Cameron goes stateside, Amanda goes international, and all the adventures in between.

Cameron is a goner. As I write this I’m sitting in front of a fan, back at our hostel in Cartagena for the 3rd time, feeling slightly lonely and super full. Before I get into Cameron’s departure, our friend Amanda’s visit, and all the details of beautiful Cartagena, let me tell you about the delicious lunch I just had downstairs at my new favorite restaurant,

Menu at La Mulata

La Mulata. As an adorable lunch place that got lip service from Lonely Planet and is hence often filled with tourists, it hasn’t lost touch with it’s mission: cheap good food. The set menu gives you a choice between 5 main dishes with a daily rotation, ranging in price from 10-12,000 pesos ($5-6 usd). Not the cheapest set menu in town (we found a great place for $3 usd with about 10 choices from beef or fish to tongue or liver and something called sobrebarriga which I was sure meant stomach lining, but I just googled it and it’s actually flank steak. Cam will be sad we passed that one over on the menu!) but adorable none-the-less. Plus you get an extra large ice cold fresh fruit juice for an extra $1,500 pesos (75 cents).

Fruit vendors, dressed-up for the camera toting tourist, in a Cartagena plaza

Every set menu starts with a soup- today’s was a bowl of seafood broth with lime- delicious! I picked the Filete a la Marinera for my main course. Delicious white fish filet in a buttery seafood sauce of baby shrimp, calamari, and mussels. Coconut rice, a very classic Coastal Colombian dish (recipe here!), a lovely salad topped with mango slices, and a handful of plantain chips to compliment the fish. To drink, fresh passion fruit juice. I enjoyed every bite, especially knowing that it was my one big meal for the day. Dinner? 75 cent arepas (corn flour pancakes filled with cheese) off the street corner and a homemade rum and juice.

Okay, on to other important topics besides my lunch. Cameron.

Cameron in now officially on US soil. He had to head home a few days before planned because the return portion of his plane ticket had to be used within 365 days of his departure. Since he originally started his trip about 3 weeks before mine, he had to jet set and leave me behind. The last few days of his trip had him pensive and sad about the end of the trip.

Watching one of our last Colombian sunsets from the Old City Wall

As much as he couldn’t wait for Grandma Carol’s custom prepared ‘All Cameron’s Favorites’ dinner, an ice cold micro-brewed NW Amber beer, and of course an Indian Buffet (hmmm, somehow we’re back on the subject of food. Can you see why Cam and I are such a perfect couple?), if it were entirely up to his own whims, Cameron would spend another 2 years exploring the world. He has said repeatedly that he doesn’t feel done yet and expressed feeling really torn between wanting to start his path toward being a teacher and wanting to extend his life as a professional traveler.

Street Souvenirs, Cartagena

I feel sad to go home too- I’m going to remember this year and miss it dearly while I hover over school books in the next couple years and look out the window at San Francisco fog. Yet I don’t think I can completely empathize with Cameron. Where as the things  Cameron missed the most (besides family and friends of course) are cravings that a quick visit home can cure, the things I missed have deeper roots. Having a home of my own, studying at my ‘regular’ cafe, cooking in my own kitchen…I missed having a place to nest. If  we had unlimited resources, I won’t deny that I would probably follow Cameron around the world for the next year or two. But I also won’t deny how much I am looking forward to be enveloped in a big hug by my friends, to wrap my arms around my baby sister, and to ease into my own bathtub- candles, bubbles, Enya, and all. I will miss travel dearly (I almost wrote that I would miss S. America- which I will, but if we were to continue traveling, we both agree that we are ready for a new continent) but I think I’m ready to come home for a while. Not to say that Cameron and I haven’t already started planning our next big trip- 3 years from now? SE Asia? Yes!!!

Last week, we had  the pleasure to welcome our friend Amanda as she placed her feet on non-US soil for the first time. Yes, brave Amanda dove in head first with a visit to the infamous Colombia as her first international experience. And when I say dove in head first, I mean it.

Cartagena just before sunset, taken from atop the Old City Wall

We didn’t spare here anything. Intentionally or not, Amanda got the full Backpacker in Colombia experience. We started her off with a welcoming night in sweltering Cartagena. Cartagena is a beautiful, historical, Spanish style port city. But last week it was beyond normal humidity. It was oppressive. Because Cameron and I had been here only 5 days earlier (before the heat wave) we had opted for a non-air conditioned dorm room for the first 2 nights. Drenched in sweat we retired early (on a Friday night where our dorm-mates didn’t make it home until 5 am) and were treated to a lovely night of power outages- not such a big deal at night unless your life depends on the fan, which ours did. 8 sleepless and mosquito covered hours later we emerged and managed to secure 3 beds in the air-conditioned dorm for the next night.

Historical Cartagena, backed by the skyscrapers of Boca Grande

A lovely day of sightseeing in Cartagena took us to an old Spanish fort, countless plazas and cobblestone streets, the Museum of the Inquisition where we studied torture instruments, and the Gold Museum because we had read that they keep their A/C turned nice and icy (and they did! We spent pleeeeenty of time looking at indigenous gold works.) We watched the sunset over the water from atop the Old City walls, made out of local coral cut into blocks, and we slept like babies on our air conditioned bunk beds.

The next day we said goodbye to Cameron,

Dancers in Plaza Bolivar, Cartagena

who was flying out of Cartagena the next day) and headed up the coast to Taganga and Tayrona Park, both places Cameron and I had been and selected as perfect destinations for Amanda. Well, maybe perfect isn’t exactly the right word…

Our bus trip went great, no hitches. We wandered Taganga on a Sunday evening and watched all the local kids swim like fishes and have jumping contests off the fishing boats. The next morning we headed out to Tayrona on the same boat Cam and I had taken a few weeks earlier. Only, today it didn’t turn out to be quite the idyllic ride I expected. As soon as we pulled out of the bay, it quickly became apparent that the ocean wasn’t having a good day. Our first red flag was when the driver had to take the cover off the outboard motor to restring a couple parts so it would work. Next came the extra gasoline canister leaking onto the floor. One both of those issues were taken care of, our tiny little motor boat headed for open sea. We learned really fast to hold on tight and keep our legs braced at all times. As we lurched and dove over the swells, our poor behinds took quite the beating against fiberglass benches. I placed all my faith in the driver who didn’t look too worried, but as time passed it became apparent that this wasn’t everyday weather. Poor Amanda stared straight ahead, barely managed to keep her breakfast down, and was sure her life might end on this very boat.

Full moon in Tayrona National Park

Bruised and battered we arrived in one piece at Tayrona only to find that a) Amanda’s nearly virgin Seattle skin was burned to a crisp and b) there were no hammocks in the upper palapa available so we were stuck in “The Hammock Factory” below. Squeezed in 50 deep (literally touching knees with our hammock neighbors) and with dusty knotted mosquito nets hanging in our faces, we were grateful for our earplugs as we fell asleep accompanied by the lovely song of the generator. We awoke at midnight as our hammock neighbors (a group of 6 from Israel) very loudly and drunkenly stumbled into their hammocks (and I mean stumbled literally- one of them fell on me) and again at 3 am as one of them rolled out of his hammock and threw up 5 feet away. Lovely. 5:00 am, the rooster starts crowing, accompanied by the donkeys (What I want to know is what kind of joke was God playing when he made up the donkey’s Bray?). Oh how we love roosters and donkeys. At least the mosquito nets worked.

Not only was Amanda burned bad,

Amanda's spa treatment in the medical tent

she started breaking out in a scary looking rash all over her poor feet and thighs. The Park Tayrona “nurse”/snorkel tour guide (the same guy who taught Cam to open a coconut a few weeks ago!) diagnosed her with an allergic reaction to too much sun and gave her a spa treatment rubdown in the medical tent of antihistamine lotion and stronger sunscreen. He even gave her a band-aid for the blister on her toe. Nothing like free medical treatment from the snorkel guide/coconut opener/lay nurse. Poor Amanda spent her 3 days enjoying the beach from under the palapa’s shade. We did manage to reserve two hammocks in the upper palapa for our second night, and although it was windy and cold, sleeping surrounded by the ocean and the sky is an experience everyone should have. I adore it- no matter how chilly it gets in the night time ocean breeze, swaying in my hammock and listening to the waves makes my heart so happy. I think Amanda was looking forward to a shower and a mattress. =) But she kept a smile on. If there is one thing I can say about Amanda it’s that she is beyond a good sport. From death defying boat rides to trying cow tongue for the first time to breaking out in unknown rashes, she laughed her way through Colombia.

Still smiling on the beach!

Our boat ride back was much calmer. We didn’t even mind when it started raining on our boat because we were so grateful to not be slammed into the fiberglass over and over. Amanda talked me into splurging on an air conditioned private room for her last night and just because she was such a good traveler, I agreed. We treated ourselves to a boutique hotel with a pool (after a week of vacation together, we managed to reach a new level of intimacy in our friendship as our luxury bathroom didn’t have a door) and a fancy dinner in the candlelit tables that line one of the touristy plazas.

Amanda left this morning and here I am back in my good ol’ dorm room. Luckily the heat wave seems to have passed. I think I’ll spend my last 3 days in Cartagena working on my hard-earned tan and doing a whole lot of nothing.

I absolutely can’t believe it’s over. It flew

Did I mention that Colombia has a high plastic surgery rate? Mannequin in the window of a fabric store

by- has it really been a whole year??? The mixed feeling about my homecoming will continue over the next few weeks. And I promise at least one more closing blog entry before we put this blog stuff to rest for a few years. I’m sad for it to end- not only the trip, but the blog. As an avid journaler, I’ve really enjoyed writing for someone’s eyes besides my own. So thanks for reading….until next time,

Corinna

Down and Dirty in Colombia

Colombia is full of beautiful people- some of it’s natural, some of it’s silicone. Cameron tells a story about reading the “Things to do in this city” bulletin board of a hostel he stayed at in Medellin. Smack dab in the middle, between the coolest salsa clubs and the local hiking was a “Buy two plastic surgeries and get the third FREE” deal. If you need a cheap manicure, a massage, a bikini wax…Colombia is the place to be. Unfortunately for me, so near to the end of the trip, funds are running a bit low. So I’m in the business of low-cost beauty treatments, which mostly consist of layering new toe nail polish on top of the old, trying to get one last week out of my 6 month old razor, and attempting to con Cameron into a 5 minute shoulder massage. So far, so good.
So when we started hearing about the medicinal mineral properties of the natural mud volcanoes that dot the Northern coast of Colombia, I was very interested. Sounds like a spa treatment…Don’t people pay big bucks for full body mud masks in New York?

There is a “Mud Volcano” just a short

Beachfront in Tolu

ride outside of tourist town and colonial city, Cartagena, but we decided that since we had the time we’d head out to Tolu- a beach town that although packed with Colombians on weekends, is otherwise pretty quiet, at least with the Gringo crowd. Full of beachside hotels, there is exactly one “backpacker joint”. What makes for a backpacker friendly hostel? Why do we all tend to gravitate to the same few guesthouses? It’s not just the Lonely Planet or hostelbookers.com effect, although I’m sure that also has a huge impact. We backpackers look for certain characteristics.

• A Well Stocked Kitchen is a must. Bonus points if there are stock spices.
• Free breakfast or at least coffee. Although every backpacker knows that free breakfast is usually just stale bread, we still look for this service for some reason.
• Community space. Whether it’s a movie room, or just nice tables for hanging out and meeting people. In tropical climates, hammocks give major bonus points.
• BYOB allowed. If a hostel tells you that you can’t bring in your own booze for an evening drink, they better offer a darn good happy hour.
• Lockers. Believe it or not we have been to numerous hostels that didn’t offer a place to lock up our valuables. This matters when you share a room with 8 strangers in bunk beds.
• A good book exchange. A good novel is like gold.
• Other choices come down to personal preference. Some prefer the party all night, free shots, don’t even think about going to bed before 4 am kind of hostels. Other prefer the quiet hours at midnight and lets share a community dinner kind of hostel. Some need private rooms, some only sleep in dorms. You learn to pick your hostel carefully…

Anyway, the one backpacker place we found in Tolu (being off the Gringo Trail, it has been fairly empty during our stay, but that’s true of the whole town right now. Apparently during local holiays it fills to overflowing, which is hard to imagine with the sheer number of hotels and cabanas lining the beach!) exceeds our expectations. We got a private room (with our own bathroom!), hammocks galore, a beautiful kitchen- with a blender!, and a gorgous rooftop deck to watch the sunset. Villa Babilla is an absolute gem.

Sunset cards and Cuba Libres on the roof top of Villa Babilla

Which brings me to Tolu itself. Tolu is a town built on Colombian tourism. On the weekends (especially holiday weekends) the beach sidewalks are packed with plastic tables and Colombian families. Dozens of kids run in the amazingly shallow and bathtub warm waves. The women wander around in their florescent bikinis with matching florescent mesh cover-ups, decked out in their new beachside jewelry purchases. The men continue to decorate their plastic tables with beer bottles (never try to clear the table- it’s a game of some kind to see how big the pile can be at the end of the day), all sporting their cowboy style woven beach hats. Meanwhile, the local taxis cruise the street. By taxis I mean bicycles equipped with not only a cart for passengers but also a battery operated sound system designed to outdo all the other bici-taxis. So goes the beach scene on the weekends.

Ready for the sunset on our first night in Tolu

On the weekdays, Cameron and I and a couple random local kids out for an evening swim, were able to enjoy our own private beach sunset in silence. We learned the ins and outs of the street food in Tolu. We got to know the old women who spend every day sitting in a rocking chair in front of their house. We

Dinner on the plaza corner in Tolu. A tortilla sized smashed and fried plantain covered with sauce, meat, and cheese. $2.50 and enough for two. Yum!

discovered the local beaches in Covenas where we has all the thatched roof palapas and all the white sand to ourselves for the entire day- no other Gringos and no vendors trying to sell us anything. Just us, our books, and the ocean breeze. As beautiful as Tayrona Park and Taganga were, it felt really good to find a town that;s not yet listed in our guidebook. A town where we could ditch the Gringo Trail for a few days.

Our private beach in Covenas, 10 kilometers from Tolu. The water is like a bathtub and stays shallow about 60 feet out.

But back to the Mud Volcano. After a debacle of buses and a dusty dirt road we found ourselves at the Volcan de Lodo near San Antero, Colombia. About 3 hours from here is the biggest Mud Volcano in the country, but we decided to go for the closer one so we could still have a half day on our private beach. We were both very unsure of what to expect and as we approached, it became clear that on this beautiful and very hot Thursday morning we would have the Volcano to ourselves. We paid our $1.00 entrance fee and marched confidently in the direction pointed out to us. About 20 steps later we found ourselves at the end of a hole in the ground. I guess volcano was a bit of an overstatment…what we had in front of us was a completely nauseating put of gurgling slimy mud.

You want me to climb in there??!!?

I was just about ready to go back and demand my $1.00 refund. Yes, at first glance $1.00 seemed like highway robbery. But we’d come a long way and there was the attendant urging us in and reassuring us that the mud kept everyone at the surface so there was no way to drown. What?!?

My $1.00 spa treatment.

I went first. The first few steps took me down to the edge of the mud. Holding onto the rope rail with one hand I took my third step…and in I went, up to the thighs. There was no going back now. I cringed and yelped as my legs disappered into the thick slimy mess….but it wasn’t so bad. It didn’t smell bad like I expected. And although the top layer was warm from the sun, underneath was actually cool- a needed respite from the Colombian sun. So I sat down, expecting to sink in. But no, instead I found myself sitting on the surface. It tooks quite a bit of hip wiggling and manourvering to get my body deeper into the silky smooth and extremely thick chest deep pool. After trying to move a couple feet toward the center of the pool I realized that the effort of trying to move inside the mud was worthless- it was like trying to swim through a solid pool of jello…I was going no where fast. That was when I heard the familiar sound of  children’s voices. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, 40 school children in their pristine white school uniforms emerged, headed straight for the mud pit. It was took late to move anywhere (as if I could move anyway)

My audience. I was on the far side of the pit, like a museum display.

so as Cameron stood by snickering, I sat, covered head to toe in mud, while the school children gathered around to learn about the Mud Volcano and to watch me squirm. “And that, class, is how the mud volcano is formed. Interestingly enough, Gringos come here and actually pay to climb inside! In front of you, you can observe a Gringa in her natural habitat, frolicking in the gurgling slimy mud.” I smiled and waved and felt extremely uncomfortable. Luckily for me, Cameron came to the rescue with a nice big leap into the mud with me. And next to him, with his beard and hair suddenly taking of new shapes and colors, I looked relatively normal again.

You seriously had to work to get deeper into the mud than this. They weren't joking about it being impossible to drown.

Trying to lift myself from the mud- feels like lifting 300 lbs.

Duende

Mud Angel

I’ll spare you the details of the mud removal…Medicinal? Healing? Spa-like? That might be giving the mud too much credit. But trying to move our bodies through that oozing grey pit of fun was just that…a lot of fun. If you ever have the chance to hop into a mud volcano, I’d highly recommend it.

 

Negative Ions and A Gringo Opens a Coconut.

Iguazu falls made my hair stand on end. Literally. Something to do with the negative ions generated…I don’t really understand it and a quick google search doesn’t leave me any more informed, but something about the power of those falls left me giggling like I was drunk and with my hair standing straight up in the air.

Brazil

We spent a full day exploring the Argentina side of the falls for up close views. They used to do row boat tours that took to near the edge…yes, on the TOP side. Your life was literally in the hands of one (hopefully) super buff rower. But too many boats full of tourists went over the edge (not a fall you can survive) so they shut that operation down.

Argentina

Now they do motor boat tours at the bottom of the falls. About a month ago, on the day our friend Suz was there, a boat got too close and someone died, but it’s generally considered safe. We decided what-the-heck and payed for the 10 minute adventure of zipping into the immense spray. It was worth every penny. People stared when I climbed aboard in my bikini, but when we debarked, wringing out our hair, they were all wishing they had shed their modesty and followed suit (no pun intended). It was a rollercoaster-like adrenaline rush to drive into that spray- It’s beyond amazing how much power water can hold.

Brazilian Reales, my proof that we were in Brazil

The next day we decided to head for Brazil’s half of the falls. As US Citizens we can’t legally enter Brazil without a visa, but word on the street is that officals will look the other way if you just want to visit Iguazu for the day. Those of you who know Cameron and myself well know that we both have “Oldest Child Syndrome” in which we have an irrational fear of getting our hands slapped by authority figures. I thought I was bad…until I met Cameron. Just crossing the Canadian border gets his palms sweating for some reason (I’ll never forget the time a few years ago when we were crossing back into Washington from B.C. The border guard asked him what our relationship was and all he could manage was to stutter “Uh…um….uh…” until I came to the rescue and clarified for all involved that I was The Girlfriend, thank-you-very-much.) So I took on the role of reasurring Cam that our “illegal” border crossing into Brazil would be no big deal, even though I wasn’t so sure what exactly we were getting ourselves into. Sure enough, true to rumor, we rode a local bus right across without even stopping at Brazil’s immigration office for permission. No one batted an eye, but we sure felt like rebels all day long! Funny how easy it is to get our goody-two-shoes adrenaline going!

Getting to Iguazu involved us taking a 20 hour bus all the way from Buenos Aires and back in just a few days. We spent more money than I care to think about on both the bus and the entrance to the Falls. But it really was an awe inspiring place. The sheer amount of

Three Wonders of the World. Iguazu Falls, Rainbows, The Beard.

water and energy created by those Falls is mind boggling. I loved the feeling of the wind the falls generate and the fine spray that manages to soak you in a couple minutes time, the rainbows that live eternally in the midst of that spray and the birds that swoop in and out, nesting in the cliff behind the falls. No doubt to me that it was worth the 40 hours of travel and entrance fees.

Iguazu was our last hoorah in Argentina. Argentina was lovely and luxurious, but it was so huge and had so much to see that we spent too much time and money, and were both eager to get out. Arriving back in Colombia felt like

Rainy day in Plaza Bolivar, Bogota

coming home; the noise of the streets, vendors hawking goods and ringing bells at 6:00 in the morning, dinner of mystery meat on a stick and grilled arepas(corn flour pancakes filled with cheese, egg etc.) on the street corner, huge colorful markets where you can buy anything your heart desires…all the parts of Latin America that have captured our hearts and that most of Argentina in it’s civility and class doesn’t have. We both walked around Bogota with goofy grins on our faces, exploring that wonderful city. We made fun of (between ourselves) the dozens of pimply faced 16 year old “Policia” guarding every street corner and doing absolutely nothing. (Cam heard somewhere that up to 25% of the Columbian workforce is in law enforcement. Every corner has groups of them standing around doing nothing).

Fruits of Colombia. Feijoa on top (tastes like strawberry!) and Pitaya on bottom. Both delicious.

We gorged of piping hot arepas fresh off the grill and tropical fruits we’ve never seen before. We ohhed and awed for hours at the Botero museum (I’m in love with Botero’s work which is easily recognizable by it…roundness) and got a tour of the very strange Police museum where we got to see the blood stained roof tile where Pablo Escobar’s head fell when we was killed. And of course, every night, we went to the corner bar and shared a hallowed out

Old records for sale on the streets of Bogota

coconut shell with two straws brimming with a fresh batch of chicha(fermented corn beer that supposedly involves the maker’s saliva at some point in the process but tastes like a good apple cider in the end). Bogota is one of my favorite capital cities.

But alas, we were being beckoned by the Carribean. As much as I adore Bogota, I adore the beach more. So off we went to Santa Marta, Colombia to while away the hours of our last few weeks in South America. We decided to fly- partly because we are feeling the time pressure of only having a few weeks left. But also partly because we have made it through nearly a year  without a single mugging or robbery, on foot or during travel, (know on wood!) and we’re both feeling a bit superstitious about these last few weeks. Most routes throughout Colombia are safe by bus, but I think we’re both feeling like our number must be coming up soon and would rather not push our luck.

View from our hammocks in Tayrona Park

Tayrona National Park, with it’s coastal jungle and white sand beaches is not a secret by any means. But it’s still hard enough to get to that it’s not quite overrun yet. From the Park entrance you can hike 2 hours through the jungle and beach to reach Cabo San Juan del Guia beach. We cheated on the way in and paid for a motor boat because we were carrying in 4 days worth of food and water. The Park is full of deserted white sand beaches and tropical jungle, but much of it is still hard to access. The park rents our fancy cabins near the entrance, but beyond that there are only a handful of camping/hammock rental sites. Believe it or not, neither of us had ever slept in a hammock, so we decided to give it a go. We paid a few dollars extra for the hammocks over the sea, as opposed to the ones about 100 feet inland. Connected to the mainland by only a thin strip of sand, our hammocks were in an open air palapa surrounded on all sides by crashing waves. During the day we stretched out on the sand to read, swam in the crystal clear water, learned how to crack open the coconuts that fell around us (after the local guy stood by and amusedly watched an embarrassed Cameron bang the coconut on a slab of cement for a good 5 minutes, he decided to give us a lesson). By night, the ocean wind rocked us in our hammocks (When my one long sleeve shirt wasn’t enough- everything is perpetually damp that close to the ocean- I resorted to wrapping myself up in my yoga mat. Once again, yoga was my saving grace). Every night brought a lightening storm. From our hammocks we could head the ocean waves constantly, but all we could see was the sky, lit up by a strobe flashing of lightening. The first night there was no thunder, but the second night the storm was over us. The rain blew in and the thunder shook our palapa. We rocked away in our hammocks, surrounded by a stormy ocean, and even while I

Our beach in Tayrona

was feeling a bit nervous about the thunder, I knew that it was a beautiful experience. But no matter how stormy or windy the night, morning always greeted us with sunshine and calm waters. So it was that we spent 4 days snacking on cans of tuna fish and a jar of peanut butter and learning how to sleep in a hammock. I loved it and slept like a baby. Cameron wasn’t such a fan.

Cast Away. You can see our palapa in the background.

The last week has been pretty much the same. Fresh fruit smoothies on the corner every morning, an avocado a day for lunch, lots of beaches and sunscreen…it’s been lovely and perfectly uneventful. On June 10th or friend from home, Amanda, is coming for a visit, but until then our plan consists of more fruit and more beaches. Tomorrow we head west to a less touristy beach called Tolu that we know very little about. But in all honesty, as long as we have a patch of sand and some water to dip in, we’re pretty dang happy.

Taganga, fishing village and tourist hang out

Hope the sunshine at hope is lifting everyone’s spirits! Sending lots of love from our Colombian paradise…

Besos!

Southern Migration

Once again, I have abandoned the blog…I’m not so good at this blogging stuff. This time, though, I don’t apologize. This time it wasn’t laziness or forgetfulness. It was the simple fact that I have been 100% absorbed and overtaken with the absolute joy of travel. Maybe it’s that Cameron’s BFF and college roommate, Byron, came to visit and kept us running circles around Buenos Aires. Maybe it’s that we’ve been in awe at the foot of world wonders like glaciers and waterfalls all across Argentina. Maybe it’s that the countdown has begun and the last day of our adventure is looming dangerously close. But whatever the reason, we (and our wallets-darn the cost of living in Argentina!) have been living life to the absolute fullest. So no, I don’t regret my blog neglect. But never fear, as Cameron busies himself with a liter of Quilmes Bock beer and a Superclasico futbol game (Boca Juniors v. River Plate- biggest rivals in the country), I am all yours, to share our tales and travels to those of you who still bother to check this thing.

After Mama Julie left us in Mendoza we bused (and hikes) our way South through the Lakes District of Argentina. The Lakes District is legendary for

Bariloche...Cam never again ordered the Big Papa Cone. Nor did he eat for the rest of the day.

her beauty and we have been hearing tales of her trees, snow capped mountains, and of course, lakes, for months. Bariloche, right in the middle of the L.D., is ski capital of South America (maybe even of the Southern hemisphere?). Complete with Swiss architecture, barrel toting St. Bernards, chocolate shops galore, and oddly enough, world renowned ice cream shops. But even despite the enormous decadent ice cream cones we ate twice daily (not exaggerating) it wasn’t Bariloche

Hiking in El Chalten

that captured out hearts. It was the small towns around Bariloche. Beautiful San Martin de los Andes, Villa la Angustura, and of course hippy dippy El Bolson. To be completely honest, though, the beauty of the Lakes District finds a steep competitor in the Pacific NW. The smell of wet earth, the pine needle and dried leaf covered hiking trails, and the smell of woodsmoke floating from the wooden houses brought us both home. And to add to it all, we happened upon the loveliest hostel, or maybe I should say loveliest family, of our entire trip.  Staying with Valeria and Claudio, of Hostel Pehuania, was like visiting old family friends. From the

Claudio's Parrilla

hostel-wide, 3 hour long parillas where Claudio served us cut after cut of beef, lamb, ribs, and sausage hot off the grill, to Cameron’s backyard soccer game with 10 year old Nico, to hair braiding sessions with 5 year old Princess Augustina, to hugs and kisses as they dropped us off at the bus station, they were a lovely family and really welcomed us not only into their hostel, but into their home. (And no one even paid me to say all that!)

30 hours of buses later with only our dear friend Suz to entertain us (some of you may remember Suzanne, from England, who we traveled with almost a year ago in Ecuador. We managed to cross paths again and she’s been by our side then, keeping us laughing with her strange customs and made-up version of the English language), we arrived in El Chalten, Patagonia. El Chalten is a town that was created almost overnight (within the last 10 years) for tourists and so that Argentina could keep an eye on their half of Patagonia. (We literally could have hiked to the Chilean border). El Chalten is a town of hostels completely surrounded by incredible trekking, hiking, camping, and climbing. All for free. No tours, no park fees, just good old fashioned, well maintained trails and clear trail maps. Unfortunately for us, the “season” down South ends on April 1st- and by end I mean 70% of the hostels actually close down for a few months- so we were cutting it real close by spending Easter weekend there. Hence, we shouldn’t have been surprised when we were stranded in our hostel by dumping rain and a very angry wind god.

Easter in El Chalten

Drying a tent fly in the Patagonia wind after being rained out of the tent. I kept expecting a small dog to fly by the window.

We spent our first day drinking whisky spiked hot coco and learning new card games. Luckily we had carried 4 days worth of food with us from the Lakes District in a box since food in Patagonia is ugly and expensive, so we didn’t even have to brave the weather to eat.

Laguna Torre Hike on Easter

Easter morning dawned with clear skies so we jumped into every single layer of clothing we had and set off for Laguna Torre, sight of the famous Torre Peaks which happen to grace the cover of the latest Argentina Lonely Planet Guide and only peak out from their clouds on lucky days. Despite the blue skies, snow sprinkled down on us all morning, only adding to the absolutely stunning beauty of the mountains. Fall colors like I’ve never seen, snow dusted ground, lakes, and of course, white topped mountains in every direction. When we finally reached Laguna Torre, I looked over the lake for approximately 5 seconds before I ran for cover behind the cleverly constructed rock wall that served as a wind shield. You have never felt cold until you feel Patagonian wind coming off a glacier lake. I suddenly wished very very much that I had a ginger beard like Cameron.

I wish we had an entire week or two to

Andes mountain rage near El Calafate

explore El Chalten. I would have loved to hike every single one of those trails. But our third day brought more rain, whiskey, and hot coco, and the next day we had to bid farewell and head to Patagonia stop #2, the very touristy El Calafate, named after the local berry that if you eat it, guarantees a return to Patagonia in your future. El Calafate is full of expensive restaurants and tour agencies, but we had one goal only: Perito Moreno Glacier.

The endless jagged peaks of a glacier bigger than the city of Buenos Aires

Bigger in square kilometers than Buenos Aires City, Perito Moreno is one of the world’s most accessible (and apparently stable aka not currently receding) glaciers. Even though we were rained out in beautiful El Chalten, coming on the off season turned out to be a blessing when it came to the glacier. Not only did we have entire walkways and viewpoints to ourselves, but the colors of Fall only made the blue of the glacier that much more vivid. (Fact of the day: The more compressed the ice, the deeper the blue. As you look toward the bottom of the glacier where it has been compressed for the longest and all the air bubbles have been squeezed out, the color appears a deep, dark blue. The ice, of course, is actually clear. Ice absorbs colors from the warm end of the spectrum, but it reflects the blue, leaving it for us to admire.)

They say that the act of seeing a glacier is

Glacier! No words can begin to describe...

only 1/4th of the experience. And it’s true. The size, shape, and color of the glacier is incredible, but it’s the auditory that really moves you. There is absolutely no way to recreate the experience of hearing a piece of the glacier wall crack and

Just after the snap crackle pop of part of the glacier wall crashing into the lake.

tumble into the water below. The only thing I can even begin to compare it to is the sound of a glass full of ice crackling when liquid is poured over it. Now take that cracking sound, multiply it by a thousand, and add an enormous splash and 5 full minutes of after shock waves. The glacier speaks, like an old man, groaning, moaning, cracking, and creaking, until something gives. Sometimes it’s just a small piece (by small I mean the size of a VW van) and sometimes…

We were waiting and waiting, hoping

Glamour Shots at the Glacier under the direction of professional photographer Cameron

and praying for a big mother load to drop. (The glacier is stable, growing back as much as it drops, so I didn’t feel too bad for wanting disaster). As we wandered the miles of walkways around the side of the glacier, we made sure never to lose sight of it in case The Big One came. Walking down some wet metal steps, I suddenly lost my footing, slid off three steps in a row, and landed flat on my butt with a big slap. All the senior citizens on their tour turned, startled, and stared. Stunned, I sat still for a moment. Still, until I heard it. The crack, creak, groan of the glacier. I leapt up and we ran to the railing. And then it happened. The Mother Load. Pieces the size of a house

Someone didn't need a scarf to stay warm...

started to pull away from the wall, tumbling down the side, knocking even more chunks from their ledge, all falling falling falling into the lake, creating a splash like a mushroom cloud that washed it way all the way across the water to where we stood leaving the water lapping for 10 minutes. It was absolutely incredible and we were all left with gigantic idiotic grins on our ice cold faces. I abandoned all attempts at walking with care in hopes of another big fall that could shake the earth, but at the end of the day we were lucky to have seen and heard what we did. I wish I could replay it for you.

9 am sunrise, our tour bus on the way to Perito Moreno Glacier

We opted for a 3 hour flight back to Buenos Aires rather than a 36 hour bus,(Everyone has to draw the line somewhere) where Byron was flying in for 10 days of fun. They call Buenos Aires ‘The city that never sleeps’. But it’s a misnomer. Buenos Aires does sleep, or rather naps, from approximately 2 pm until 7 pm every day. Which means that if you want to be out and about in the city, your options are morning or night- and don’t even think about eating dinner before 10 pm or going to a bar before midnight. So after 10 days straight of museums and parks before lunch and Fernet and wine until the wee hours, we were absolutely exhausted. But I think we showed Byron a good time, and managed to make the most of Buenos Aires in the time we had. We even managed to put with Byron for a week with smiles on our faces- even if they were alcohol induced. It was a wonderful week of friends (between Byron, Suz, and other travel friends we’ve made from England, Holland, and France, we were our own party wherever we went).

The adventure hasn’t stopped there. But I think I’ll stop and save the waterfalls and illegal border hopping stories for next week. Tomorrow we say goodbye to Buenos Aires in a ceremony including lots of ice cream (best bitter chocolate and dulce de leche ice cream in the world, no contest), meat for every meal, a liter size glass of Fernet

Amazing Fall colors

and Coke (Argentina’s favorite mixed drink. If it’s not wine, it’s Fernet), and a night of dancing to the incredible improvised drum

rhythm of a  Bomba de Tiempo show (look it up, it’s awesome). From here it’s off to Colombia for our last (tear…) three weeks of Caribbean beaches and sunshine (and maybe a sweaty and mosquito infested multi-day hike through the jungle).

So thanks for  bearing with me and my irresponsible blogging and until next week, Ciao!

The crew sipping Sangria and Tango in La Boca, Buenos AiresFernet and Coke before La Bomba de Tiempo show

Downtown Free Walking Tour- best tour of BA. And free.Photo shoot in La Boca, Buenos Aires

San Telmo Antique Market

Chimichurri. Classic Argentine BBQ topper.

Photo shoot in La Boca, Buenos Aires

Fernet and Coke before La Bomba de Tiempo show

The crew sipping Sangria and Tango in La Boca, Buenos Aires

The Beard.

Ice crem delivery bikes. Yes, BA ice cream delivered straight to your door. My dream come true.

French Emilie and I at Plaza San Martin, Buenos Aires. We know Emilie from our volunteer program in Peru.

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Guest columnist Cameron here.

Along with wine and tango, Argentina is synonimous with passionate futbol (or soccer) fans. Many places in Europe and the rest of the world have crazed fans, but very few places in the world have both stark-raving mad fans and extremely talented players. Simply put Argentina has both. Having won the World Cup two of the last nine times, Argentina is always a favorite to win any international competition.

Throughout this trip, we’ve been to games in Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. While the fans have been entertaining to say the least, the quality of play on the field has been marginal at best. I hate to say it, but Peru and Bolivia aren’t going to be challenging the likes of Brazil or Spain to win the World Cup any time soon. Let’s be honest, it’s just not going to happen.

Argentina vs. USA... in the hostel backyard.

Since we landed in South America last summer, one of my goals of this trip was to make it to Argentina and see at least one professional futbol match. Needless to say, the minute we crossed the border from Boliva to Argentina, I have been chomping at the bit to get my hands on a ticket and watch a live match. For Corinna, her goal was to get to Mendoza and try as many different kinds of wine as her liver will possibly tolerate. For me, it has been to watch live futbol.

Unfortunately, 16 of the 20 pro teams are located in Buenos Aires. This is great if you live in Buenos Aires, but isn’t the most optimal situation for any fan that lives outside of the capital. Since we weren’t planning to actually make it down to the capital for at least 2 months, I’d just have to sit and wait.

Finally, I got my chance.

I traveled to BA for a weekend with two objectives, one: visiting two of my friends from SF who were in town on vacation and two: finally getting to see world-class futbol in Argentina. After doing some research, I finally decided to go watch a match between Velez and San Lorenzo. I chose this game because the stadium was relatively easy to get to (two subways and a train), the tickets were still for sale and moderately cheap ($10 compared to $100 with an organized tour group), and the stadium was known for having relatively calm fans.

Maradona and I ready to play in case they need any subs.

My 9 months of waiting are over and the day has finally arrived. I race to the stadium two hours before kickoff to try to get a good seat. I buy my ticket in the home team section and make sure to wear their colors. Before entering, I noticed that EVERY SINGLE FAN was wearing a jersey or at least some article of clothing that was associated with the home team, Velez. My white t-shirt just wasn’t going to cut it. I get my hands on a Velez jersey to blend in with the rest of the crowd. The last thing you want to do while sitting in the home team supporters section is to come across as cheering for the other team. I wasn’t going to make that mistake.

Five minutes 'til kickoff.

I enter the stadium and it’s already packed to the gills. People are singing and jumping up and down all in unison. I notice that there are already two teams battling it out on the field. Wait a second? Did I show up late for the game? What is going on? Apparently, the two reserve or substitute teams were playing each other before the match. A huge wave of relief rushed over me. Thank goodness. I climb 30 rows and find a good seat behind the goal next to a group of a middle-aged, mild-mannered women who I hope won’t give me much trouble for not knowing the words to every chart nor having a visible Velez tattoo on my body.

Ten minutes before kickoff, team employees start tossing giant rolls of toilet paper into the crowd. I know that toilet paper is hard to come by in South America, but I thought throwing copious amounts to ravenous futbol fans was a little extreme. As the players came out onto the field, I discovered what the TP was for. The fans threw roll after roll after roll onto the field apparently as a way to welcome the players onto the field. Honestly, it did look pretty impressive. Unfortunately, it took ages to clean up off the field and delayed the game for 30 minutes after fans continued to throw more and more rolls onto the field after staff had already picked up the first onslaught. In theory, the TP was a great idea, in reality, it was a horrible delay and distraction.

Let the fun begin!

The field was cleared, the players were lined up, and the game that I had been waiting for over the last 9 months and 30 minutes finally started, finally. The referee blew his whistle and both home and away fans got to their feet and started singing, dancing, and playing music. It was sheer madness. Both groups of fans were taking turns taunting each other in extremely choreographed and well-organized chants that were shockingly easy to hear from the other side of the stadium.

Looks like a long day for the ballboys.

One minute into the game, the ref blows on his whistle once again and stops play. The visiting team’s goalie (who is on our side of the field) has just been hit with a dozen rolls of toilet paper. He races to the referee with TP in his hand and starts to complain while visibly pointing back to our section that had pelted him with TP. The ref warns the home team coach and captain to control their fans. The TP gets cleaned up and game, the singing and the dancing once again resume.

Seven minutes into the game, the same goalie who had complained to the ref and was the ire of the entire stadium falls to the ground. He’s rolling around back and forth covering his face and appears to be in horrible pain as if he was hit with a giant brick instead of a roll of toilet paper. Immediately after this happens, the visiting fan section on the opposite end of the stadium races down to the chain link fence protecting the field. Some of the fans start to climb the fence, some of the fans start to tear the fence down. All in all, utter chaos has broken loose in the visitor’s section on the opposite side of the field.

The goalie taking a quick nap during the game.

The referee quickly stops play and the players are corralled back into the locker room. The riot squad proceeds to get in between the fence and the stadium and appear to be trying to get the fans away from and off the fence with their shields and riot batons. Another riot squad enters the field walking in a straight line carrying a giant tube in their hands. “What is that? It sure looks like a huge hose or something,” I ask myself. Seconds later, I notice the entire visitor’s section being pelted with a high pressure water hose. Let me repeat this. The entire section was being not just showered, but pummeled with a hose that probably could have knocked over a group of rhinos.

The police politely cooling down the visiting fans.

The majority of the somewhat sane fans quickly disperse from the fence, while a handful of angry and persistent fans somehow manage to hang on to the fence. Enter another set of riot police equipped with canisters of tear gas. They proceed to chuck the tear gas over the fence to get the fans off the fence. Needless to say, the fans got off the fence. Instead of retreating to the back of the section, a small group of fans race over to the side of the fence that is separating the fans from another section and manage to rip it down in one fell swoop. Fortunately, this section was empty in hopes of keeping the home and visiting fan groups separate. Fans from both groups hurled insults and empty plastic water bottles at one another, but that seemed to be the extent of the violence.

Notice where the fence has been torn down.

While all of this chaos was taking place on the opposite side of the stadium, my section was calm, cool, and collected. Everyone had their cell phones out and were either snapping pictures or calling their friends to tell them what was going on. Their was absolutely no cause for alarm in my section. Eventually, the police made the entire visiting section leave the stadium. I was under the impression that the game was going to resume once they left. So I waited and waited and waited along with everyone else that was still left standing.

I waited for 45 minutes and then finally the gates opened and we were allowed to leave the stadium? Leave the stadium!?! What? I thought the game was going to start up and they were going to play the remaining 83 minutes. Nope, it was flat out cancelled. Apparently, the home team fans have to wait 45 minutes after the visiting fans have left the stadium. And this is commonplace and happens after every single Argentinean soccer game, riot or no riot. What surprised me (other than the random acts of violence) was how relaxed and non-chalant the Velez fans were. I can’t imagine a single successful scenario at a sporting event in the US where 1.) the game was cancelled after 7 minutes and 2.) the majority of the fans had to stay within the stadium for 45 minutes before they were allowed to leave. Strange.

Waiting to leave the stadium.

Time to leave apparently. I finally exit the stadium flanked by riot squads and tanks. Walking down the steps to the train station to get back to downtown Buenos Aires, I notice yet another group of police officers. They quickly notice me in my Velez jersey and tell me that I have to go to one end of the station. Being the nervous person that I am, I immediately think that I’ve done something wrong and they’re going to send me to jail with the rest of the evil-doers. No, they were just trying to keep the fans in separate trains. Velez fans in one set of cars, San Lorenzo fans in another sets of cars, and the car in the middle filled with police officers.

Being told where to go at the train station.

Waiting with the rest of the Velez fans in one end of the train station, I quickly discover that I’m the only one still wearing a Velez jersey. I then remembered that most Velez fans live near the stadium and have no need to commute back to Buenos Aires where most of the San Lorenzo fans live. Crap. I rip my jersey off and try to stuff it as best as I can in one of the pockets of my cargo shorts. I board the train, feeling like a spy straight out of a James Bond film and eventually make it back to my hostel with nothing eventful to report.

Watching the news that night, the soccer game (or lack thereof) was the top story. Once it was all said and done a handful of fans were hospitalized, four police officers were injured and one San Lorenzo fan died. Google Velez, San Lorenzo, soccer, 2011 and you’ll inevitably find the story. The story was so noteworthy that you can even find a few articles in English. Out of the 70 games that had taken place that season, I managed to pick the only one that had been cancelled.

Was it worth the excruciatingly long wait of countless bus, train, and subway rides to witness only seven minutes of action? Most definitely.

Bienbebidos and Babies

Oh, dear friends and readers, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for leaving you in the dark for so long. This last month has been a very different kind of adventure for me…one in domesticity and babies and somehow it didn’t seem to have the same blog-entry-allure that so many of our other adventures have. So I left you to your own devices and happily submerged myself with diapers and drool. To most of you that probably sounds horrible…but I tell you now, I was in heaven. Let me rewind a bit.
After Carnival, Cameron and I had decided that we would spend one last beautiful weekend together in N. Argentina’s wine country before we spent a few weeks on our own. I was feeling the need to unpack my backpack and settle in to a routine for a few weeks. And Cameron was feeling the travelers urge to be on the move, seeing as much as he can in the few months we have left.

Fresh. free grapes in the courtyard of our hostel.

Afternoon snack on our anniversary. Wine, fresh grapes, local goats cheese, and plums. And a Cameron who hates having is photo taken

We decided it would be best for both of us to “do our own thing” for a few weeks and then meet back up. We headed to Cafayate, the second highest producer of wine in Argentina, to spend our 5 year anniversary together before we went our separate ways. In Cafayate we stayed in a delicious little hostel with a grapevine covered courtyard. We did little besides ate local goat cheese and drank local wine….and we had a divine time.

After Cafayate, Cameron headed off on his own route. He has some hilarious and adventure filled stoires, and hopefully one of these days his mom and I will be able to pressure him enough to sit down and write it out. But until then you’re stuck hearing my point of view.

Nadia, my role model and friend, and baby Khalil

About 6 months ago, Cameron and I were hoping to work on an organic farm hear in Argentina and we joined WWOOF, an organization designed to set people up to work on local farms in exchange for food and lodging. We found a delighful organic winery in N. Argentina, and the first time I wrote to the owner, Maud, she asked if I would be willing to chat with her American friend, Nadia, who was living in Argentina and pregnant with her first baby. Nadia and I became pen pals. sending photos and writing long emails to each other in preparation for her labor. When I mentioned to her I was thinking of settling somewhere for a few weeks, maybe finding some Spanish classes, she immediately offered me her home…and how on earth could I possibly say no to a beautiful 3 month old baby!? Turns out Nadia and I got on wonderfully…she took a risk in inviting a virtual stranger into her home for a month, but I just can’t imagine my life without having met her, her amazing husband Tomas (from Holland) and her beautiful baby boy (who is the proud owner of 3 different passports by 3 months old!) (I never ended up meeting Maud however!). I had an absolutely incredible time with them, doing little more than cooking, washing out diapers, taking walks down country roads, and trying to think of hand-sewing projects.

Khalil, 3 months and already a flirt.

Our daily walk

I thought I might get bored at the country home…it was an hour by public bus to arrive in the city. I was surprised to find that I never wanted to leave the house unless it was to stroll through the country. I felt so completely content and complete out there with this beautiful family. I feel so lucky to have been invited into their lives and I have no doubt that we will remain friends.

 

 

 

 

After three weeks, I was sad to leave but ready to see Cameron and his beard. Mama Julie Robertson flew down for a visit and I was able to meet up with them (only a 20 hour bus ride, no big deal…) in beautiful Mendoza for a few days. Mendoza was a wonderful reminder for me of the joys of travel.

Mama and Son at the winery

And this is the first stop on the wine tour...

We soaked in hot springs, rode bikes through the countryside, and drank bottle after bottle of delicious wine. We rented bikes for the day ($6) from the renowned Mr. Hugo. He offers unlimited wine along with his bikes, so we started off the tour

So many choices...

with a high ball of local wine and then proceeded to the Absinthe factory….quite the start to the tour. 5 hours later we had seen/tasted everything from tiny family-run wineries to modern industrial wineries. We had shared countless flights of Cabernet Sauvignon, local varietal Torrontes, Syrah. and of course plenty of Malbec. Our favorite winery was the last on our tour. We sipped on the very best wine I have ever tasted in my life. a Cabernet from 2004, aged in french oak barrels and then in the bottles.

Our favorite wine tasting. Tall Dark, Handsome, and Italian. Plus delicious wine.

Absolutely mind-blowing. We closed the place down and then climbed back on our cruiser bikes to attempt the ride back to Mr. Hugos. I won’t lie- it took a bit of concentration to ride in a straight line, but we arrived…only to find Mr Hugo pouring us more wine! Somehow we managed to find our way onto the public bus back to town. By 11 pm we were all happily in bed dreaming of wine. It has been an unforgettable month, from babies to bottles of wine. And now we find ourselves on the countdown of our last 2 months of travel (can it be!?). But those two months are packed full of plans and adventure. So stay tuned…I promise not to leave you for so long this time!

Beautiful Mama Julie

French picnic in the Argentine sun

Art and free wine

Wine break pre-bike tour.

 

Argentina is know for the Malbec and known for the ice cream. But Malbec ice cream???!!

Church tour ...somehow we came out with lots of sarcastic photos and none of the actual Virgin. Go figure.

Nude time on the porch (For Khalil- not me)

Corinna’s Rules to Surviving Carnaval

The owner of our hostel BBQed an entire goat- 3 hours later we feasted.

• Don’t drink a liter of cheap wine sangria in the 2 pm sun and expect to make it very far into the night.
  

  Liter sized beer glass outside our hostel

• Never assume that you will be able to enter your hostel in a moment of need. Just when your bladder is going to explode and you want nothing more than to lay your wine-filled head down for a cat nap, the folks with the keys may disappear into the crowd and leave the door locked. As the owner of the hostel says “Todo es posible, Nada es seguro.”
  

  Devil costume

• Never remove your sunglasses. If you think you are safe from getting sprayed in the face with foam or powder rubbed in your eyes, think again. Never let your guard down, wear a hat, and keep your sunglasses on until you go to bed.

Foam in my eyes

• Forget all you were ever taught about not accepting open drink containers from strangers. All your new ‘friends’ on the street WILL offer you their gigantic plastic cups of random drinks, spray foam floating on top, and unless you want to be unforgivable rude, you MUST take a gulp. Roofies? Herpes? As the Argentines say, “No Pasa Nada!”
  

  Sharing drinks in the plaza. Cam earned the name Pap Noel (Santa Claus)

• Talcum powder rules explained to me by 17 year old boy: Guys only get girls and girls only get guys. NO same sex talcum powdering!!!
  

  After attacking him, these girls posed for a picture.

• Your chances of getting a private room in a hostel are slim to none. In fact, you will probably be on wobbly, homemade, three level bunk beds packed 9 to a small room. So pack plenty of ear plugs, an eye mask, and at least 3 combination locks. Sleep when and where you can.
  

  Noon on the first day of Carnaval. one kid even had his Iphone in his hand, mid text.

• Unless you prefer your bed sheets caked in powder and grime, you must shower at night no matter how late it is or how drunk you are, and despite the fact that there is no hot water. Suck it up and shampoo!
  

  Street parade

• Now there is no cold water and you wish you had appreciated that icy shower and stayed in a bit longer because showering in boiling hot water is definitely worse.
  

  This is what happens when you dare to watch the parade go by.

• Ok, learn to prefer your sheets caked in powder and grime because now there is NO water and we’re rationing whats left in our water bottle.
  

  Just your average day on the streets of Tilcara.

• Never waste time putting on clean clothes. Not only will they just get dirty anyway, but the cleaner you look the bigger target you are.
  

  Getting Talcum Powdered by a passing girl

• Dance with as many mullet clad men as possible. Forget blonds, mullets definitely have more fun.
  

  Dancing at a street party

• Get out after 3 days, even if the streets are packs with cars and buses trying to do the same thing. Get away from Tilcara, find a hot shower, drink as many liters of water as you can, eat a big salad, and sleep for 15 hours. Now you are ready to continue your trip.