let things happen in their own good time. And soon enough I was at the Termas de Reyes overlooking a beautiful valley. The termas turned out to be water piped from a thermal spring high up in the mountains into a couple of swimming pools by the city. But it was amazingly relaxing nonetheless.
My body had began complaining a few days ago and I could pinpoint every sore spot to a root cause. The side of my knee where I bit it on my mountain bike a couple years ago. My right shoulder from where I wiped out swimming on the Ipanema. My back where I hurt myself playing basketball countless ages past.
But as I soaked in those mineral waters everything started feeling like new again. I even got a chance to swim again for the first time in since I was in Brazil. It was nice to know that I hadn´t forgotten everything I´d learned, and giving it all a couple months to sink in seemed to work fairly well.
Tomorrow I was planning on figuring out how to get to Bolivia and what to do once I got there. There was this poster in the common area of the hostel I was staying at that caught my attention too, La Quebrada de Pucamarca and I was going to work on checking that out. I keep finding myself awe struck at the scenery I pass. The world we inhabit it truly a remarkable place, there´s no place I´d rather live.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Don´t worry, I´ll figure out how to slay this dragon
When the couple I had rented my apartment in Buenos Aires from came to check me out they told me if I´d like I could stay the rest of the day without any problem. But I was ready to go. I didn´t know exactly where but I was heading to the bus terminal and buying a ticket out of town.
After being stationary for about two months I have a difficult time comprehending how badly I am aching to get moving again. I had in my hand a certificate of completion from my Spanish classes earned with a solid 85% on our final exam and was ready to move on. The cabbie taking me to the bus terminal struck up a conversation. ¨Where are you going?¨ he asked. ¨To Cordoba¨ I replied. ¨Cordoba is great, which part are you going to?¨ Hmmm...I didn´t think I would be stumped quite so easily.
I just kinda had just a vision in my head of walking in to the bus station and asking for a ticket to Cordoba and that being that. In all my obsessing about which routes to take to get where I was going, I forgot one important thing. The journey of a thousand miles starts with one step, and I didn´t really know where that first step was towards. Well the cabbie told me I should check out Villa Carlos Paz and with that it was settled.
The bus ride was a short 10 hours and I managed to sleep through most of it. Carlos Paz is a small resort town about an hour outside of the Ciudad de Cordoba and a popular spot for trekking and adventure tourism. But as Argentina was currently in the middle of Autumn and winter was coming on swiftly the city was mostly empty.
I headed to the only hostel in town which turned out to be absolutely deserted except for the couple who ran the place. But they had a few good suggestions on day hikes to take so I spent the first day exploring a beautiful river which ran beneath the rolling hills.
As I awoke the next day I already knew where my next step was towards. La Parque Nacional de Condoritos. It involved taking a collectivo about an hour outside of town, walking another 1/2 hour to the park entrance and about a 7 hour round-trip hike to a gorge where condors are frequently spotted and figuring how to get back to Carlos Paz somehow. Time was a bit of an issue because I was planning taking another all night Omnibus to Jujuy that night, which left from Ciudad de Cordoba, another hour away. After being stationary in Buenos Aires I was going to rush through northern Argentina and get to Bolivia fairly quickly.
As I sat and waited at the terminal for the collectivo to show up and start this journey I felt myself tensing up. The collectivo was already 10 minutes late and I strained my neck trying to making out the writing whenever another bus pulled into the station and noticed my fists balling up in my jacket pockets. Finally my bus showed up and within an hour the driver pulled off at the side of the ride and told me to head down the dirt road to the left. I´d see the entrance to the park pretty soon he told me.
The hike was not too hard, not too easy, but just about right. I had plenty of time while waiting to stock up on goodies. The views were spectacular and I actually found myself turning around in a circle with a gaping mouth as I marvelled on the brightly colored canyons and the south tip of this gorge which I could already make out. Unfortunately the condors were not to be spotted today, but the hike was nonetheless spectacular and the view from the northern lookout was humbling.
I hitched a ride from the side of the road where I was dropped off to about 15 kms outside of Carlos Paz. After the 20th car passed me by my heart literally jumped when I saw a pair of brake-lights finally come on. I was still anxious about having enough time to catch the pair of busses I was planning on taking that night. But I caught the next collectivo heading to Carlos Paz without any problems, packed up at the hostel, and was on my way to the Ciudad de Cordabo with a good hour and a 1/2 to spare, plent of time to catch my night bus to Jujuy.
As I made every possible effort not to watch the terrible Meryl Streep movie they were playing on the bus I thought back to my times of anxiety. I had worried about what would happen if I missed these busses, made contingency plans in my head, worked out alternative routes and it was all for naught. And it dawned on me, that no matter what happened, everything was going to work out just fine. There was nothing that could possibly happen that I couldn´t deal with. And by allowing myself to be molested by the faceless anxiety I encountered I forgot to enjoy the unbelievable life that I was busy living.
I´m still trying to learn how to let go and relax. The obsessive analyzation of every hypothetical situation can come in handy with alarming frequency, but it keeps you from living in the moment and sometimes you find yourself busy making other plans while life is happening all around you and sometimes when you try to think back on that god-inspiring view from the tops of those rocks you climbed all you can see in your head is a bus schedule in spanish.
When the couple I had rented my apartment in Buenos Aires from came to check me out they told me if I´d like I could stay the rest of the day without any problem. But I was ready to go. I didn´t know exactly where but I was heading to the bus terminal and buying a ticket out of town.
After being stationary for about two months I have a difficult time comprehending how badly I am aching to get moving again. I had in my hand a certificate of completion from my Spanish classes earned with a solid 85% on our final exam and was ready to move on. The cabbie taking me to the bus terminal struck up a conversation. ¨Where are you going?¨ he asked. ¨To Cordoba¨ I replied. ¨Cordoba is great, which part are you going to?¨ Hmmm...I didn´t think I would be stumped quite so easily.
I just kinda had just a vision in my head of walking in to the bus station and asking for a ticket to Cordoba and that being that. In all my obsessing about which routes to take to get where I was going, I forgot one important thing. The journey of a thousand miles starts with one step, and I didn´t really know where that first step was towards. Well the cabbie told me I should check out Villa Carlos Paz and with that it was settled.
The bus ride was a short 10 hours and I managed to sleep through most of it. Carlos Paz is a small resort town about an hour outside of the Ciudad de Cordoba and a popular spot for trekking and adventure tourism. But as Argentina was currently in the middle of Autumn and winter was coming on swiftly the city was mostly empty.
I headed to the only hostel in town which turned out to be absolutely deserted except for the couple who ran the place. But they had a few good suggestions on day hikes to take so I spent the first day exploring a beautiful river which ran beneath the rolling hills.
As I awoke the next day I already knew where my next step was towards. La Parque Nacional de Condoritos. It involved taking a collectivo about an hour outside of town, walking another 1/2 hour to the park entrance and about a 7 hour round-trip hike to a gorge where condors are frequently spotted and figuring how to get back to Carlos Paz somehow. Time was a bit of an issue because I was planning taking another all night Omnibus to Jujuy that night, which left from Ciudad de Cordoba, another hour away. After being stationary in Buenos Aires I was going to rush through northern Argentina and get to Bolivia fairly quickly.
As I sat and waited at the terminal for the collectivo to show up and start this journey I felt myself tensing up. The collectivo was already 10 minutes late and I strained my neck trying to making out the writing whenever another bus pulled into the station and noticed my fists balling up in my jacket pockets. Finally my bus showed up and within an hour the driver pulled off at the side of the ride and told me to head down the dirt road to the left. I´d see the entrance to the park pretty soon he told me.
The hike was not too hard, not too easy, but just about right. I had plenty of time while waiting to stock up on goodies. The views were spectacular and I actually found myself turning around in a circle with a gaping mouth as I marvelled on the brightly colored canyons and the south tip of this gorge which I could already make out. Unfortunately the condors were not to be spotted today, but the hike was nonetheless spectacular and the view from the northern lookout was humbling.
I hitched a ride from the side of the road where I was dropped off to about 15 kms outside of Carlos Paz. After the 20th car passed me by my heart literally jumped when I saw a pair of brake-lights finally come on. I was still anxious about having enough time to catch the pair of busses I was planning on taking that night. But I caught the next collectivo heading to Carlos Paz without any problems, packed up at the hostel, and was on my way to the Ciudad de Cordabo with a good hour and a 1/2 to spare, plent of time to catch my night bus to Jujuy.
As I made every possible effort not to watch the terrible Meryl Streep movie they were playing on the bus I thought back to my times of anxiety. I had worried about what would happen if I missed these busses, made contingency plans in my head, worked out alternative routes and it was all for naught. And it dawned on me, that no matter what happened, everything was going to work out just fine. There was nothing that could possibly happen that I couldn´t deal with. And by allowing myself to be molested by the faceless anxiety I encountered I forgot to enjoy the unbelievable life that I was busy living.
I´m still trying to learn how to let go and relax. The obsessive analyzation of every hypothetical situation can come in handy with alarming frequency, but it keeps you from living in the moment and sometimes you find yourself busy making other plans while life is happening all around you and sometimes when you try to think back on that god-inspiring view from the tops of those rocks you climbed all you can see in your head is a bus schedule in spanish.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
This is great, now let’s get outta here
Buenos Aires is fantastic, just like I remembered it. Great food, fantastic wine, cultured and relatively clean. But I’m ready to get outta here. It’s been two months. And I keep hearing that Townes van Zandt line in my mind…”there ain’t no prettier site than looking back on a town you left behind.”
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with BsAs mind you. I’m just ready to move on. I kinda got the same point in Medellin after being there for a month, but it was kinda different. The ladies at the lavenderia learned how to pronounce and spell my name, that to means that I’ve been here way to long.
The cool thing about traveling is that you are constantly forced to deal with a new and uncomfortable situation. It forces you to adapt. And every new experience changes the person you are, even by just sitting back and observing you affect change on yourself and the world around you. And yes that’s all true without traveling, but not to the same magnitude.
And Buenos Aires has just kinda become comfortable, a little more so than is desirable. Bolivia sounds like another world entirely, and that appeals to me. It sounds not at all comfortable and that kinda excites me. Plus Bolivia has this feel of being of the beaten path, which always captures my attention.
I’ve already figured out the combination of long-distance busses I could take to get to the border. And about ½ dozen different routes from there. All that’s left is start the journey and the clock is at one week and counting and I can’t wait. The regrouping is over, I’ve had enough structure, it’s time to start moving again.
After Bolivia things get thrown up in the air again, just where I like them. I’ve got two months to get to Ecuador to meet up with my sisters. And the various options are racing through my mind. and I love pondering the possibilities. Someplace new and uncharted, go visit friends I’ve met along the way, or back to somewhere I’ve been to tie up some loose ends?
There’s something about just looking at a map that fascinates me in a way few other things can. Looking at a map is like living in some fantasy world, where you can dream about what awaits you in every little dot and what lines will take you to what adventures.
I’ve had a lot of fellow traveler’s I’ve met on the road tell me the four month mark is key. It’s when the homesickness really starts to hit. And it’s true, mostly because I miss my nephews…and thai food. Not to mention the sushi I’ve had in South America has well, left me wanting. But I’m not heading home for a bit. I’ve got unfinished businesses scattered throughout Latin America.
Buenos Aires is fantastic, just like I remembered it. Great food, fantastic wine, cultured and relatively clean. But I’m ready to get outta here. It’s been two months. And I keep hearing that Townes van Zandt line in my mind…”there ain’t no prettier site than looking back on a town you left behind.”
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with BsAs mind you. I’m just ready to move on. I kinda got the same point in Medellin after being there for a month, but it was kinda different. The ladies at the lavenderia learned how to pronounce and spell my name, that to means that I’ve been here way to long.
The cool thing about traveling is that you are constantly forced to deal with a new and uncomfortable situation. It forces you to adapt. And every new experience changes the person you are, even by just sitting back and observing you affect change on yourself and the world around you. And yes that’s all true without traveling, but not to the same magnitude.
And Buenos Aires has just kinda become comfortable, a little more so than is desirable. Bolivia sounds like another world entirely, and that appeals to me. It sounds not at all comfortable and that kinda excites me. Plus Bolivia has this feel of being of the beaten path, which always captures my attention.
I’ve already figured out the combination of long-distance busses I could take to get to the border. And about ½ dozen different routes from there. All that’s left is start the journey and the clock is at one week and counting and I can’t wait. The regrouping is over, I’ve had enough structure, it’s time to start moving again.
After Bolivia things get thrown up in the air again, just where I like them. I’ve got two months to get to Ecuador to meet up with my sisters. And the various options are racing through my mind. and I love pondering the possibilities. Someplace new and uncharted, go visit friends I’ve met along the way, or back to somewhere I’ve been to tie up some loose ends?
There’s something about just looking at a map that fascinates me in a way few other things can. Looking at a map is like living in some fantasy world, where you can dream about what awaits you in every little dot and what lines will take you to what adventures.
I’ve had a lot of fellow traveler’s I’ve met on the road tell me the four month mark is key. It’s when the homesickness really starts to hit. And it’s true, mostly because I miss my nephews…and thai food. Not to mention the sushi I’ve had in South America has well, left me wanting. But I’m not heading home for a bit. I’ve got unfinished businesses scattered throughout Latin America.
Night before the big test
Instead of studying for my Spanish final I decided to kinda lounge around and do nothing. Well decided might be too strong a word to describe my thought process, I actually just procrastinated until I had no choice but to blow it off. I had made sure I my night would be free long in advance; I ignored the phone calls and resisted the temptation to go out and cause mischief. But I just couldn’t bring myself to study, I even worked on my resume to kill time instead.
My justification is long and doesn’t make any sense. It’s been about 7 years since I’ve actually studied for an exam. I tried to think of one I took after I graduated, but haven’t been able to come up with anything. No I didn’t even cram for the driver’s exam when I moved to Washington and somehow got 20 out of 25, the minimum required to get a license.
I’m actually fairly confident in my ability to pass this exam. The class has been worthwhile, I learned something new every day, I met some interesting folks, but I never really felt challenged to the point where it hooked my attention. So I blew off some homework and some classes and now I’ve blown off studying for this final.
But I’ve convinced myself that’s ok since the point of going to class was to learn Spanish not to pass an exam. And my Spanish is getting fairly decent, I’ve gotten to the point where “Bob Esponja” is quite hilarious and the fat Japanese guy cooking on canal 9 is quite captivating. The telenovelas are an entirely different story. I still have no idea what’s going on most of the time, although they can be captivating for other reasons. Reading the paper or literature isn’t too hard, just time consuming.
I get the idea of the subjunctive; I just am not fast at identifying and absorbing it. The imperative is fairly straight forward and I can almost always recognize it. Compound tenses are just annoying. The Preterite vs. Imperfect can still be somewhat confusing, but I’ve got a good feeling for it. Vocabulary is an issue, but I’m convinced that will just come with time and practice, not studying.
Languages are quite fascinating. As much as we found ourselves grateful by our ability to communicate with one another we also have to realize that language boxes in our innate creativity. Sometimes you find yourself faced with an idea that you know just can’t be explained in words. The only people who can understand the pearl of wisdom that you’re trying to get across are those that know and believe it already.
But not being understood is nothing new, in fact I find it’s far more appealing than being quite so straightforward. Maybe it’s the air of mystery, maybe it’s the accompanying sense of superiority, maybe it’s the way things come in threes. Whatever the explanation I think I’ve come to the conclusion that all knowledge intrinsically comes from faith in something. Who’s that guy with the bit about the apriori knowledge? Now if I could just remember how to conjugate those damn stem-changing verbs in the imperfect.
Instead of studying for my Spanish final I decided to kinda lounge around and do nothing. Well decided might be too strong a word to describe my thought process, I actually just procrastinated until I had no choice but to blow it off. I had made sure I my night would be free long in advance; I ignored the phone calls and resisted the temptation to go out and cause mischief. But I just couldn’t bring myself to study, I even worked on my resume to kill time instead.
My justification is long and doesn’t make any sense. It’s been about 7 years since I’ve actually studied for an exam. I tried to think of one I took after I graduated, but haven’t been able to come up with anything. No I didn’t even cram for the driver’s exam when I moved to Washington and somehow got 20 out of 25, the minimum required to get a license.
I’m actually fairly confident in my ability to pass this exam. The class has been worthwhile, I learned something new every day, I met some interesting folks, but I never really felt challenged to the point where it hooked my attention. So I blew off some homework and some classes and now I’ve blown off studying for this final.
But I’ve convinced myself that’s ok since the point of going to class was to learn Spanish not to pass an exam. And my Spanish is getting fairly decent, I’ve gotten to the point where “Bob Esponja” is quite hilarious and the fat Japanese guy cooking on canal 9 is quite captivating. The telenovelas are an entirely different story. I still have no idea what’s going on most of the time, although they can be captivating for other reasons. Reading the paper or literature isn’t too hard, just time consuming.
I get the idea of the subjunctive; I just am not fast at identifying and absorbing it. The imperative is fairly straight forward and I can almost always recognize it. Compound tenses are just annoying. The Preterite vs. Imperfect can still be somewhat confusing, but I’ve got a good feeling for it. Vocabulary is an issue, but I’m convinced that will just come with time and practice, not studying.
Languages are quite fascinating. As much as we found ourselves grateful by our ability to communicate with one another we also have to realize that language boxes in our innate creativity. Sometimes you find yourself faced with an idea that you know just can’t be explained in words. The only people who can understand the pearl of wisdom that you’re trying to get across are those that know and believe it already.
But not being understood is nothing new, in fact I find it’s far more appealing than being quite so straightforward. Maybe it’s the air of mystery, maybe it’s the accompanying sense of superiority, maybe it’s the way things come in threes. Whatever the explanation I think I’ve come to the conclusion that all knowledge intrinsically comes from faith in something. Who’s that guy with the bit about the apriori knowledge? Now if I could just remember how to conjugate those damn stem-changing verbs in the imperfect.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Time to get a move on
My classmate Amy called me the other day to let me know our Spanish class might be cancelled tomorrow. Seems there is some sort of political situation brewing in The University of Buenos Aires. Something about the elections for the new dean which are very politically charged amid the usual charges of corruption and cronyism. And like the Argentineans seem to like to do there’s a strike brewing to protest this latest action.
Work stoppages and strikes seem to be nothing new here in Argentina. In the last couple of weeks I’ve had to work around closed government offices, airlines and now schools due to a variety of complex political wranglings which I can only begin to hope to understand.
The Argentineans do of course have a lot to protest, much like the rest of this continent. But lately there´s a new brand of populism brewing in the air. Anyone who thinks that socialism is dead should take a visit to South America. It seems that in the last 5 years especially, this continent has taken a sharp turn to the left.
Bolivian President Evo Morales recently announced the nationalization of his countries oil and natural gas reserves. Bolivia actually doesn’t have much oil, but they are the home to the second largest reserves of natural gas in the continent. And Bolivia is the poorest nation in all of South America. When a charismatic leader like Morales can promise to fix everything by instituting a populist agenda it seems to resonate deeply.
One of the affects of US foreign policy in the last couple of years has been to create this backlash of populist regimes that gain legitimacy by attacking our foreign policy and arrogance. This all started with Hugo Chavez in Venezuela but really can be traced all the way back to the Cuban Revolution. But as we sit here Ecuador and Chile have elected socialists and Peru seems to be on the verge of doing so.
Amazingly enough Colombia stands as the only regime in the entire continent with relatively strong relations with the US. Probably because the current US administration recognizes the ELN and the Farc as terrorists and narco-trafficers and seems intent on helping the Colombian government do battle with them. Of course once you start working up through Central America you run into stable governments in Panama and Costa Rica before hitting the wild spots again. The upcoming elections in Mexico will really be a telling sign.
The political situation here in Argentina is either very complicated or ridiculously simple depending on how cynical you are. There are a myriad of political parties and agendas that are somehow interwoven in some incestuous relationship. And like elsewhere in the region they have made a steady slurch to the left over the last few years, mainly as a response to US foriegn policy. But everyone I’ve talked to seems to believe they all work for the same elite, the large land owners, the industrial powers and the labor unions. Kind of reminds me of Chicago about 50 years ago.
I’ve heard a number of theories that aim to explain why this whole continent seems so politically unstable. Everything from the observation that parents don’t seem to discipline their children very much here to the idea that the verb “ganar” in Spanish translates in English to both “to win” and “to earn” implying that the two are the same. Still none of this really seems very reasonable.
My contract on my rented apartment in Buenos Aires comes to an end in about 2 weeks. And I’ve been obsessively pondering where to head to next. The initial thought was to head south and visits the vast desolate land of Patagonia, or maybe to the east towards Chile and work up the coast. But I think I’ve decided to head straight north around the edge of the Andes before crossing into Bolivia. I’m curious to see what’s going on there. I hear captivating stories of beautiful lakes and mountains, indigenous cultures that somehow manage to survive in this modern world and a charismatic leader trying to put his name alongside “El Che” and Simón Bolivar.
My classmate Amy called me the other day to let me know our Spanish class might be cancelled tomorrow. Seems there is some sort of political situation brewing in The University of Buenos Aires. Something about the elections for the new dean which are very politically charged amid the usual charges of corruption and cronyism. And like the Argentineans seem to like to do there’s a strike brewing to protest this latest action.
Work stoppages and strikes seem to be nothing new here in Argentina. In the last couple of weeks I’ve had to work around closed government offices, airlines and now schools due to a variety of complex political wranglings which I can only begin to hope to understand.
The Argentineans do of course have a lot to protest, much like the rest of this continent. But lately there´s a new brand of populism brewing in the air. Anyone who thinks that socialism is dead should take a visit to South America. It seems that in the last 5 years especially, this continent has taken a sharp turn to the left.
Bolivian President Evo Morales recently announced the nationalization of his countries oil and natural gas reserves. Bolivia actually doesn’t have much oil, but they are the home to the second largest reserves of natural gas in the continent. And Bolivia is the poorest nation in all of South America. When a charismatic leader like Morales can promise to fix everything by instituting a populist agenda it seems to resonate deeply.
One of the affects of US foreign policy in the last couple of years has been to create this backlash of populist regimes that gain legitimacy by attacking our foreign policy and arrogance. This all started with Hugo Chavez in Venezuela but really can be traced all the way back to the Cuban Revolution. But as we sit here Ecuador and Chile have elected socialists and Peru seems to be on the verge of doing so.
Amazingly enough Colombia stands as the only regime in the entire continent with relatively strong relations with the US. Probably because the current US administration recognizes the ELN and the Farc as terrorists and narco-trafficers and seems intent on helping the Colombian government do battle with them. Of course once you start working up through Central America you run into stable governments in Panama and Costa Rica before hitting the wild spots again. The upcoming elections in Mexico will really be a telling sign.
The political situation here in Argentina is either very complicated or ridiculously simple depending on how cynical you are. There are a myriad of political parties and agendas that are somehow interwoven in some incestuous relationship. And like elsewhere in the region they have made a steady slurch to the left over the last few years, mainly as a response to US foriegn policy. But everyone I’ve talked to seems to believe they all work for the same elite, the large land owners, the industrial powers and the labor unions. Kind of reminds me of Chicago about 50 years ago.
I’ve heard a number of theories that aim to explain why this whole continent seems so politically unstable. Everything from the observation that parents don’t seem to discipline their children very much here to the idea that the verb “ganar” in Spanish translates in English to both “to win” and “to earn” implying that the two are the same. Still none of this really seems very reasonable.
My contract on my rented apartment in Buenos Aires comes to an end in about 2 weeks. And I’ve been obsessively pondering where to head to next. The initial thought was to head south and visits the vast desolate land of Patagonia, or maybe to the east towards Chile and work up the coast. But I think I’ve decided to head straight north around the edge of the Andes before crossing into Bolivia. I’m curious to see what’s going on there. I hear captivating stories of beautiful lakes and mountains, indigenous cultures that somehow manage to survive in this modern world and a charismatic leader trying to put his name alongside “El Che” and Simón Bolivar.
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