Memoirs of a Lemming

Chile, the question was: to go or not to go? For United States citizens, as according to the embassy websites, are required to obtain a visa, at a cost of $131 USD. But, word on the street was that if you entered the country via overland, the whole visa process and fee was ignored. The girls wanted to visit Pucon and hike to the Villarrica Volcano one of the most active volcanoes in all of South America, where we can actually see lava boiling from within the earth. Keep in mind, this is less than two weeks since the volcano in Chaten Chile blew, resulting in ashes as high as 12 miles into the air. So with little to contemplate, I signed on to join them for the next leg and we were off and bid a farewell to Bariloche.

In the morning that we left Bariloche, we were awakened by heavy rains, and would later find out, that it proceeded to rain for many days after our departure. We left just in time, or so we thought. First we headed for the small town of San Martin de los Andes, located a 4 hour bus ride north of Bariloche. After a 3 hour ride, we arrived in Junen de los Andes, and Lorraine said that we should hop off, as it was more of a transportation hub to Chile, and the adjacent national park was home to another volcano that we can hike the base of. As, this was a bit off the lemming track, we checked into a hotel rather than a hostel, and roamed through the town for any possible excursion that would still be do-able in-spite of the rain. The tourist office, informed us that this was very off season, and that access to the volcano and park would be hard via public transportation, and that based on the current weather, hiking around would not necessarily be recommended. Realizing that our opportunity to see the actual volcano was slim and none, as I walked out the door, I snapped a quick shot of the picturesque poster on the wall, with a view of the volcano from the lake, of what we should have seen other than just the clouds. The tourist information clerk laughed and offered me a brochure with more pictures with her sympathies for the in-climatic weather.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent, walking through the small center of the city, with a visit to the marquee church, which is very artistic in thought and construction, as every aspect from the designs on the floor to wall to doors, and even the orientation and design of the table had a significant meaning. According to the nun who briefed us about the church in Spanish, the church is a celebration more of Jesus’ life, rather than his death, and concentrates on the four basic elements of: water, fire, air and land.

The next morning, we got up, well before sunrise, and caught a bus to Pucon, Chile. Going through the border of Argentina and Chile, was fairly non-eventful, other than the fact, that you immediately realized that Chile was much different than the other South American countries. The building on Chile’s side was much more modern, even equipped with a large x-ray machine, which I had yet to see at other overland border. Chile’s economy is: one of, if not, the strongest economy in South America. You wouldn’t be able to tell based on the currency, as $1 USD equals 470 Chilean Pesos, but as soon as you tried to pay for something, you quickly realized that you weren’t in Argentina, anymore.

We arrived into Pucon sometime afternoon, with the weather a bit cold and the sky covered in clouds, but at least it wasn’t raining, right? The first day, was spent walking through the city, and finding out information about the famed volcano hike. Everyone we asked, told us the same: they were out of here, as they waited around for two or three days, and still no hike, as it was too cloudy to complete. With little other options, the next day with scattered rains throughout the day, we signed up and went on a whitewater rafting trip. Heck, you were going to get wet anyways, so what difference does a little rain make. A bit different than my experience in Nepal, this time, we were equipped with a full body wetsuit, and the water was still absolutely freezing. But, honestly once we hit that first rapid with the two meter drop, the cold weather was quickly forgotten until we hit the flat part of the river. For the girls and I, it was our second time doing such an excursion, as for Ed it was his first. All is all, I think we did a good job, and I think the instructors thought we were a bit crazy to request the trip that day, as I am sure they expected to have the day off.

In the evening, along with a couple more hostel mates, we headed back out in the rain and the cold, to the thermals of Pucon. This particular thermal included various pools of varying temperatures, and it is recommended that you switch between the cold and hot. But as it was frickin’ cold outside, I stayed in the warmest pool the whole time, and if you ask me, the pool could have been a lot hotter.

The next morning we awoke to screaming winds and heavy rain, leaving no doubt that a hike to the volcano was not in the cards. At this point, for me to even walk outside, I had to seriously put on all my articles of clothing that can be remotely associated to winter clothes, my: sole pair of jeans and longer length socks, my only long sleeve shirt, and my zipper hoody that I bought for the trip to Everest Base Camp, and the track jacket I recently purchased in Buenos Aires. Even, after all that, I would still be cold. One, I am a weakling when it comes to cold, as I am a true Southern Californian, and two: I am suppose to be Skipping Winter!!!

During our last day in Pucon, literally the whole hostel was just about held hostage in the hostel, as the winds and rains continued throughout the day. Leaving another city, without even the opportunity to see the volcano from the town, we headed for the capital city of Santiago. The bus pulled into the terminal bright and early, to what else, cloud covered skies, with the eminent promise of rains. But at least for now, the temperature was tolerable with just a sweatshirt. The first day, we did a tourist circuit around the capital city, with stops at the major landmarks, led by Lorriane with her Lonely Planet in hand. The second day, I picked a couple of landmarks that I wanted to visit, and Lorraine and Orla added theirs, as we headed out for another day of sightseeing. Luckily, we just about completed our itinerary, when the rains and cold weather, again, paid us a visit. Can someone please tell the weather gods, that I am suppose to be: Skipping Winter!!!

The next morning, 21 of May, we headed out to the colonial town of Valpariso. This day is significant as it commemorated the day known as Glorias Navales, in honor of the Battle of Iquique on May 21, 1879, during the War of the Pacific, in which Chile defeated Peru in their fight for the border between the two countries. Throughout Chile and Argentina, you will usually find the name of streets and/or plaza named after significant dates in history. And as this was one of the more significant dates in the Naval history of Chile, and as Valpariso is home to many Chilean governmental offices as well as it’s Navy, the city hosted a parade, representing various branches and segments of it’s military. That afternoon, was also significant to many Europeans and futbol fans, as the European Futbol Championship was being played in Moscow, between Manchester United and Chelsea. Orla, Lorriane and Ed, decided that they wanted to watch the match, before completing the sightseeing. So after watching the first half with them, I decided to continue sightseeing, in the hopes of seeing as much as possible, before the sun set for the day. I took the oldest ascensor up the hill, to appreciate the terrain and Valpariso’s charming colonial architecture along with it’s varied pastel colors. Next, I took another ascensor back down the hill, to visit one of it’s most famous square in front of the Naval building, and in between the eternal flame monument, made even more special on this date, as it was dedicated to memorialize the events of this specific date in history. My sightseeing, was completed with a visit to one of the oldest church in this historic seaport town.

As, I started to walk back towards the other side of town, headed back for the bus station, just around sunset, I elected to walk a different street, in hopes of seeing something different. That’s when, I realized that I was one of the only persons walking down the street, and again my spidey senses went off. Being stupid, I stopped in the middle of the block to look at a couple of the unique building, took a picture of two, and looked at my map. Just as I was putting my camera away, a guy walked past me and guess what happened. Spat, I was hit on the back of my head, with another dose of “bird droppings.” I looked at the guy passing me, and he continued to walk away, I looked up, but knew that something was up, and identified the droppings to be more like yogurt, than any bird matter. That’s when a guy from across the street, pointed at the sky and motioned that it was a bird. Having experienced this once before, I was fed up, tired of being targeted as a stupid gringo, and trying to be taken advantage of, I started to yell at him. He motioned again at the sky, and pulled out napkins from his pocket. I screamed at him: No, no, no, I know it’s not a bird, and I proceeded to throw in some expletives. I than, proceeded to give him the bird, and continued to cuss at him. I seriously wanted to throw a rock at him, as I had finally reached my boiling point. He kept pointing to the sky, and I kept on showing him my bird, and that is when he yelled back: F you, too. Which actually made me feel better, that I had actually labeled him correctly as some bum that was trying to rob me. I had sized him up, and knew for a fact that I could outrun him, so I continued to yell at him, to stop trying to take advantage of people, and of course added in some choice words. As I did this, I saw the guy who threw the yogurt on me, who pretended to be preoccupied down an alley, he looked over as I past, and I of course showed him the bird as well. The guy who answered back, was not happy that I figured out his scheme and the commotion that I was making so he started to pick up his pace to approach me, I than gave him one last finger, told him to f’ off and hopped on a bus that was passing me. I know that I lost my cool, and I could have made a bad situation worse, but for someone to try that on such a special day, it really annoyed me. To show you that, the incident was the exception and not the rule: I hopped on the passing bus, more out of necessity than desire for it’s destination. The conductor, clearly knowing that I was a tourist, asked where I wanted to go. I told him, it didn’t matter but if it was in the vicinity of the bus terminal, drop me anywhere close. He proceeded to talk to the bus driver, and the two of them proceeded to look after me, by telling me when it was time to get off, and exactly which streets to walk down and turn on.

The next morning, I bid a farewell to Orla and Lorraine, as they headed north in Chile, while I yearned for one more trip through Argentina, but this time through the northern provinces.

So, I am suppose to be skipping winter, than what the heck was I doing heading south toward the Patagonia region?

Having missed my window to visit the Perito Moreno Glacier near El Calafate and the southern most city in the world of Ushuaia, I just about wiped out all plans of heading south, as winter was quickly around the corner, and as my English friends would say: it’s bloody cold. But, my buddies, Orla and Lorraine, were headed for Bariloche, and what better way to ease myself for life back on the road, than to travel with a couple of friends. (Zoe the third member of the dynamic trio, had left for Australia a few weeks ago, and is now back into the working world).

After a 22 hour trip, I arrived in the province of Rio Negro, the region known as Northern Patagonia, specifically The Lakes District, more specifically: Bariloche, known as the Switzerland of Argentina. Throughout much of Argentina, there are large immigrant populations, mostly from Italy and Germany, but in this city, they were originally from Switzerland. As a result the area is known for it’s Swiss log cabin style architecture and of course chocolate, and for those true hardcore tourists, there are picture opportunities for a photo with a couple of St Bernards.

After hopping on a local bus, finding my hostel, and checking in, I sat alone in my dorm room for a minute, soaking it all in: I was actually, back on the road. Less than two minutes later, Eva and Ed walked in, introduced themselves, dropped their bags and invited me to join them in the search for food. We walked towards the main square of the city, not more than two blocks from our hostel, and that is when I met my future business partner, we’ll call him: MacDiego. He had a line about fifteen (all locales), as he cooked over the grill, serving from a small menu with only three items: Chorizopan (sausage sandwich), Hamburguesa and Churrascopan (steak sandwich). At first glance, many would be put off my the cleanliness, or lack thereof, of the environment and operation, but after one whiff of the aroma, you would quickly change your mind, and after one bite, you are hooked. That afternoon, I had two Churrascopans, and during my stay in Bariloche, I probably had about half a dozen. Simply a must, if you are ever in the neighborhood, if I could ever convince him to stay open on Sundays and Mondays, we could seriously go global.

As Orla and Lorraine, were not due in till the following morning, I chilled most of the afternoon, and saved the sight seeing for when they got into town. That night, Eva, Ed and I grabbed dinner, stopped by a pub, and ended the night at a garage party hosted by a hostel. The live band, played some reggae cover tunes, and some original songs in Spanish, with some scattered English. Overall, their performance was good and interesting, as the singer was hip hopped out, from the cap, to the XXXL sweatshirt and the super baggy jeans.

Early the next morning, my buddies showed up at the hostel, bright and early. After they had a chance to settle in, and we had a chance to catch up, our new bigger group, along with Eva, Ed, David and Steve, headed out to view the area and lake, from the top of the hill. First we grabbed a bus, from the square to kilometer marker 17.4, to the aerosilla (air-chair) station, where a ski lift takes you up and back. At the top, we grabbed a bite at the cafe, and tried to take in the view, as it was a hazy day. The rest of the afternoon was spent, roaming through town, in search of THE best chocolate in town. We popped in a couple of stores, sampled the free bites, and evaluated if it was good enough to purchase. The search eventually led to the second most touristy looking shop in town. The first would go to the chocolate supermart, where the name say it all: Del Turista. The Mamuscuhka chocolate shop, topped off with rotating versions of the Russian nesting dolls over the door, was claimed to be the best chocolate in town, by many of the locales and foreigners, and it did not disappoint. But, seriously, do they have to put dulce de leche in everything? So there you have it, the best place to get a meat sandwich and chocolate in town, for ice cream, you can go to: Jauja. Watch out Elmer Dills, here I come!

After dinner at Alberto’s pasta, where the girls claimed the lasagna to be one of the best they ever had(to the point that we ended up there three times), we hit the bar and club. First we went to Willkenny’s, an Irish pub, which was packed with locales, mixed in with a few gringos, as it was the off season, where they played what else, but 80s music. One of the things, that I love about my Irish Sisters, is their love of singing at the top of their lungs, regardless of who was around. Now, this time along with Ed, David, and Steve, we all sang at the top of our lungs, when a familiar tune was played, to the point that the neighboring tables, watched in amazement, or fright, take your pick. Next, we moved the party to Club Roxvury, not to be confused with Roxbury, and we danced to more 80s music, as Steve stayed mesmerized to the go-go girls being shown on the big screen.

That night, I met my locale friend, Maria, who would show me around the area the following days, and explain some of the locale culture/customs of the area. One of the most interesting things, that I learned, was that unlike Buenos Aires, the different areas were not Barrios with names, instead they were referenced based on the kilometer marker. For example, you would say that you lived around the 7km marker, or take the bus to the 12km marker. Maria, a bright girl, spoke English perfectly, as she spent a year during High School in the States, specifically the south. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but when she told me that she worked as a cashier at an appliance store in town, I was puzzled, as she was clearly a bright, out-going and I assumed, a hard working person. As, I got to talk to her more, I found out, that she had been in medical school for college, but when the financial crises of 2001 hit, her and her family could no longer afford for her to continue college. That is when, beyond all the great food, the fabulous architecture, and the trendy bars and restaurants, I was brought back to the realization that I was still in a developing country. Have I mentioned recently, how lucky I am, for the opportunities that I have had? But, like many others that I have met, Maria, is not one to dwell on what could have been, rather she works hard at her job, and is one of the few Argentine that I have met, at such an early age, to own her own car, and even a house, which was previously purchased by her mother with government assistance.

The following day, the hostel gang, decided to rent bikes, and complete the Circuito Chico, around the lake, a 24k bike ride. We hopped on the bus to the 18km marker, and rented fully equipped mountain bikes for the day. Over the course of the next four to five hours, we rode: up, down and around, the hills and the lake, taking plenty of stops, to appreciate the views, and of course for a breather here and there. Towards the end of the trip, when we hit the top of the highest hill, which was also home to the best view along the whole route, David delivered one of the funniest lines. Steve, 21, who was hands down the best mountain biker of the group, decided he wanted to test his wits, and rode back down so that he could climb that particular hill one last time. When David, found that out, he just about collapsed, and said: yeah, he should do that when he can, wait till he gets to my age. Now, David is only 23 years old!!! As we flew down the hill, Steve and I raced in front, and tried to complete the remaining course without the use of any brakes. Out in front, I approached a tight turn, slammed on my brakes, and yelled out, behind: tight turn!!! I was able to clear it, scrapping the edge of the road, and continued on. Steve and I stopped at the confluence with the main road, and waited for the rest to catch up. After a few minutes, we decided to ride back to the shop, and wait there. About ten minutes later, the gang showed up, with David slightly banged up, as he crashed back at that tight turn. Luckily, it was just some minor scraps, and he was back to his joking self, minutes if not seconds later.

The rest of our time in Bariloche was spent hanging out in town and the hostel. We even went ice skating one afternoon, little did I know that would be foretelling of things to come…

Possibly one of the most commonly heard word in casual conversation in Argentina is: “entonces,” in English, meaning: so, then or therefore. Now more than two weeks removed from Buenos Aires, I realize that I have a bit of house cleaning to do, as I have forgotten to write about my mini getaways while, I was at my home away from home. Entonces…

Rosario, known as the official birthplace of Argentina’s most famous son (Ernesto) Che Guevera (arguably the most famous, as Diego Maradona may also own that bragging right), is located a short 4 hour bus ride northwest of Buenos Aires. However, many of the interstates were closed due to the uncontained fires burning outside the capital city, “entonces” the trip took six.

Belinda, Tara, Ian and I arrived in Rosario just before nightfall, and caught a taxi to our hostel. After checking in and washing up, we went in search of dinner. Argentina is notorious for it’s late meals, dinner generally takes place after 10 pm, especially on weekends. As it was Friday, we were shocked to find many of the parrillas around the hostel closed for the night, and had to settle for a sidewalk cafe. That is when I got re-initiated to life on the road, and one of the biggest frustrations: the never ending search for a good food, and the inevitable wasted/lost meal. By, now you probably think that I have become obsessed with food, as that has become one of the main topics of this blog, but after traveling for so long, and sampling many things that have not sat well, I have come to appreciate the times, that you do find something good, and am not shy about having it everyday. The truth is, it may be days or weeks until you find something else nice, “entonces” eat it while you can.

On the flipside, I have also accepted a rule, an expectation of sorts: when you are on the road, you must expect to waste about two meals a week, hopefully only one of which is a dinner. The wasted/lost meal is, when you order something and it doesn’t look or taste like anything that you expected, it is when you have to accept the fact that the picture on the menu was probably taken by the same photographer who took the picture of your last internet date. It’s hard to imagine, messing up a hamburger, but when a piece of ham with two pieces of bread land on your table, you have to just laugh, as that is literally a ham-burger. But, I digress. Entonces…

After, Belinda and Tara’s wasted meal, we returned back to the hostel, where the girls elected to turn in for the night, and Ian and I decided to see what the night life in Rosario, is like. “Entonces” the two of us headed out and ended up at an English Bar, full of trendy locales, where the only thing English was the name of the bar, some of the beers, and Ian. At the pub, we met up with Pablo (who Ian met back in Brazil) and a couple of his friends. It was because of Ian’s connection with a locale, who offered to show us around, that we made the trip to Rosario. I joined Belinda, Tara and Ian, somewhat last minute, as they had planned the trip and invited me to join, so that I could finally get out of Buenos Aires, even if it was only temporary.

The next day, the four of us were picked up by Pablo and Hugo, for a tour of the city. First we walked to the Flag (Bandera) Memorial, built in honour of Belgrano, who was a military hero and also the designer of the much beloved Argentina flag, which happens to be one of my favorite flags, of all the countries I have visited so far. After, walking and taking the elevator to the top and back down, we walked along the river, through a park, and dined for lunch, with the tour concluding at a small art fair. The four of us, than decided to walk the long haul back to the hostel, so that Tara, could hope to find a few boutique shops, where she could do some shopping. In the evening Pablo and Hugo, along with their girlfriends, picked us up for dinner at a nice restaurant along the river. After, a really nice steak dinner with sides, the bill came, and get this, the bill for each person was less than 50 pesos ($16 USD). “Entonces” I love Argentina, not just Buenos Aires. The night ended with a quick visit to a club, which of course featured 80s music, at one of it’s dance floors.

In the morning, with the threat of the interstate between Rosario and Buenos Aires being closed off by the spreading fires, “entonces” we took the early bus back home. Unfortunately, we had to wish a bon voyage to Belinda, who was now headed north, back on the road to see the rest of South America. Between seeing Belinda again, and seeing Maddie and Katy back in Thailand after first meeting them on the Russia trip, you really realize how small the world has become, and that it is now realistically possible to have friends around the world.

Back at the apartment, the next day, I received word from my Irish sisters, Orla and Lorraine that they were now in Colonia, Uruguay, only a short one hour boat ride away. “Entonces” I packed my day pack and hopped in a taxi for the dock at Puerto Madero. Within two hours from getting word from them, I was now in Colonia, the owner of yet another stamp, in my passport. The rest of the afternoon, Orla and Lorraine offered their services as my official tour guide, as they had already walked through Colonia, and the area was small enough that they had already seen most of the touristy things/places.

I only have one advice, when you go up the lighthouse tower, in Colonia: Watch you Head!!! They even tell you this, as you walk up the stairs, but you think they are talking about at the top. As you arrive to the deck just before the top, there is a door with a window above it, for the a viewing deck. I must have arrived just at the right time, as the sun, was directly in my eyes, and blinded me to the point, that I did not notice the sill/beam between the top of the door and bottom of the window. “Entonces”: Bam!!! I slammed right into the beam, with the top of my forehead, to the point that I had to actually kneel down so that I didn’t fall back into the stairwell. After getting my sense of direction back, I went to the top deck, watched my head, and finished off the rest of the tour with a bump and a small cut. Of course, the day was completed, like all the other places with a body of water, with a sunset.

The next morning, I hopped on an early bus for the capital city of Montevideo, as the girls headed for Buenos Aires. Montevideo is one of the most controversial city amongst the backpackers in Buenos Aires, along with Paraguay: to go or not to go? The argument to both, is that you are so close, “entonces” you should check it out, but after everyone goes, they all say the same thing, there is nothing much to see or do, and it was more of a checklist item than anything unique. As I am a true lemming, “entonces” I went and am happy to report, much the same.

You well note by now, that I have yet to make it to Paraguay, and still have no current plans to go, just to get a stamp in the passport. Paraguay is known for Ciudad del Estes (City of Lights), the electronic swapmeet for Brazilians; Itaipu Dam, world’s largest, until the completion of Three Gorges Dam; and Asuncion, it’s capital city. United States citizens are required to obtain a visa, even just to visit the dam for half a day. And as I was not the least bit interested in visiting the swapmeet of lights, “entonces” I skipped Paraguay, at least for now.

One more bit of house cleaning, I just wanted to introduce you to my great ex-roommates. Entonces…

Alejandro, is the main stay of the apartment. Although I never point blanked asked, what I gathered, is that his family owns the apartment, and he has stayed there the last two years, managing the vacancies and the maintenance of the apartment, while he is still going to school. Just under 30 years of age, he has lived in Buenos Aires, all his life. His ancestors, are originally from Germany, so not only does he speak Spanish/Castenello and English, but he also speaks German. A River Plate fan, it was probably a good thing, that I was out of the apartment after the Super Classico, especially considering that I was rooting for Boca.

Christina, 22, is study abroad, here on an exchange program through her university. Her Spanish, is easily better than my Chinese, as she is taking all her courses, including economics, in the locale language. I am constantly amazed by the number of languages, that many of the other travelers speak. Along with her native language of German, she also speaks: English and French. One thing that I most admired about her, is something that she has, that I didn’t have at her age. She thinks more globally about her future. She doesn’t know where she will be in five or ten years, but she expects to get her education and experience all over the world. I couldn’t even pull the trigger on an exchange program on the East Coast, when I was in school, and here she is, in a different country, on a different continent.

Than there is Stella, 25, also from Germany, my chocolate, corn flake, ice cream loving buddy (not all at the same time, but it probably would taste pretty good, mixed in with some bananas). In Buenos Aires, for a total period of three and a half month, she is on a internship program, where the German government helps subsidize her, while she works at a locale law firm. Having never taken any formal Spanish classes, prior to coming here, I am in awe of her ability to absorb, and her desire and dedication to learn the locale language. During my stay at the apartment, we both had been taking Spanish for approximately the same number of weeks, not counting the Spanish classes I took many many years ago, and I have no hesitation in admitting the fact that her Spanish kicked my ass!

Entonces, I will miss you buddies.

Much like a championship fight, the date was marked, and heavily anticipated. The date: May 4th. Because of this date, I moved back into a hostel, when my lease ran out, instead of hitting the road. Namely, because of two reasons: one, just a few weeks prior, it was finally confirmed that the futbol/soccer team Boca Junior would face off against River Plate in the game known as the Super Classico. Having not attended a futbol match to-date, I had said that if the Super Classico was happening anytime close to my stay in Buenos Aires, I was going to attend, period! And two, a friend, a previous co-worker, Ricardo was coming to Argentina with his wife, brother, sister-in-law and parents, to visit family, attend a wedding, and sightseeing up and down the country. During our e-mail exchange, to coordinate a time and place to meet, he casually invited me to attend his cousin’s wedding along with his family, to which, I responded: Heck, yes!

During the preceding weeks, I put the word out to many friends, I met throughout the city, that: I wanted, I needed, I had to get a ticket to the match. With less than a week before the Classico, it was almost assured that I had at least one if not two tickets in hand. My previous roommate, a River Plate fan, said he had connections, and he was sure that he could get tickets. Than another fellow lemming, said that she had a connection, somebody who knew somebody, from the Boca camp that could also get tickets. With less than a couple days left, and my ex-roommate yet to deliver, I put more energy on the other ticket source, and she assured me that it was very feasible, and since I wanted to sit on the Boca side, I stop pushing for the River tickets. Than the day before the match, I received a text message saying that they were on their way to pick up the Boca tickets, and that I could pick it up, later that same day. Just a few hours later, my ex-roommate contacted me, telling me that his contact came through, and wanted to know how many tickets I wanted. Since it was, almost guaranteed that I was getting the Boca tickets, I thanked him and passed on the River tickets. Later that night, I get the dreaded text, telling me that the Boca tickets were counterfeit, but luckily they noticed before they paid, and now group I was going with, was going to watch the match at a bar. And, of course, it was too late to contact my ex-roommate, as he already got his tickets.

Than there was the question, of what I would wear to the wedding, as there was no article of clothing, not even a pair of socks that would be appropriate, for such an event. I received confirmation, that it was okay for me to semi-crash the wedding reception, just two days before the ceremony. The plan was to find a suit rental place, and call it good. But, when I finally found a suit rental shop, they wanted 650 pesos for a day´s rental, steep even by western standards. Walking up and down the 2500 block of Correintas, I was able to find some other suit rental shops charging 200 pesos without shoes, but they were suits that I seriously would not be caught dead in. This caused quite the predicament, but luckily my roommate Stella, offered to accompany me to view the suits and give me a second opinion. When I initially described the situation, she told me that I was being too picky, and it was only for one day, so I should just rent the cheap suit, and be done with it. When she arrived at the shop, she took one look, and nodded no, and it was off to the back up plan. For the next few hours, we walked up and down the blocks of Corrientas and Florida, and by night fall, I was the proud new owner of attire fit for a wedding or a business meeting, minus the jacket, from tie to socks, and even a new belt.

May 4th. Starting at the stroke of midnight, the first half of the day, was rough, and it was clear that I lost most of those early rounds. The day, started with the first of many emotional goodbyes. Having made connections with many people, during my stay in Buenos Aires, unlike anywhere else on my trip, it was strange/tough to say goodbye to some of those you connected with, but couldn’t end it with, saying: see you later.

Early in the morning, I met up with Ricardo and his family. That part of the morning was great, as it was good to see a familiar face, and hear stories from home. His family welcomed me with open arms, and were intrigued by the path of my travels. But, his dad was most envious, as he heard from Ricardo that I had tickets for the Classico, later that day. He told me that the Classico was it, the pinnacle of matches, and if he was me, he would forget about the wedding, as it was an easy choice to make. At this point, I was unsure if I had been uninvited to the wedding, and didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was now without tickets. So, I told them, that I would love to do both, and that my ticket may be falling through, so I still wanted to get the address and time of the wedding. To which, they responded, that I was welcomed to wedding, but to come as late as I needed to, as the game would be something I would remember for a long time.

As I left them, headed back to my hostel, I put the backup plans into effect, a call to the hostel for ticket brokers, no luck; searched the internet classified ads, no luck; walked the streets, looking for something random, no luck.  When, I got back to the hostel, the place was empty, everybody had either went to the game or a bar to watch the match. I sat there soaking for about five minutes, when a guy walked in and asked what I was doing for the game, and I responded: I am going to stadium, want to go?

The two of us, hopped in a taxi, and got dropped off at the parking lot of the stadium. For the next two hours we walked around the stadium trying to look like gringos, so that the ticket scalpers would approach us. One after another they approached with tickets of varying counterfeit quality, some made valiant attempts to look real, while others looked obviously fake. The asking price varied from 150 pesos to 700 pesos. The problem was that we had no idea what the real tickets looked like, and was told that they varied in color and design based on the locations of your seat. Eventually, I devised a plan to hangout at one of the entrances, identify a gringo and ask to see his/her tickets. Of course this was met, with weird stares, as if I was some crazy thief, ready to rob them. Finally I met a locale couple who were escorting some of their gringo friends into the stadium. Their friends ignored my request, but after they entered, the couple described their tickets to me, including the colors, and to look for a hologram, along with a specific logo. About ready to give up, we just stood around, content to do a little people watching. That is when I ran into four English guys, who spoke almost no Spanish and looked lost as they were trying to speak to a guy regarding tickets. I asked them what was going on, and they explained that they think the guy is offering some tickets, so I started to ask the guy to see the tickets, how much, and how many had. At this point there were six of us, and he said that he could get us all in and more. A bit skeptical, I said let me see the tickets, and he responded that he didn’t have tickets, but had connections at the gate, and that we didn’t have to pay until we were physically inside. Of course this peaked our interest and we waited for him to explain how. That’s when the police escorted the team buses of each team right pass us. The team bus for Boca Juniors was first, and with the curtains wide open, the players looked out the windows and some waved at the cheering and howling fans below. When the River Plate bus passed by, it was as if someone was giving birth in the bus, as the police caravan and bus flew by, not slowing down the least bit, as the people booed and motioned as if to throw things at the bus. The curtains of the bus were drawn closed, and the bus would never even think to slow down if it hit anything or anybody, on it’s way to the stadium.

When the chaos of the bus passed, the fellow, pulled us into the corner market owned by his grandmother, and showed us five tickets, matching the rough description, that I had been told. But, now his story changed, as he asked for 300 pesos a piece, upfront. Additionally, our crowd had grown to ten, and he said that he needed time to get the additional tickets, and could not accompany us, until he procured the remaining tickets. Figuring that this was our last opportunity to get in, we choose to roll the dice, buy the tickets, and cross our fingers, that if they were fake, that they were good enough to get us in. Two of us, said that we would try first, and if we couldn’t get in, we would run back and try to save the others from throwing away their money. As waited in line to enter, we had to go through at least five check points, and at a couple of them, they examined my ticket closely, more than once. After 45 minutes, and circling at least a quarter of the stadium, I was at the turnstile, and the guy examined my ticket, front and back, and gave it a good rub to feel the paper stock, before ripping my ticket in half… and handing me half of it back, I was in!

Reminiscent of the Sambadrome, the energy inside the stadium was electric, putting the enthusiasm of the crowds, at sporting events, from home to shame. As I walked up the stairs in the tunnel, you could feel the ground, the walls, and the roof, literally vibrating. Flags of blue and yellow (Boca’s colors) were handed sporadically to the crowd. Mike and I each grabbed a flag, and as we re-entered daylight the vibration from the cheering/screaming crowd almost gave me goosebumps. As I waved my flag, I was directed by many to a particular part of the stadium, while many others pointed and screamed at me: “Chino!” (Chinese) and gave me a thumbs up signalling their approval. When I finally stopped at my place to watch the match, I ended up at the second level at the far end of the Boca Popular stands, home to some of the rowdiest fans in all of futbol. I had been previously warned of all the dangers that comes with sitting/standing in this part of the stadium. But, at least on this day, it couldn’t be further from the truth. As I was one of the only gringos around, and clearly standing out, the locales were excited by my presence, and constantly grabbed my hand or arm, and shook it with theirs high in the air, as they sang to the beating of the drums behind us. Over the course of the next couple hours, the dancing, singing and cheering was non-stop, almost regardless of what was happening on the field, other than the fact that eggs and small rolls of paper were handed out, for us to pelt at the goalie for River Plate. Beat after beat, song after song, the crowd chanted, sang and jumped in unison. Funny enough, when play stopped for halftime, the crowd in synchronized fashion, all stopped and sat down, as if to conserve their energy for the second half. In the end, Boca won the match, and when they scored during the first half, I was literally pushed along with everybody else, forward and down a few steps in a feeble attempt to get closer to the field, luckily for me, it was the only goal of the match, as I am not sure I could survive another hard push towards the wall, and not sure what would happen if River ever scored.

When the match ended, the River section was let out first, giving them time to escape. Next was the executive seat sections, followed by the other seated and enclosed section of the Boca fans. Finally, after an hour since the game had finished, the Boca Popular section was released into the streets to celebrate the victory, and bragging rights.

I quickly, returned back to the hostel, showered, changed, and put on my first tie, since almost a year ago. Next, I hopped in a cab to Retiro station for the Metire train, for the 25 minute ride to attend the wedding reception. Ricardo’s uncle Rual was kind enough to offer to pick me up at the train station, and when he showed up with a minivan full of people, I was shocked by their hospitality, as they saved me the front passenger seat, and he made his full grown sons, much taller than me, sit family dog style in the back trunk.

At the wedding reception, I sat with Ricardo, his wife, brother, sister-in-law, and a few of his cousins. When the father of the bride stopped by, to thank everybody for their attendance, he gave me an awkward stare, as to say who are you, and Ricardo immediately jumped up and explained who I was, and not some loony that was trying to mimic scenes from the Wedding Crashers. As the reception continued on, and I was introduce to various family members, I suddenly, according to Ricardo became a mini-celebrity. First, I was approached by a lady, who asked who I was, why I was here, and how long I was staying in Buenos Aires. Than she introduced me to her husband, and when he found out that I had just come from the Super Classico, and that I had pictures to show everybody, he literally, dragged me from table to table, to show the pictures off. Before he let me return to my table, his wife asked me if I was single, and when I said yes, he dragged me around and introduced me to many of the single girls at the reception. Feeling a bit awkward by the attention, especially since I was semi-crashing the wedding, I returned to the table, in an attempt to blend back in, when all of the sudden the MC rambled off a bunch of Spanish words, followed by the word: Chino, and the whole crowd turned to face me. At this point, I was talking with Ricardo, and we both noticed that now everybody was looking right at us. My buddy, the gentlemen that led me around, now came to my table, grabbed me by the hand, and led me straight to the center of the dance floor to speak with the MC. Ricardo’s mom, met me up there, to help translate, the questions the MC wanted to ask me. Turns out, he was joking around, and was picking people out of the crowd, and saying that they were movie stars. Of course, when he asked where I was from, and I replied United States, specifically Southern California, this played right into his hands. For the rest of the night, I would be remembered as Jackie Chan, strange but I remember when Bruce Lee was the most famous Asian movie star.

Not to be outdone, our table included another semi-celebrity, as my buddy Ricardo sang a self composed tune dedicated to the newlyweds. Shortly before I left, he had joined a garage band, which I jokingly teased him about. Now he is the lead singer of a more formal rock band, who has previously recorded tracks, and do regular gigs throughout Southern California.

As the night ended, and the family members gathered to take pictures to memorialize the night and occasion. I was deeply flattered and humbled, when some of the cousins started to yell at me, so that I would join their picture. Initially, I declined, as it was a family thing, but they responded that I was now part of the family, and the rest chanted in, so I hopped in. Thanks, Ricardo, Mr & Mrs Graf, and Uncle Rual, for letting me join your family, and for making this truly a Knockout day, and one that I will remember for the rest of my life.

One of the biggest hassles for some, and joy for others, are the purchasing of souvenirs. Historically, for me, it has been that watercolor or pencil sketch that I can hang some where in the house, and an article of clothing, that can remind me of my trip/holiday. For a trip, such as this, there is no way that you can collect a souvenir from every city or even every country, as the weight, volume, or expense would literally break your back. As a result, probably the only and greatest souvenir, feasible for this trip, are pictures, and my memories. To that end, I am attempting to upload pictures more frequently, in the event that I lose my camera or memory card, at least until I make it into the more third world countries of Bolivia and Peru.

In an effort to catalogue the pictures from the trip, I have started a second blog: “Eyes of a Lemming”

www.rchpics.wordpress.com

the link is also located on the right hand side of this blog.

Here are some recent pictures, covering the last two months:

Buenos Aires – Part 2:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.8nja3nmz&x=0&y=83v1us&localeid=en_US

Uruguay:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.8rf6mtbf&x=0&y=-dntkzr&localeid=en_US

Argentina – Rosario:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.3cpa54yz&x=0&y=-m0ns7q&localeid=en_US

Buenos Aires – Part 1:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.3qig8ubv&x=0&y=ek2oxl&localeid=en_US

Saying goodbye has almost become as common as saying hello. The difference is, when you say hello and meet someone for the first time, there is little difference between the emotions involved in greeting one person from the next. But, saying goodbye as we all know, vary based on the connection you make with the place and people/person.

As, I write this, I am on a bus headed south and finally out of Buenos Aires. Eight weeks to the day, when I first arrived, I am finally leaving, feeling rested, full, experienced in finally “living” in a different world, but yet, a bit, down, empty and sad, as I am leaving a friend. During the last two months, I had a life, away from home, which included obligations and commitments, and friends. It is because of this, I am sad to walk away, in many ways it is a bit tougher, than leaving home, as I will eventually return home, and that life will probably be waiting for me. But, this time, this experience, this Buenos Aires, as I know it, may never be the same again. Sure, I will probably return again, maybe I will buy that loft here, that I constantly joked about, but I know it won’t be the same. And because of that I leave heavy hearted with almost a tear in my eye. I know that everybody, by now, knows how much I love it here, but I now know that it was much more than the city, it’s building and landscape, as it was my experiences, the opportunity to learn, to give something, to feel like you belong, and of course the people I had a chance to meet and get to know, for more than just a few days.

At the same time, I am not fooling myself, in saying that if I lived here for good, that I will live happily ever after, as I would eventually have to settle down, find a job, and can’t attend almost every invitation to a party, club, or gathering. I guess, at this point, I am just thankful for finding this place, knowing that there are places in the world, outside of what I know, that I can make a life. Buenos Aires and this experience has made me realize that I can probably be happy living almost anywhere in the world, as long as I have good company and can feel a sense of accomplishment, and of course where the temperature is warmer rather than cold, and there is plenty of meat.

For all these reasons, I thank you: Buenos Aires, and bid you a fond fair well, dear friend. I thank you, for:

• The chance to learn and practice my pathetic attempt at Spanish/Castenello,
• Meeting the kids, at Conviven,
• All the great parrillas and steakhouses (favorites were Desnivel and La Cabrera),
• The Oblesik, as it gave me a landmark to reference throughout the city,
• The non-stop 80s music, I mean who can’t help but smile and laugh, when dancing to that music,
• Your love of The Simpson and especially Homer, I don’t understand it, but I think it is hilarious,
• La Bomba (3131 Serimento) on Monday Nights, as it always gave me a place to hear great live music and to meet up with friends from all across the city,
• Museum (club at 535 Peru) on Wednesday Nights, as it always gave me a place to act the fool, and to meet new friends,
• Your love of Che, mate and tango, as that is truly, Argentina,
• Recoleta Cementario, Museum of Bella Arts (MNBA), Latin Artist Museum (MALBA), San Telmo and Mataderos Feira (street fair) and all the great architecture at Congreso, Plaza de Mayo, and Liberator, as it gave me tourist things to do, instead of napping my days away,
• And last but not least, the people I met, especially my roommates, who helped make my stay that much more special, and made me feel more like a person, rather than just a lemming.

What a day! What a week! What a year!

Okay, so maybe it’s not quite a year yet, but I honestly never thought that I could have made it this far/long. Still in Buenos Aires, I just can’t seem to leave. For the third time, I have chosen to delay my departure from this great city. I am literally now playing it day by day, extending my stay in the hostel, one day at a time. 

Last week, for the first time since, my family left Taiwan, I celebrated my birthday overseas. And very similar to ones at home, it was great, as I got to share a meal and hangout with friends. There was talk of pulling an all nighter at one of the clubs, but in the end, we had a great steak dinner at Disneval, and went to a local pub to hangout. A great day!

The week ended, with one of my most memorable days ever: first a visit from a friend from home, attending the Super Classico futbol match between Boca Juniors and River Plate (on the level if not exceeding, Lakers vs Celtics, Yankees vs Red Sox, Cowboys vs Redskins, Duke vs North Carolina), and attending the wedding reception of a local Argentine couple. An amazing week!

Just over a year ago, I made the decision and took the steps to do this trip. Before, the decision was made, I contemplated it by myself for many months, before I shared my thoughts with some of my closest friends. And now, just a year later, it seems or at least it should have been, one of the easiest decisions, I could have ever made. A few years ago, I made a commitment to myself, that I will make each successive year, the best year of my life, and I think that I have kept that promise, but this past year will be hard to beat, as it’s truly been: An awesome year!

So where do I go, now? At this point, that is as loaded of a question, as any. The answer could be: the next city or destination, the next country, or in general about life and when I return home. In all honesty, I have little hestitation to hop on a plane tomorrow and return to reality, as I am tired/hate saying goodbye to some of the special people I have met. Every so often, you meet that one special or a couple of people that you connect with, and want to know. You fly past the basic ice breakers of where and when and for how long, and talk about who they are, what they like/want and where they are headed for in life. I never thought or imagined that I would miss having that deeper connection with people, but I do. And although I have meet literally hundreds of people all over the world, I probably have only made that connection with a handful of people, and to each of them, there is always a goodbye, never knowing if the you will ever see them again. In many ways, that is a grown up thing to say, and feel, and that is the part of me that feels excited about starting my life, a rebirth of sorts, for when I get back, as the goodbyes, should be further and farther between.

At the same time, I have little desire to return to home, right now, as there is so much more to see and experience. I know, I am a complicated soul, full of contradiction, but I have seen so much, hopefully learned a little about the world, but probably learned more about myself. And at this point, I do not want or am ready, for that to stop. Plus, with the little bit of Spanish under my belt, I could feasibly speak the same language all the way home, without having to hop on a plane, once.

I guess, what I am really trying to say, is that I am still having the time of my life, and seriously wish: that you were here.

Hope all is well.