Where to Next?

I had make it back to Buenos Aires and kinda settled back into my routine of learning Spanish and hanging out with my school mates and other random people I run into. At this point I’ve officially been in Buenos Aires longer than I’ve spent in any other place while traveling.

A couple days later Joanna came back from her successful trip to the south. The glaciers were spotted she told me, and they’re awesome and I have to go. I knew that was going to be the answer before she got to town. She was leaving for home in a couple days, but was going to finish her trip off in Buenos Aires.

We found time to close down a few more clubs and for her to teach me a couple more moves on the dance floor. After that it was another good-bye to someone cool I met traveling. I’ve gotten awfully good at saying those goodbyes after a bit of practice.

I came here looking to settle down for a little bit. And after a couple of weeks being settled down I was starting to get antsy. My sisters somehow convinced my Dad to buy them tickets to come to Ecuador to come visit me. Well the Ecuador part was my idea. They asked me where they should fly to in a couple of months to meet me. And I looked at a map and came up with Ecuador. I was thinking Peru originally, but then I met this Ecuadorian guy who was really cool and kinda planted the idea in my head.

This gives me about two months to make it from Buenos Aires to Quito, Ecuador. I find myself spending a lot of time analyzing maps and planning out routes. Maybe I’ll head through the northern part of Argentina, through Cordoba and Salta before crossing into Chile and continuing along the coast. Or maybe I’ll just keep heading north and spend some time in Bolivia and Peru before working up into Ecuador. Or maybe I’ll just fly all the way to the Caribbean and work my way down south to Ecuador.

Joanna told me this story when she came back. She said she was sitting in a restaurant or something waiting for a bus, and at that moment it just dawned on her that she was happy. That everything was good in life and she was just content. This seemed like an amazing revelation. And I started trying to think if I’ve ever had a similar experience.

Before I started this trip I kinda knew things weren’t going the way I thought they should. But of course I had no idea what way they were supposed to go. My plan was that I would just hang out and after a couple months while I was laying on the beach in Rio everything would just magically be clear. And many things did come to me while I was lying on the beach in Rio, although none of them were the meaning of life. When I told Joanna about my original plan she just kinda laughed.

Apparently finding happiness isn’t really quite that simple. She said it was about knowing what you want and knowing what you don’t know you want. And I hear those answers can only come from within. You can’t find it searching Google and it’s not in that new razor that they’re selling. Sometimes those clichés take on an entirely new meaning when you can tie a moment and an experience and a point in time to those tired string of words. And sometimes everything really is quite so simple that it can be summed up in a few words.

A Walk Through A Valley

By the time I woke up it was sunday afternoon and it dawned on me that I only had one more day to make it over to El Parque Nacional de Los Quijades. Somehow I had managed to spend the last two nights staying up till all hours and partying with my newly found rag-tag band of Argentinean hooligans. And this meant that for the last two days, making the early morning excursion to the park was not an option.

But seeing as it was sunday, everyone was heading back to where they came this afternoon. I was guaranteed a nice quiet evening. They all had work or school monday morning, and luckily, my classes don´t start till tuesday, so I had one more day left. And I was convinced tomorrow was my day to head to the park. But I had managed to learn that one of the aparent reasons that not a lot of tourists come to San Luis is because there just isn´t a lot of infrastructure for tourism.

For example, in order to get to El Parque Nacional de Quijades from San Luis, one needs to take the solitary bus towards San Jose which leaves at 8 AM. This drops you off on the side of the road about 6 km from the park entrance, which leaves you with a little walk before you get to the park. Then you have to hope to be able to find a guide in the park itself, or you could chance treking through the desolate rock valley yourself, but everyone seemed to advise against that. Getting back is the tricky part, since there is no bus service. That means you hope you find someone at the park who is making the 130 KM ride back to San Luis or just hitchhike.

No it didn´t sound like the perfect setup, but I was game. I did come all the way to San Luis aftrer all for some reason. Charlie and Michie saw me off at the bus station where I caught a ride to Porto de los Funes, for a little day-trip. It was sad to say goodbye to those two, especially knowing that I could never bring myself to hang out with them again. Good times were had that won´t soon be forgotten, no matter how hard I try.

The hike through in Porta de los Funes was out towards a peak set atop a series of rolling hills that has a fantastic vantage point overlooking the flatness of Las Pampas, they called it Salta de las Monedas. They say on a clear day you can see all the way to the Andes, but today was not such a day. The hike was relatively easy and it was nice just to have some quiet time alone. I tend to forget how much I value my quiet time until I go without it for a while.

By the time I made it back to the hostel all the party kids had left for home. But in their place I ran into a group of three travellers also looking to head to the park tomorrow. This was fantastic news, because it meant we could all split the cost of a guide and transportation, and not have to worry about hitchhiking tomorrow. I made friends quickly and we all went to dinner to figure out some plans for tomorrow.

Our guide Pablo met us at the hostel early the next morning and pretty soon we pilled into his car and were off! It´s an amazingly different experience hanging out with a group of 30 year nature enthusiasts rather than 20 something party kids. We actually talked about history and politics, I could understand their spanish, mostly because they would slow down and explain stuff to me. I guess I´m just getting too old to constantly party like a mad-man, oh well I suppose I always knew that day would come.

The park itself was amazingly gorgeous. If I´d ever been to Bryce Canyon I´d describe Los Quijades as the Argentinean version, but since I haven´t I´ll just say it´s one of a kind. Beautiful limestone canyons and dazzling rock-formations seemed to just carry on, one after the other. As we started our hike through the valley, we stumbled upon a lost couple already looking for help. Thus we added two more to our group and headed out.

It was hot in the valley and I found it difficult to believe that any form of life survived out here, even through we heard the wolves and saw the condors. Pablo pointed out the more interesting formations and we all debated what we thought they looked like. We wandered through that valley for a couple of hours until the sun was starting to set. It was quiet and still in the valley but we started to asend back towards the entrance the winds nearly took us off our feet, a couple of times.

We just barely made it to lookout we started from as the last rays of sunlight were vanishing behind the mountains. As I watched the sky light up I thought to myself I came amazingly close to missing this, what a shame that would have been. Sometimes when you just live in the moment, you forget to think about finding the next moment. It´s just my opinion, I may be right or wrong, but I think you can find just about whatever you´re looking for at Los Quijades at sundown.

So this is what a quiet sleep Argentinean town looks like?

I arrived in San Luis knowing very little about the town, but I had photocopied the two-pages of information that Joanna’s Lonely Planet guide to Argentina had on the city, which described it as a very quiet and peaceful town. I figured that was enough to get me started. After asking around a little bit I soon learned that finding a place to stay for the weekend was going to be difficult. It was Good Friday, and everyone in Argentina had the day off. That meant they were all currently in the process of heading to their holiday destinations, and San Luis was preparing for an influx of tourists.

But there was a new hostel in town and I figured that was right up my alley. I showed up shortly after 4 PM and it seemed nice and clean and very tranquil. That would soon change I was informed. I met Fredrico in the patio outside and we chatted for a bit before he went to take a nap. I decided to go explore the town and figure out how to get to the Parque Nacional de Los Quijadas the next day, which for me was the whole purpose of coming to San Luis.

By the time I got back to the hostel a couple hours later it was overrun by young Argentineans ready to party during the long weekend. Fredrico begain introducing me as “Kash de Seattle” I started to correct him but decided I kinda liked it. Turns out the secret to making friends in Argentina is just to make one. Once you’ve done that, you can rest assured that your new friend will introduce you to all of his friends, who in turn will introduce you to all of their friends. Within minutes drinks were being poured, insults hurled across the pool table and dinner plans were being formulated.

The group of 15 of us in the hostel at the time decided to head to a nearby parilla for a traditional Argentinean feast, which of course involves not showing up until about 10 PM. Over the last couple of weeks I’d found myself kinda of regretting the fact that almost all of the people I had been hanging out with were other “extranjeros” from across the globe. In Cuba and Colombia I had spent all of my social time with locals and I really loved being able to experience a country with a native by my side. But trying to keep up with the dinner conversation of 15 excited Argentineans while bottles of wine were being uncorked was more than a challenge. I think I’ve learned that I need to be careful of what I wish for, and I´ve also learned the limits of my spanish skills.

Dinner was fantastic. We consumed unhealthy amounts of charred animal flesh, most of which I could not identify and did not think prudent as to inquire their origin. I was kinda afraid of what the answers might be. Occasionally one of the English speakers in the group would try to explain why the entire table spontaneously burst into laughter, but I never really got it.

We got back to hostel a little after midnight and it was packed with even more Argentineans and they were ready to party. I met Charlie and Michie within a couple of minutes and we hit it off right away. My intial assessment of those two trouble makers was the Argentinean version of Beavis and Butthead, but maybe a reference to the two kids from “Y Tu Mama Tambien” would be more apt. They were utterly hilarious, incredibly generous, friendly beyond belief and absolutely completely fucking insane.

The party was in full swing by this time. After not smoking for a week and resisting all the temptation throughout dinner when cigarettes were being handed out I finally succumbed and accepted an offer. I know you all must be very disappointed, but I’m only human after all. And really it was all Michie’s fault.

The guitar was getting handed around and whenever anyone said “Kash de Seattle” the first response was always, “como Nirvana, si?” Someone must have had the “Unplugged in New York” album because they played every damn song on that CD. But it was great, people sang along loudly and beat out a rhythm on chairs and tabletops. It was so nice to know more words than anyone else. Pretty soon the tunes changed to Argentineans folk songs. Tables were danced on, boxed wine mixed with orange pop was consumed in alarming quantities and the dead were arisen.

At 3 in the morning the group waking up early to head to the national park tomorrow decided to head to bed. Unfortunately I choose to hit the boliches with the other group led by the previously mentioned insane duo. Around 5 in the morning it occurred to me that there was no way I was waking up at 6:30 to head to the excursion. But that was ok, I had a few more days in San Luis and I was sure I would get there eventually.

I keep finding that things seldom go as I planned. Quiet laidback weekends turn into all-night parties before you know what happened. Moments reserved for solitude and introspection become social disturbances within a blink of an eye. But I generally find that when my plans go completely haywire the new and unexpected bounty that I stumble upon is far more fascinating than I could have imagined, and truly a once in a lifetime experience.

Onto the Bodegas!

After our adventure out to Mount Aconcagua, Joanna and I both agreed the perfect way to soothe those sore muscles was by making a tour of the bodegas around Mendoza. Something like 70% of the wine in Argentina is produced in Mendoza and it also happens to be one of the few spots in the world where Malbec grapes thrive.

We managed to figure out how to take the bus to the wine growing region of Lujan without too much trouble. Actually getting the bus, now that was another matter altogether. Apparently there was a protest march through the middle of Mendoza, about something or other and the bus routes were being diverted all over the place. The Argentineans sure do love marching and protesting. But somehow between our bad Spanish, handful of maps and the kindness of some very nice Argentineans we were eventually able to hop on the right bus.

Joanna is from the Bay Area and I think she had a picture of Napa Valley in her head. Lujan is nothing like Napa Valley. This became apparent when we realized the only people on the bus were the two of us and about 20 kids getting out of school. Lujan is a pretty residential neighborhood, that just happens to have a ton of bodegas scattered around town. The beautiful valley and surounding hills of Napa where no where to be seen.

We stopped into the first one we saw, a small family run affair. There were no tours to speak off but one of the operators of the bodega was nice enough to show us around through the operations and offer us some of their wares afterwards. We were both waiting for the high-pressure sales pitch afterwards, but instead all we got was a recommendation to a nice restaurant.

The next couple spots were fairly similar. Some larger, some smaller. But all very nice and set right in the middle of a streets full of kids playing and families walking around their neighborhood. But I got the feeling they were used to the tourists tramping through looking for the bodegas.

Towards the end of the day, after several glasses, I had to admit they all tasted the same. Fortunately enough that meant I thought they were fantastic. And somehow we were even able to figure out the bus to take back to the center of Mendoza with a little more help from a random Argentinean on the side of the road.

That evening Joanna and I headed for a nice dinner with my two best friends, a hunk of roasted animal flesh and a bottle of Malbec. But the evening proved to be a little bitter-sweet. Joanna was continuing on towards the south tomorrow. Something about there being some more glaciers to see. I was heading east, to San Luis, a tiny city near a great National Park I´d been reading about. We were going to meet up in Buenos Aires again for a couple of days before Joanna headed back to the US. After hanging out for the majority of a month together, and the last 5 days non-stop, it was strange to think about parting ways.

The trip to wine country was everything I hoped it would be. There´s something about a good Malbec I´ve loved ever since my first trip to Argentina. They have deep intense flavors but not nearly as powerful as a Merlot. And a good Malbec has a wonderfully soft finish. One second you´re enjoying all it has to offer, savoring the subtelties of it´s flavor, and then it´s gone with just barely a hint of a lingering aftertaste, and all you´re left with is the memory of a fine wine.

Acancogua - Day 2

I woke to the sound of a propane burner being used to heat up our breakfast. Sleep was was hard to come by the last night. Between the blistering cold, the tree root under my back that we somehow happened to miss while laying out our tents and my cough that kept me up all night I just couldn´t find my quiet happy place. The rented sleeping bag was warm and cozy and definately worth the 10 pesos I was paying for it, but finding the motivation to get up and unzip the tent was not easy.

After a few more minutes Cristian, our guide, let us know that food was ready. Hot tea and cookies proved to be the perfect breakfast. We had a long day ahead of us and it was time to get moving. We were starting out from our base camp at 3300 meters and treking towards Plaza Francia at 4200 meters. I´d already done the mental math and figured out that was freaking high. The hike was supposed to take about 4-5 hours each way, which would make for a full day. But we were promised spectacular views of the highest peak in the Americas at Plaza Francia along with a vantage point to a beautiful glacier.

The five of us loaded up our day packs and put on all the layers we had. Cristian had let us know that we´d need every single bit of clothing we had when the wind started kicking in a couple of hours. We set out from base camp saying our good-byes to the only two other souls we would see that day. They´d done the trek the day before and were heading back to Mendoza in the afternoon.

The hike started out wonderfully. The valley we were walking through was enclosed on both sides by mountainous cliffs that were sea beds who knows how many thousands of years ago. They shimmered in the morning sun with a spectrum of colors, soft yellows, dull greens, mesmerizing blues and of course furious reds. The air was crisp but clean, the views were spectacular, and the valley was earily silent. There didn´t seem to be any life here besides the group of 5 would-be trekkers. The sun beat down on us and we haphazardly pulled off a few layers.

Fousto, the Ecuadorean journalist, kept us all giggling with his bathroom humor. Well actually I was the only one giggling but I attribute that to the fact that it was all in spanish. Joanna and Michael, the Russian-Israeli student, did ok with their spanish, but if I do say so myself, mine has progressed to the point where I can find the jokes of others funny, but unfortunately not make my own. We stopped and took pictures and laughed and told stories.

After a few more hours of treking the mood had changed. The winds had started and were hammering through the valley. The same wind that took thousands of years to rip the face of these mountains bare took only minutes to cut us to the bone. Piece by piece we had all put those layers back on. Our conversation had slowly trailed off. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The only words we would hear would be a request for water or a 5 minute break. Michael started to complain about the headaches first, but I could already feel mine coming on. We knew beforehand that altitude sickness was going to be an issue. I quit smoking three days earlier, but aparently it takes the human body longer than that to recover from months of poisoning.

With every step we took the peak of Acancogua grew closer. Every time we turned a corner we saw a cleaner crisper shot of our goal. It´s strange when you see it approaching slowly in the distance, one footstep at a time. You know there´s not going to be an ah-ha moment where it jumps out at you. Just slowly and steadily more spectacular.

Another hour later and my head was throbbing and my heart pounding. When we stopped again I asked Cristian for the 10th time how much longer we had to go. ¨Oh maybe 15 more minutes¨ he said. This was the best news I had ever heard. After another 1/2 hour of trekking I asked him how much longer. ¨Oh maybe 30 more minutes¨ he said this time. Since I was no longer sure in which direction time flowed I decided not to argue with him.

I found my mind racing as we continued on. I started reading some Hemmingway on the long bus ride to Mendoza and all I've been able to think of lately are the struggles that define us. This trek was proving to be a perfect example. There's something about setting a goal for yourself, a hard-to-reach goal, one you have to work for, one that at times you're really not sure if you're going to make it or not. There's something about goals like that defines the person you are. Nothing that comes easily is worth having, the sheer act of struggling to overcome makes victory that much sweeter.

The thought of stopping and heading back to base camp did actually enter my head, but with a single step towards our destination it passed with alarming haste. As I continued pondering this theme Cristian pointed up ahead to a tattered white-flag set in a rock formation. Plaza Francia. I was tempted to run up that little hill and jump in celebration, but the energy wasn't there, and neither was the need. I knew I was going to get there in due time, there was no reason to change pace.

As we reached the opening I did have to admit, the view was more spectacular than it was from the previous clearing, if only for the fact that this was where we set out to get to, and this is where we wound up. We took a few more pictures, drank some water, ate some cheese, I collapsed for a few minutes, and then we turned around and headed back to base camp.

The hike back was far easier. I knew I was getting back, there was nothing to push for, no doubt in my mind. I already felt the satisfaction that comes from reaching an ellusive goal. Our dinner that night of rice with cut-up pieces of hot dogs followed by tea was far more satisfying than all the steak and red-wine I'd been eating in Buenos Aires. I was tired and had a long list of aching body parts to complain about but when Fousto asked me "Estas content?" I answered honestly, "Si, muy".